Scars: Book One (3 page)

When
consciousness came, I was bound hand and foot and lying in darkness. At first I
thought it was a coffin but I heard noises and kept being bumped around. I was
in the trunk of a car and a moan escaped me. But something thick in my mouth
was hindering me and I panicked and thrashed. Then I passed out again.

The
next time I came too was when sunlight slipped in, and the trunk opened. I
stared up groggily as a dark silhouette appeared over me, and I had to squint
against the pain of the light in my eyes. A hand reached in to circle around my
arm roughly and I was yanked up and out of the car. Then he let me drop, and I fell
crashing to the dirt. My face, arm and thigh hit the ground with force and pain
speared through me.

I
cried through the gag in my mouth, shaking as I lay there.

“Get
up,” said the silhouette. I trembled, and my breathing through the gag was
coming through in raspy pulses.

“
Get
up
,” the voice said again. A light kick was directed at my thigh, and that
spurred me into action.
Do what he says
. I somehow pulled myself upright
until I was on my knees, finally taking in the scene around me. A shabby two-story
wooden house stood to my right, and to my left was an old barn that looked like
it was about to collapse. And beyond that, just trees. We were obviously in the
middle of nowhere. New fear registered in my brain.

The
man crouched down beside me, and my eyes darted fearfully to him, widening when
I saw who he was. The hostile man from the diner was looking at me, but he
didn’t look hostile now, he just looked amused by my fear and discomfort. He
studied me for a while longer while I trembled under his gaze; my arms were
aching terribly from the strain of being bound behind my back and something
tight was cutting into my wrists. I wanted to beg him, but all I could do was
struggle to breathe with this gag in my mouth. My mouth was dry with thirst,
and I was scared that I might vomit, knowing that if I did I would suffocate.

Then
the man suddenly stood as he wrapped an arm around my waist and slung me over
his shoulder and started walking. I didn’t struggle; half scared he’d drop me
onto the hard ground again. He strode toward the barn, pulling open the old
door effortlessly. The only light was coming in through gaps in the wood, and
the smell of feces invaded my senses making me gag. And then he placed me down,
so I was standing on some kind of wooden box. I teetered unsteadily until he
crouched down and cut through the cable ties with a knife.

He
stood again. “Better?”

And
I nodded emphatically, almost thankful. Then he walked behind me and suddenly
something thick and heavy went over my head to rest on my neck, the rough of
the rope rubbed viciously against my skin, and panic washed over me anew. I
started to hyperventilate. A noose! He’d put a noose on me. And then from
behind me, he started to pull something, and it tightened and pulled me up with
it, forcing me to stand on the balls of my feet. He was going to hang me.

A
strangled noise was forced from me, and fresh tears flowed down. I would have
given anything to have the gag taken from my mouth so I could beg. Then the
pulling and tightening stopped. As long as I stayed on the balls of my feet, I
had sufficient room to breathe. He walked slowly back around, studying his
work.

A
foot shot out and lightly kicked at the box so it moved. A new sound came from
me, terror apparent in the muffled noise. He kicked it again, and I screamed
again, through the gag.

God,
don’t please, don’t
. I started praying even though I didn’t
believe in any god.

He
met my eyes and smiled. It was that blinding, charming smile that he’d flashed
at Corinne that had her creaming her panties. The effect it had on me was to
make me pee myself through my jeans. He saw that and let out a laugh.

And
then he turned on his heel and walked out of the barn, pulling the door closed
behind him. I was left balancing on the balls of my feet trying not to hang
myself as I stood in my own urine. I started to cry again, violent sobs racking
my body while I tried to stay as still as possible.

My
legs ached, and I was so scared that they might give way beneath me and send me
swinging. Would anyone come looking for me? Or would they all just think that I
left town after my Mom kicked me out. The thought sent me spiraling into a
sobbing mess again.

I
balanced there until the sunlight creeping in faded as twilight set in and I
started to shiver with cold. Was he going to leave me here all night? I half
wanted him to set me free, but the other half feared what that psycho would do
if he did come.

The
creek of the barn door sent my head snapping up with renewed alertness and fear.
He walked silently, and I was reminded of my first impression of him. He really
was like a wolf, a stealthy and silent predator. He stood in front of me and looked
up; I met his eyes and tried to plead through them. My legs hurt so badly.

That
knife was in his hand again, and I flinched as he reached toward me, but he was
only cutting the rope. I fell down off the box and onto the dirty barn floor,
breathing as hard as I could with the stifling gag in my mouth and not even
caring about the bruises forming on my skin.

A
hand hauled me roughly to my feet, and he dragged me along behind him and out
of the barn. We headed to the house, me stumbling up the rotting porch steps
and his rough grasp holding me upright. Inside, he dragged me up a narrow
staircase that creaked dangerously under us. At the end of the hall was a
bathroom into which he shoved me, my side hitting the sink painfully, and I
struggled to keep my balance. He had the knife again and it cut through the
bindings that pinned my arms painfully behind my back. Cable ties fell to the
cracked linoleum floor as extra pain washed over me as I moved my stiff arms
finally.

