Chapter 2
Lance stood back and admired the cabinet he had just installed. As he remembered the hours he had spent downing the tree, cutting the boards, sanding and finishing the surfaces, he felt a sense of pride, a feeling of accomplishment. There had been no need to hurry on this project. Time had ceased to have its usual meaning since he’d made his break from society. There were no time clocks to punch, no meetings to attend. Hours were unimportant anymore; now only seasons mattered.
The cabinet would be perfect for storing the small items he used in his jewelry and sculpture design. Plus, it blended well with the rough log wall of his cabin, coordinating with the workbench he had already built.
He remembered back to when he had first laid eyes on the place, an ancient graying dilapidated structure surrounded by acres upon acres of Colorado forest. Of course, he had been Sullivan Proctor then. But that was three years ago; today he was a different man. He had taken the first names of his paternal and maternal grandfathers and was now known as Lance Matthew.
He put his tools away and moved into the main room of the house.
In the corner, the potbelly stove radiated a comforting heat. The walls held kitchen tools and implements. From the ceiling various herbs, drying onions, and bunches of garlic hung ready for use. Overhead in the loft were stored extra clothing, animal pelts, and rag-woven blankets. Lance had learned to make something useful of almost anything.
Along one wall loomed a rather grand fireplace he had built after hauling load after load of stone in from the river. Today, there were logs laid ready for the fire he would light come nightfall. At times a simmering pot would hang over the flames, slow cooking a stew perhaps, or roasting a wild-caught rabbit or turkey. The skylight above, fashioned from a scrap of clear corrugated fiberglass he had salvaged and reinforced, allowed a soft light and a modicum of warmth from the sun as it filtered down through the surrounding branches. Hand-woven rugs softened the stone floor he had painstakingly laid during his first year in the place.
Lance glanced out one of the cabin’s small windows, its snug shutters open to the daylight. Though the sun shone brightly, the telltale signs of rapidly approaching winter were obvious, like the frost that coated the branches and leaves each morning when he arose, and the sense of expectancy in the air. Lance felt in his bones this would be a long, cold winter.
He wanted to add a few more shelves to his cold storage room before the first big snow fell, and stock it with as much wild game and fish as he could catch. It was also time to cull the small wild goat herd and his motley collection of chickens and ducks.
It was challenging to keep meat from spoiling without electricity. In the first year of his self-imposed exile, scavenging animals had stolen his cache from its outside storage, and he discovered that meat tended to spoil if he kept it inside. But, he had learned a lot since then.
In his second year on the mountain, he built the cold storage room using plans he found in a book. An un-insulated closet filled with shelves kept his food cold during the winter months while eliminating the possibility of wild animals hauling it away. Once the weather took its final hard turn, his meat would stay frozen and protected within its thin but sturdy walls for the duration of the winter.
He needed the first freeze before fully stocking his larder, but it wasn’t too soon for jerky and pemmican. It wasn’t too soon to gather firewood, to store the root crops in the shallow stone cellar he had fashioned, or to make the final trips into town for supplies, animal feed, and to sell his latest batch of steampunk crafts. In fact, his days were now so filled with industry; he never experienced the boredom and restlessness that had occasionally plagued him in his old life. There was lots of work to do, but work he scheduled for himself, useful work, necessary work.
He thought with satisfaction of the upcoming winter he would spend sheltered in his home, working on small projects, while the snow swirled and piled up outside. Once winter settled in, getting out for any reason would be difficult. Lance was far off the beaten path, and he loved it. The civilized world, with its intrusions, grief, and memories fell away here in the mountains as if a distant bad dream. Trading modern conveniences for this peace of mind was a small price to pay.
Lance pulled on a jacket, slung his canvas bag over a shoulder, and left to check his trotlines, traps, and scattered garden plots. A pan of succulent fried fish and boiled turnips would make a good hearty lunch. Grabbing his bow, he carefully shut and secured the cabin door, admiring once again how cleverly the place blended in with the background. When he had added onto the small dwelling, he had erected the few extra rooms around standing trees rather than cut them down. In fact, his bedroom and workroom had trees growing right up through the ceilings and out the roof. Not only did this please him aesthetically, it also gave the structure added stability. His additions were built vertically, which helped camouflage his home, giving the illusion it was just part of the surrounding forest. His home was well hidden. Safe.
