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Authors: Rayven T. Hill
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wood.
The cabin was empty. He entered and looked quickly around. “Nobody here,” he said.
She followed him in and they poked around. A shelf of glass jars. Wooden boxes full of taps. Two or three large boiling kettles. It looked like no one had been here since maple syrup season ended three or four months ago.
“Let’s look around outside,” Annie suggested.
The track ended just behind the building, and the ground was flat and untrodden beyond that. They spent a half-hour combing the ground around the cabin, maybe thirty yards in each direction.
“Dead end,” Jake said.
“Looks like it.”
Annie knelt down and brushed away some of the dead leaves and twigs, retrieving a clot of soil. She placed it in a plastic bag she dug from her side pocket. She looked at her watch. There’s still time to get home before Matty does. “Let’s go,” she said.
Chapter 11
Thursday, August 11th, 3:00 PM
JENNY lay on her back, reliving the events that had brought her into this dreadful situation.
She remembered the trunk of Chad’s car finally swinging open, and she was half blinded from the sudden intrusion of the lowering evening sun. She tried to sit up and look around. She was in a forest somewhere. Digging in the trunk, her tormenter had found an oily rag he used to blindfold her. Her protests and pleading went unheeded.
Her hands were still tied, but her feet were free. She thought of trying to jump from the trunk and run, but quickly realized how futile that would be. Even if she got to her feet, and was able to run, she could blindly hit a tree, and then where would she be? No, that’s certainly not the answer.
His hand on her head forced her back down, and she heard the trunk bang shut again. A car door slammed, the engine roared, and the vehicle bumped and slurred its way across rough ground for several minutes. It came to a stop. Started again. She heard the unmistakable whine of tires on blacktop. Going faster now. Then, slowing down, a swerve, more rough ground, and stopping again.
She was helped from the trunk. He checked her blindfold, and then she stumbled and faltered as he led her blindly. Then, up three steps. She was being taken into a building of some kind. Then, across a wooden floor.
“Watch your step,” he said.
She nearly lost her balance a couple of times as she was pushed and prodded up a flight of stairs, and down a hallway. A door slammed behind her. A tugging at the back of her head, and the rag was slipped off. She was in a bedroom. He was going to rape her, she thought. She turned to face her captor. Now, more than afraid, she was angry.
She lashed out at him with her voice and her bound hands. “Why are you doing this?” she screamed. “Who are you? Why the hell did you kill Chad?” She was flinging her arms at him. Flailing uselessly.
He grabbed her by the wrist. “Calm down,” he demanded. “Just calm down. I’m not going to hurt you.”
“Then, what do you want?” She was sobbing now, in desperation.
Instead of answering, he retrieved a hunting knife sheathed to his leg, cut the tie holding her hands, and turned and left the room. The door slammed behind him. She heard a sound of metal on metal. Probably a dead bolt lock. She listened as his footsteps grew fainter, and then silent. She banged at the heavy wooden door and screamed until her hands were numb and her voice was tired. Then, she collapsed on the floor and cried.
And now, a week later as she lay on the bed, she was still trying to make sense of everything. Trying to understand why she was being held. Over the past days, though not resigned to the situation, she’d accepted it somewhat, and her bouts of panic and anger had subsided. Less panic, less crying, now lots of boredom, but still a pervading sense of helplessness and exasperation.
As she counted the boards above her for the millionth time, she had a thought. Perhaps there’s a way out through the ceiling. She
The cabin was empty. He entered and looked quickly around. “Nobody here,” he said.
She followed him in and they poked around. A shelf of glass jars. Wooden boxes full of taps. Two or three large boiling kettles. It looked like no one had been here since maple syrup season ended three or four months ago.
“Let’s look around outside,” Annie suggested.
The track ended just behind the building, and the ground was flat and untrodden beyond that. They spent a half-hour combing the ground around the cabin, maybe thirty yards in each direction.
“Dead end,” Jake said.
“Looks like it.”
Annie knelt down and brushed away some of the dead leaves and twigs, retrieving a clot of soil. She placed it in a plastic bag she dug from her side pocket. She looked at her watch. There’s still time to get home before Matty does. “Let’s go,” she said.
Chapter 11
Thursday, August 11th, 3:00 PM
JENNY lay on her back, reliving the events that had brought her into this dreadful situation.
She remembered the trunk of Chad’s car finally swinging open, and she was half blinded from the sudden intrusion of the lowering evening sun. She tried to sit up and look around. She was in a forest somewhere. Digging in the trunk, her tormenter had found an oily rag he used to blindfold her. Her protests and pleading went unheeded.
Her hands were still tied, but her feet were free. She thought of trying to jump from the trunk and run, but quickly realized how futile that would be. Even if she got to her feet, and was able to run, she could blindly hit a tree, and then where would she be? No, that’s certainly not the answer.
His hand on her head forced her back down, and she heard the trunk bang shut again. A car door slammed, the engine roared, and the vehicle bumped and slurred its way across rough ground for several minutes. It came to a stop. Started again. She heard the unmistakable whine of tires on blacktop. Going faster now. Then, slowing down, a swerve, more rough ground, and stopping again.
She was helped from the trunk. He checked her blindfold, and then she stumbled and faltered as he led her blindly. Then, up three steps. She was being taken into a building of some kind. Then, across a wooden floor.
“Watch your step,” he said.
She nearly lost her balance a couple of times as she was pushed and prodded up a flight of stairs, and down a hallway. A door slammed behind her. A tugging at the back of her head, and the rag was slipped off. She was in a bedroom. He was going to rape her, she thought. She turned to face her captor. Now, more than afraid, she was angry.
She lashed out at him with her voice and her bound hands. “Why are you doing this?” she screamed. “Who are you? Why the hell did you kill Chad?” She was flinging her arms at him. Flailing uselessly.
He grabbed her by the wrist. “Calm down,” he demanded. “Just calm down. I’m not going to hurt you.”
“Then, what do you want?” She was sobbing now, in desperation.
Instead of answering, he retrieved a hunting knife sheathed to his leg, cut the tie holding her hands, and turned and left the room. The door slammed behind him. She heard a sound of metal on metal. Probably a dead bolt lock. She listened as his footsteps grew fainter, and then silent. She banged at the heavy wooden door and screamed until her hands were numb and her voice was tired. Then, she collapsed on the floor and cried.
And now, a week later as she lay on the bed, she was still trying to make sense of everything. Trying to understand why she was being held. Over the past days, though not resigned to the situation, she’d accepted it somewhat, and her bouts of panic and anger had subsided. Less panic, less crying, now lots of boredom, but still a pervading sense of helplessness and exasperation.
As she counted the boards above her for the millionth time, she had a thought. Perhaps there’s a way out through the ceiling. She
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