The
first thing I did was put my hands to my mouth and rip off the duct tape,
wincing as I did so. And then I pulled the cloth that had been jammed into my
mouth for so long out. The minute I did, nausea came over me and I collapsed
against the toilet to heave out everything in my stomach.

“That’ll
be the drugs I had to give you to keep you down.”

I
didn’t turn to look at him, just clutched the porcelain of the bowl until I was
sure nothing more would be purged from me. Even then, I just sat back on my
heels, not wanting to look at him. I wiped at my eyes as new sobs erupted from
me.

“Please,
just let me go. I won’t tell anyone.” My voice was pathetic and pleading.

“Why
would I do that? The fun’s just getting started, Rachel.”

I
looked at him then; he stood in the doorway, arms folded across his chest as he
lounged against the doorframe.

“My
name isn’t Rachel. It’s Paige. I told you I’m
Paige
.” My voice was
panicked and desperate.

He
raised an eyebrow, a smirk on his face. “Really? You think I’m stupid?”

I
think you’re crazy, motherfucker.

“No,
you made a mistake. Everyone makes mistakes. God, please just let me go.” I
hugged myself to stop the shaking.

He
rolled his eyes. “Get your clothes off.”

“No,”
the word automatically spat from me without thinking. He cocked his head at me
then took a step closer. I flinched, digging my nails into my arms. He crouched
down, so he was at my eye level.

“Take
your clothes off, or you’ll spend all night in the barn with that rope around
your neck.” He spoke clearly and succinctly. There was no doubt in my mind that
his threat was real. I let out a sob and then, hating myself, pulled off my
jacket and then my top. He stood and went back to leaning against the door
frame, watching my every move. I stood as well and lowered my soiled jeans, so
I just stood there in my bra and panties. I hugged myself again, one hand over
my chest and the other across my waist.

He
motioned with a finger. “And the rest.”

I
shook my head. “Please don’t make me,” I begged.

That
earned a laugh from him. “Stop the innocent act, Rachel. I know what a whore
you are. Take ‘em off.”

I
didn’t correct him, just did what he said until I stood there even more
vulnerable than before. His eyes cast up and down my body before saying, “Get
in the shower; you’ve got two minutes.” Then he looked thoughtful. “Although,
let’s face it, it would take a lot longer than that to get someone like you clean.”

I
stepped into the stained bathtub and turned on the water. It was freezing at
first but soon warmed. I took as much as possible into my parched mouth and
tried not to think about him watching me.

“That’s
enough.”

But
I didn’t move, just stood under that spray, too scared to think about what
might come next.

“I
said that’s
enough.”
He reached over and shut off the water, grabbing my
arm and pulling me so I fell over the bathtub ledge and onto the linoleum on my
hands and knees. A threadbare towel was thrown on the floor by me. “Dry
yourself.”

I
got to my feet and rubbed the towel across my body before reaching for my pile
of discarded clothes. But they were kicked away.

“No,
only good girls get to wear clothes, Rachel.”

My
eyes snapped to him, but I kept my mouth shut, not wanting to give him the
satisfaction of hearing me beg anymore. Once more, he took my arm and roughly
guided me out of the bathroom to one of the doors in the hall. He shoved it
open with his foot and pulled me in front of him before pushing me down onto
the only piece of furniture in the room: a narrow wrought iron bed. It was
covered with a faded floral blanket that reminded me of the hideous couch in my
mother’s house. A fresh sense of longing and homesickness came over me as I dug
my fingers into the blanket.

“Get
into bed,” he ordered, and I did so, fearfully as my eyes caught on the sole
window in the room that had been boarded over with thick planks. I pulled the
blanket over me protectively before he yanked my arm over my head and set about
binding it to the iron headboard, and then he did the same with the other.
However, he left my legs free, but I didn’t even entertain the fantasy of
kicking him. He was strong; there was no way I could take him.

After
I had been fastened to his satisfaction, a hand swept some of my hair away from
my face as he looked intently at me. “You can yell and scream as much as you
like, but we’re in the middle of nowhere. No one would ever hear you except
me.” He leaned in closer to whisper in my ear, and I flinched against his hot
breath. “Let me warn you though, if I don’t get a good night’s sleep, I get
really mean.” I kept my eyes firmly fixed on the ceiling, pressing my lips
together to stop any new sobs from escaping.

He
moved away from me, and the room plunged into darkness. I heard the door shut
and then the sound of a bolt being pushed into place. Only then did I take a
deep breath. Half terrified, yet half grateful that he hadn’t touched me. What
the hell was going on? How the fuck was I going to get out of this?

I
cried myself to sleep, and when I woke I nearly forgot what had happened. But
the hideous reality came rushing back to me as soon as I opened my eyes, and
small slits of sunshine intruded through gaps in the planks blocking the
window. I strained against the bindings on my hands, but there was no give. I
needed to pee badly. I contemplated calling out to that crazy psycho but
decided against it. I’d rather pee myself than endure whatever he had planned a
minute sooner than I had to.