A bird called overhead as he strolled amid the pines and side-winded down the slopes through the brush. He was always careful to take different routes so as not to lay down clear cut paths or trails that might lead to his cabin. Lance valued his privacy.
Chapter 3
After shoving her into the backseat, Benny tossed a blanket over Brook’s head and snugged it down. She gasped for breath, the dirty material pressed against her nose and mouth making it hard to breathe. With great caution, Brook finally worked an arm up and pushed the cover away from her face. Inhaling the smell of new car, Brook was thankful to have a small pocket of air.
She tried to focus, tried to pay attention to the conversation, but she was so scared it was hard to concentrate. As she took stock of her situation, she remembered the cell phone inside her purse. Carefully, moving ever so slowly, she worked the purse into a position where she could slip out the phone. Somehow, she caused Benny to become suspicious. In an instant, he pulled the blanket away from her. Seeing the phone in her hand, he snatched it away.
“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” he shouted. He shoved the phone back into her bag and tossed it into the front seat. “Give me your hand.”
“No!”
“Give it to me.” He grabbed her hand and bent it back at the wrist. Pain radiated up her arm and down into her hand. Benny stared into her eyes, still holding her fingers in his iron grip. His pupils dilated slightly, and he licked his lips. Her fear intensified.
“Don’t be doing shit like that.” His voice was deeper than before, excited. “You’ll piss me off.” Finally, he released her and threw the blanket back over her head.
Brook sobbed quietly, massaging her wrist. She could hear the muffled tones of the men speaking and strained to catch their indistinct words over the raucous music blasting from the speakers. She hoped to hear their plans for her, but the music was too loud. She had never heard these types of songs before, hate-filled rants against clashing guitars and booming drumbeats. It sounded as if the musicians were slaughtering their instruments. Over and over, the vocalist kept screaming, “Death jam! Death jam!” Brook’s head began to pound in time with her racing heartbeat.
Time passed. She had no idea how long they drove. After a while, the music was turned off and the two men fell silent. Her heart rate slowed a little and she tried to analyze her situation.
How did she get here? She had been going after a book for Clark. Where? To a horrid place. Why did he send her there? There was no conceivable reason, unless he wanted her in that spot, at that time. No! That was crazy. Why would Clark want someone to abduct her? It made no sense. He had nothing to gain from the deed, unless he wanted her dead. Cold terror spread through her and it took several minutes before she could refocus on her dilemma. No, she wouldn’t believe Clark was involved. He couldn’t be. But, Benny’d had a key. She remembered one her abductors saying it wasn’t in the plan for her to be there.
What plan?
Thoughts tumbled through her head as the car continued to roll down the road. Eventually, Brook drifted into an uneasy sleep induced by nerves, glad to escape reality. She woke when a car door opened and cold air slid up her legs.
“Get the hell out.” A rough hand grabbed her ankle and pulled.
Brook yelped and kicked out.
“You clumsy bitch." Benny yanked and she landed with a grunt on the ground, jarring her tailbone. “Get your ass up.”
Brook clawed the blanket away from her head, and staggered to her feet. She rubbed her tailbone, wondering if it was broken. Blinking tears from her eyes, she asked, “Where are we?”
“You don’t ask questions,” said the cold voice of the driver, Pete. “We ask the questions. This ain’t a fucking interview. Now get your ass inside.”
He pushed her towards a bungalow style house that had seen better days. Its dark blue paint was peeling, the windows were covered in plastic, and the roof had been patched with shingles in several different colors. Tarpaper tacked to a section of the outside wall had come loose and flapped forlornly in the cold breeze. Brook looked for a house number but saw none. The yard was mainly fallen pine needles and dirt, ringed by thick woods. Several vehicles sat around, some on blocks. The driveway disappeared into trees; there was no sound of traffic and no sign of a road.
Brook stumbled to the house, eyes raking the surrounding forest, looking for a chance to get away, knowing what awaited her inside was not going to be good.
Pete shoved her through the doorway and Brook heard Benny chuckle from behind. She caught herself on the first thing at hand, another man. This one had a dark complexion, possibly Latino, or Cuban. His black hair hung straight to the center of his back. He wore a small mustache and beard. His shades were pushed back on the top of his head. Muscular arms and chest were showcased by his skin-tight black t-shirt. Tattoos ran down both arms and the up side of his neck.
