Read Online JACK KILBORN ~ TRAPPED by J.A. Konrath, Jack Kilborn - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: J.A. Konrath, Jack Kilborn
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he’d predicted, Timmy got whupped.
But Sara’s fate was worse. For years she suffered from nightmares and nurtured fears. Fear of enclosed spaces. Fear of knives. Fear of trunks.
But the biggest fear of all was of the dark.
It took Sara ten years of therapy before she could ride in an elevator without having a panic attack, or use a public toilet without leaving the stall door open.
Sara did eventually manage to sleep well, on occasion, but it was always with a nightlight. The thought that the flashlight would go out soon, leaving Sara vulnerable to the smothering darkness, it was too much too—
“ help…”
The word jolted Sara, making her spin around and hip-bump Laneesha off her feet. Martin. And he was close.
Her encroaching dread was overtaken by a sense of hope. Martin, for all his faults, helped Sara through many a fearsome night, holding her close and stroking her hair until she could fall asleep. Finding him would give her a much-needed boost of strength.
“ Martin!” she called into the dark. “Where are you?”
“ ara…”
The voice came from her right, weak but near. Sara grabbed Laneesha’s elbow, helping the girl back to her feet, then tugged her toward the pleas.
“ Martin. Keep talking.”
The sliver of light swept across the trees ahead, seeking out a human shape. Sara stormed forward, underbrush digging at her legs, ducking under a low-hanging bough. Jack didn’t seem to like the jostling, and he began to cry softly.
“ elp me ara…”
He was so close now Sara felt like she could reach out and touch him. She turned in a complete circle, aiming the beam every which way, but her husband still wasn’t to be found.
“ Martin?”
“ ara…”
Sara tilted the Maglite, trailing the light up a tree trunk, across the branches, over to…
“ Holy shit!” Laneesha’s voice was barely above a whisper.
Sara realized that this wasn’t some campfire prank, some joke gone wrong. They were all in danger. Very real danger. Because someone had hung Martin by his wrists and hoisted him up a tree, where he twisted slowly like a giant, bloody piñata.
PART 2
THE FRYING PAN
Meadow got up on all fours and shook his head. Whatever hit him in the face had hit hard, and his jaw throbbed like he had a toothache. He shifted onto his knees, blinked several times, and tried to brace himself for whatever was coming next.
A twig snapped on Meadow’s left. He turned, fist clenched and raised, and then caught the smell. An awful, rancid smell, like body odor and sweaty feet and rancid food.
Then someone tackled Meadow from behind. Meadow twisted, trying to grab his attacker, but he was forced onto the ground face-first, a knee pinning his back. His arms were stretched out, followed by his legs.
How many of them were there?
Meadow opened his mouth to yell for help, but as soon as he did a foul-smelling hand jammed something between his lips, forcing it inside. Something hard and round, like a golf ball, but rougher. Meadow shook his head and pushed at the object with his tongue, wincing as the pain hit. Sharp pain, in his cheeks, his lips, the top of his mouth, like he was chewing on a pin cushion.
Meadows sucked in air and gagged, blood seeping down his chin, comprehending what had been shoved into his mouth while disbelieving it at the same time.
“ Meadow?” Tyrone called to him.
Meadow screamed in his throat, screamed for the very first time in his life, as his attackers dragged him off into the woods.
When Tom was a little boy, he wanted to be a race car driver when he grew up. He also wanted to be a pilot, an astronaut, a basketball player, a baseball player, a football player, a sniper, a hockey player, and a boxer, up until he got into a fist fight in fifth grade and another kid showed him how much it hurt to get hit in the face, which made Tom decide boxing wasn’t for him.
At first, his parents indulged his interests. Tom’s mother
But Sara’s fate was worse. For years she suffered from nightmares and nurtured fears. Fear of enclosed spaces. Fear of knives. Fear of trunks.
But the biggest fear of all was of the dark.
It took Sara ten years of therapy before she could ride in an elevator without having a panic attack, or use a public toilet without leaving the stall door open.
Sara did eventually manage to sleep well, on occasion, but it was always with a nightlight. The thought that the flashlight would go out soon, leaving Sara vulnerable to the smothering darkness, it was too much too—
“ help…”
The word jolted Sara, making her spin around and hip-bump Laneesha off her feet. Martin. And he was close.
Her encroaching dread was overtaken by a sense of hope. Martin, for all his faults, helped Sara through many a fearsome night, holding her close and stroking her hair until she could fall asleep. Finding him would give her a much-needed boost of strength.
“ Martin!” she called into the dark. “Where are you?”
“ ara…”
The voice came from her right, weak but near. Sara grabbed Laneesha’s elbow, helping the girl back to her feet, then tugged her toward the pleas.
“ Martin. Keep talking.”
The sliver of light swept across the trees ahead, seeking out a human shape. Sara stormed forward, underbrush digging at her legs, ducking under a low-hanging bough. Jack didn’t seem to like the jostling, and he began to cry softly.
“ elp me ara…”
He was so close now Sara felt like she could reach out and touch him. She turned in a complete circle, aiming the beam every which way, but her husband still wasn’t to be found.
“ Martin?”
“ ara…”
Sara tilted the Maglite, trailing the light up a tree trunk, across the branches, over to…
“ Holy shit!” Laneesha’s voice was barely above a whisper.
Sara realized that this wasn’t some campfire prank, some joke gone wrong. They were all in danger. Very real danger. Because someone had hung Martin by his wrists and hoisted him up a tree, where he twisted slowly like a giant, bloody piñata.
PART 2
THE FRYING PAN
Meadow got up on all fours and shook his head. Whatever hit him in the face had hit hard, and his jaw throbbed like he had a toothache. He shifted onto his knees, blinked several times, and tried to brace himself for whatever was coming next.
A twig snapped on Meadow’s left. He turned, fist clenched and raised, and then caught the smell. An awful, rancid smell, like body odor and sweaty feet and rancid food.
Then someone tackled Meadow from behind. Meadow twisted, trying to grab his attacker, but he was forced onto the ground face-first, a knee pinning his back. His arms were stretched out, followed by his legs.
How many of them were there?
Meadow opened his mouth to yell for help, but as soon as he did a foul-smelling hand jammed something between his lips, forcing it inside. Something hard and round, like a golf ball, but rougher. Meadow shook his head and pushed at the object with his tongue, wincing as the pain hit. Sharp pain, in his cheeks, his lips, the top of his mouth, like he was chewing on a pin cushion.
Meadows sucked in air and gagged, blood seeping down his chin, comprehending what had been shoved into his mouth while disbelieving it at the same time.
“ Meadow?” Tyrone called to him.
Meadow screamed in his throat, screamed for the very first time in his life, as his attackers dragged him off into the woods.
When Tom was a little boy, he wanted to be a race car driver when he grew up. He also wanted to be a pilot, an astronaut, a basketball player, a baseball player, a football player, a sniper, a hockey player, and a boxer, up until he got into a fist fight in fifth grade and another kid showed him how much it hurt to get hit in the face, which made Tom decide boxing wasn’t for him.
At first, his parents indulged his interests. Tom’s mother
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