I
heard noises; he must have been moving around downstairs. I lay there, holding
my breath in dread. Finally, I heard a bolt draw back and my door creaked as it
was opened. He wore a black t-shirt and jeans, and his face hadn’t gotten any
friendlier since yesterday.

“Rise
and shine, Rachel.” He moved over and sat beside me on the bed. He slowly moved
the blanket back so that I was uncovered and all too conscious that I was
naked. He looked at me for a minute before starting to untie my hands.

“I
know that you’re probably tempted to run. That’s a normal reaction. But we are
a long way from the nearest town, or even another house, not to mention the
fact that you’re lucky to get one car come along these roads every six months.
So if you run, you’ll probably die of exposure and starvation, if I don’t catch
you first.” Finally free, I pulled my arms down, wincing against their
stiffness. “And if you do run, I’ll hunt you down, Rachel. That’s a promise.” I
felt his eyes on me as I rubbed my wrists.

I
wasn’t going to acknowledge his words. “Can I use the bathroom?”

He
stood up and motioned with his head toward the door. I swung my legs over the
edge of the bed and walked through to the bathroom. I went to close the door
behind me, but his hand shot out and stopped it. He swung it back so that it
was wide open. I swallowed and sat on the toilet, staring at the floor as I
peed. I avoided any eye contact with him as I washed my hands. My reflection
stared back at me from the cracked mirror; my eyes were puffy from crying, and
my mother’s bruising handiwork was now matched with a ring around my neck where
the rope had rubbed.

“Let’s
go,” he said impatiently. I turned to him.

“Please
can I have my clothes?” My goal this morning was not to cry.

“You
want clothes; you have to earn them. Now come on, you can cook me breakfast.” I
walked down the stairs in front of him; my eyes trained on the door as it came
into view. My heart sunk as I saw three locks on the door, and they all needed
keys to open them. He guided me past a living room and then onto the kitchen.
Everything was worn, but clean. A frying pan, eggs and bread sat on the
countertop.

“I
like my eggs fried, and just in case you get any ideas, I removed all the sharp
knives. Get to work.” He leaned against the counter as I set about doing as he
said. I hissed as butter sizzled and jumped out at me from the hot frying pan
onto my naked skin. This elicited a small laugh from him. I ignored him.

Finally,
I laid his plate in front of him, and went to sit at another chair at the
table, but he stopped me.

“No.
You don’t get to sit on the furniture.” He pointed down to the floor. I frowned
but did as he said, kneeling on the scarred wooden floor. He ate like he did
everything, quietly. When he had enough, he took the plate and placed it on the
floor in front of me. A piece of toast and half an egg remained.

“You
can eat that.”

I
ate with my hands as he’d taken the utensils away. I felt so self-conscious,
knowing that he watched my every move, but I was so hungry. I ate every last
bit on the plate and then he told me to clean up. And like before, he leaned
against the countertop watching me. Even if I found a weapon, I doubted I could
do much harm to him. His arms were well muscled, and everything about him
looked strong. When everything was clean, I turned to him with apprehension.

“Now
you can clean the bathroom.” From under the sink he brought out a bucket with
cloths and bleach, shoving it into my hands. For a split second, I contemplated
throwing the bleach at him, but as we passed the front door with its numerous
locks, I thought better of it. I didn’t want to antagonize him until I had the
means to escape. I had to bide my time.

I
scrubbed at the bathtub under his watchful gaze. To my surprise, the dirt and
stains lifted, resulting in something nearly white. I longed to take a bath in
it, a hot bath with the door locked. When I’d finished, and the bleach
irritated my hands, he took the cleaning bucket from me.

“Go
back to your room.” He cast an eye over my handiwork.

I
obeyed, and the door was bolted behind me. I jumped into the bed, covering
myself with the blanket. I wondered on his reasoning for keeping me naked. To
humiliate me? Probably. I curled up into the fetal position, wondering if
anyone missed me or cared where I was. The door stayed shut for the rest of the
day, and I pressed my eye to the small gaps in the window but I couldn’t see
anything. As the light dimmed, so did my hopes. I had to spend another night
here with that psycho.

Finally,
the bolt slid back and he stood in the doorway.

“Bathroom?”
I asked. He nodded and moved out of the way. But just like before, he watched
as I peed. After that, he took me downstairs and indicated that I was to kneel
on the floor again. I obeyed without question, and eventually the remainder of
his dinner was placed in front of me. Once again, like a slave, I got to eat
the leftovers with my hands.

He
watched as I cleaned the kitchen, staying mercifully silent. I scrubbed the
countertop slowly, dreading the thought of being locked in the bedroom or
whatever else he might have in store for me.

“I
think that it’s clean enough, now,” he said, smirking, his hand held out for
me. When I hesitated, he impatiently grabbed my hand and pulled me along behind
him. “C’mon, I’ve got a surprise for you.”