“What the hell is this?” The man held her away from him and looked her up and down as if she were a piece of meat he was inspecting.
Brook tried to shake the man’s hand off but he only tightened his grip, bruising the soft flesh of her upper arm.
“She came with the car, Jase,” Benny boasted.
“With the car? What the fuck are you talking about, with the car? What car?”
“The Spider. She was in it and there were too many people around to dump her,” Benny explained.
“She was driving the Spider?” Jase’s voice was cold. “Well now, isn’t that fucking great? What do you propose we do with her?”
“I’m sure we can think of something.” Benny winked and raised his eyebrows.
“You better just leave the thinking to me, Benny,” Jase warned. “You’re not good at it.”
Pete laughed.
“Shut up, Pete,” Benny snapped.
“Both of you shut up. Give a man a minute or two to think,” Jase said.
As he spoke, Brook eased her arm loose and looked around for an escape. They were in a small living room. A stained couch was shoved against the wall and a couple of recliners leaned crazily to one side. A coffee table covered in beer cans, overflowing ashtrays, and magazines stood in front of the sofa. An end table with a shade-less lamp sat next to the chair. There was a stale stuffy air about the place, as if it had been shut up for a while. Through one door, Brook could see part of the kitchen, but it was dim. It was impossible to see if there was a back door. She scanned the other side of the living area.
A young twenty-something girl stood in the hallway door; lank brown hair hung to her waist, a small jewel glinted dully from the side of her nose, and her eyes were clouded with drugs or booze. She seemed indifferent to the drama unfolding before her.
Brook decided on a brave approach. Trembling inside, she stood straight, squared her shoulders, and moved towards the door. “I’m going,” she said, striving for a polite tone. “I won’t mention anything about any of you, but I have to get out of here. My husband will be looking for me.”
“What’d ya want us to do, Jase?” Pete asked as he moved to block the door.
“Shit, Pete! You done more than enough already. Both you and Benny.” Jase took three steps and grabbed Brook by the arm, pulling her to him, her back to his front. He smelled strongly of patchouli. She sucked in a lung full of the overpowering scent and struggled to free herself, but he held her tight. “You ain’t goin’ nowhere, babe. I think we’ll keep you around as a toy for now.” He reached around and grabbed one of her breasts as he ground his pelvis roughly against her tender bottom.
Brook squirmed and cried out, her false bravado abandoning her . As she realized this was only exciting him more, she went limp. “Please don’t hurt me,” she sobbed. “My husband has money. He’ll pay you. Just don’t do anything to me.”
“Speaking of money, she had a purse. Hold on, I’ll get it.” Pete’s eager tone told Brook that he had a habit of trying to ingratiate himself to Jase. Jase was no doubt the alpha male in this little group. Pete stepped from the house and returned in a minute with her bag. He sat on the couch and began rifling through the contents. Seeing his hands in her purse made Brook seethe, but fear kept her anger at bay.
Pete pulled her wallet out and flipped it open. “Let’s see what we can see. Hey, our new friend’s name is Brooklyn!”
“What’s her last name? Bridge?” Benny said, chortling at his own wit. All but Jase and Brook joined in the merriment.
“That’s a good one,” Pete snickered. Jase rolled his eyes.
“Yeah, you’re a regular fuckin’ comedian, Benny.” Jase wasn’t smiling.
“Brook. My name is Brook,” Brook blurted. Her full name was reserved for people she cared deeply for and she hated hearing it come from the mouths of these creeps.
“Whatever, chicky,” Jase laughed. “Your name don’t mean shit to me. I think you’ll just be ‘the bitch’ from now on.”
“Well, well, well,” Pete drawled. “We got us some credit cards!” He continued his search. “And some cash.”
“Give them over,
now
,” Jase growled, still holding Brook in the tight vise of his arms. Pete reluctantly slipped the money and cards into Jase’s outstretched hand. Jase held Brook firmly with one arm as he tucked the loot into his rear pocket.
“What else does she got?” Jase asked.
“Just crap,” Pete said, still digging through Brook’s purse. “Address book, makeup, nail file, checkbook, cell phone.” He pulled out a panty liner and waved it around. “And a Kotex …” He snickered again.
“Just put it all back for now. I’ll go through it later,” Jase instructed. Pete stuffed the items back inside the bag and tossed it onto the cluttered end table. Brook, heart accelerating and sweat beading on her forehead, tried to squirm away from Jase, but he pulled her tighter against his body.
