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Another finger wiggled.
Good!She was beginning to sweat, felt perspiration break out across her forehead. All of the fingers of her right hand were moving slightly. Responding.Think, Sam. Make them work. And don’t let him know. He can’t know that you are gaining control of your body again!
To that end, she forced herself to shake a bit, to mimic how her arms and legs had reacted, to tremble every so often. Just in case he was listening.
The car drove onward and every so often he’d look over his shoulder. Once she gave a little shudder as if she were still having convulsions and he seemed satisfied, turned to face the windshield again, his eyes on the road.
Slowly and silently she worked. Moving both hands and eyeing the rosary dangling so close to her. If she could somehow reach it, sit up and loop it over his head, she could throw her weight back and choke him with his own damned weapon.
He might lose control of the wheel.
They could crash.
Or he could get the upper hand.
But so what?
He was going to kill her anyway. She had no doubt of the heart-stopping fact. So she kept trying, reaching forward. Missing. Her fingers just brushing the dangling cross and causing it to swing faster.
Miles rolled by.
Frustration mounted. Why couldn’t she reach it?
She felt the car decelerating. Oh. God. She swallowed back her fear. Had he reached his destination? Was it too late? Again panic surged through her. She had to work fast or she’d have no chance. No chance at all.
She reached again.
Missed. A fingertip swiping the cross.
It swung, still out of reach.
Come on. Come ON!
He turned a corner, the tires crunching on gravel.
Damn!
She felt the car slow, turn, then move faster again. The sounds of the bayou reached her ears, the smell of wet earth and brackish water seeped into the car.
Sam’s heart sank.
It was over.
She took another pass at the rosary just as the car suddenly shuddered to a stop and he flung open the door and the interior light flipped on.
She kept her hands in front of her. She forced her body to twitch more convincingly and rolled unfocused eyes toward him. Silently she prayed he didn’t realize she had some, if only a little, control of her body.
He hesitated and then, to her horror, took out his damned stun gun, pressed it to her neck, and as she let out a weak “No!” jolted her again.
No, oh, no!Her body spasmed wildly and he slammed the door, locked the car, and took off on foot.
Shaking, her brain unable to focus clearly, she was aware enough to know that couldn’t be right. What was his plan? To leave her in the car? Alone? Surely not. She’d recover and break out.
He would be back.
And soon.
The only reason he hadn’t killed her was that he wanted to take his time, to torture her, she was sure of it. In the darkness, she heard crickets and frogs, smelled the deep, dank odor of the swamp. He’d brought her to the bayou, but where? And why?