“Please,” she whimpered, voice wavering. “Let me go. I know my husband will pay to get me back.”
“Ummm,” Jase breathed into her neck as he continued to grind her from behind, pressing hard against her, his breath quickening. “We’ll see about that.” He brushed her hair away from her neck and his glance fell on her earrings. “Take off your jewelry,” he said, voice husky.
Brook gasped. “No! You can’t take them, they’re mine.”
“Lady,” Jase said, irritated. “I’ll take
whatever
I want. Before we’re through with you, we’ll have more than a couple pieces of your fucking jewelry.” He released her arms. “Now, take them off.”
Brook cried softly as she slipped off her earrings, necklace, and bracelet. They had been gifts from Beth, her only true friend, her best friend from childhood. She handed them to Jase. Rage burned through her and forced helpless tears from her eyes as he slipped them into his pocket.
Benny and Pete watched this exchange with obvious amusement. Brook glanced at them and shivered at the look of naked excitement in their eyes.
“Dude, look at the rock on her hand,” Benny said to Jase. “I bet that’s worth a fucking fortune.”
Jase took her left wrist in a tight grip and examined her hand. He whistled softly, impressed. “Damn! Bet you had to put out big time to get these.”
This brought laughter from the other two men.
“Take them off,” he demanded.
“No, no, no,” Brook moaned. “Not my wedding rings.” Knowing they would take them one way or another, she slid them off her finger. But, instead of handing them to Jase, she threw them angrily across the room. “You want them, you go get them.”
Jase’s response was swift and brutal.
“Bitch.” He spun her around and slapped her hard across the face. Her head snapped sharply to the side. “You have a death wish or something?” Quick as a rattler’s strike, he seized a handful of hair at the back of her head and frog-marched her over to the fallen rings. He shoved her head down low to the floor, giving her no choice but to bend at the waist. Brook swung her arms backward trying to loosen his grip, but he only pushed harder.
“Pick them up.”
Sobbing, she did as he said. Jase stuck his other hand in front of her face and she placed the rings in his palm. Yanking her up by the hair, he once more pulled her to him. Her face was scarlet, and her eyes stung with tears of pain and humiliation.
“You know what? You and me are gonna get to know each other real well. In fact, I’m gonna fuck your brains out. If I’m feeling generous, we might even pass you around. First though…” He moved her away reluctantly, and pocketed the rings. “I have to deal with these idiots and wait for the boss to call. But then,” he leaned over, putting his face close to hers, “we’ll have some fun.”
“What’s he mean, pass her around?” The scrawny girl in the doorway came out of her lethargy and frowned at the men. Her gaze shifted to Pete. “What the hell does he mean, Pete?”
“Stay out of this, Gina,” Jase warned. “It ain’t your concern.”
She flipped her long hair over one shoulder, and crossed her arms over her chest. “I just asked a question is all, Jase.”
“Yea? Well, mind your own fucking business,” Jase growled. Gina looked at Pete, but he lowered his eyes and said nothing in her defense.
Hiking his pants, Jase turned to Benny. “Put this rich bitch in Pete and Gina’s room and drive the bus up beside the window. We don’t want her leaving before the party even starts.”
“Jase,” Gina whined, twining a twist of hair around a finger like a little girl. “Can’t you put her in your room? Leave our room alone.”
“Gina, don’t fuck with me.”
“Come on, Gina. We can sleep on the couch. It pulls out, you know.” Pete's tone was placating.
The girl continued to glare at Jase, and even shoved Brook as Benny led her past. “You better keep your fucking hands off my boyfriend if you know what’s good for you,” she hissed.
Brook was stunned. “I don’t want your boyfriend; I don’t want any of this,” she gasped. Quietly, she continued, “Please help me get out of here. Please.”
Gina smirked, and leaned against the wall.
Brook resisted, but she soon found herself in a tiny bedroom that was filled with a dank, chill air. There was a mattress on the floor with sheets and blankets wadded up in the middle. Half-eaten bags of chips sat around, as did a few partial cups of liquid. “I need to use the restroom,” Brook said before Benny could close the door.
Outside, a vehicle growled to life; Brook assumed it was the bus Jase had mentioned. Benny glanced at the window and then across the hall. “Okay,” he said. “But I go in with you.”