by Dwayne Gill
Kristy tried to count the women present but her pillar wouldn’t allow her a 360-degree view of the barn. She recalled more women reported missing than accounted for here. Some must have died. No one could survive these conditions long.
Death was in Kristy’s near future unless she escaped. The scene before her displayed the different stages of captivity she would experience, but she’d die before she stepped foot in a cage. Kristy had to fight to retain her sanity every day; it was easy to lose hope in a place like this.
Early on, Kristy resigned herself to the reality of the situation and crafted a plan. She observed her captor’s routine from day one of her ordeal. He never left the barn after dark; therefore, an escape would be best during the day. Unless she could manage it while he slept? Kristy was doubtful she could sneak around the dark barn. He spent a lot of time outside during the day operating power tools. Kristy didn’t mind the racket; the noise broke the depressing silence that hovered over the women.
First, Kristy would have to escape the ties on her wrists. Hours after her arrival, she tried to peel a strip from the wooden pillar. The piece was thick and well-attached, so it would take time. She didn’t want to injure her fingers or wrists, so she was patient, working in short intervals.
Today, the strip of wood finally splintered away from the pillar; Kristy peeled it off and began sawing the plastic ties. She wasn’t sure if the jagged piece of wood would do the job, but Kristy persisted.
After hours of sawing, Kristy discovered that the pillar itself could help. The piece of stripped wood carved a jagged edge; Kristy ground the ties against the post and twisted her wrists until a weak spot formed in the plastic. Thankfully she had reserved her energy, because finishing the straps required all her remaining strength.
The waning light crept under the barn doors, showing dusk was near. A saw growled outside the barn opposite the two large doors. Kristy knew the doors opened because she’d seen her captor use them. She looked at her hands, still in disbelief she’d freed them. Her arms and shoulders were burning like fire, but after days of despair and agony, she had hope.
Kristy’s moment of triumph was interrupted by the thought of the other women. She wanted to run to each of them, to set them free, to tell them it would be okay, but it would be a mistake. Though it pained her, she would have to leave them and return with help. None of the women had the strength to walk, much less run. All of their lives now depended on Kristy’s successful escape.
Kristy climbed to her feet; they hurt much worse than expected. Every muscle in her body protested. Her legs, which had been asleep for four days, couldn’t support her and she dropped back down. She slapped her legs and writhed on the floor for several minutes until she felt the familiar needle-prickling sensation in her awakening limbs. She’d have to wait out the pain.
The saw still roared in the distance. Kristy rose to her feet and maintained her balance, though unsteady. She walked toward the double doors, swaying and limping with every step. Her balance improved as she moved forward and was soon halfway there. She glanced to her right and saw one of the women tied to a pillar near the cages that lined the outer wall, which was Kristy’s next destination in this carousel of horror. Once Kristy stepped close enough, she could see the woman, covered with dirt that obscured the bloodstains on her dry-rotted clothes. She had blood dried to her face, her lips were cracked, split, and peeling from dehydration, and infected scabs littered her face and arms. Kristy realized how fortunate she was to have the ability to walk around; though her ribs and stomach were still sore from the first assault, she had avoided any devastating injuries like the others.
Did the woman assume Kristy was abandoning her? She needed to give the woman assurance that she’d be returning with help. She saw no harm in that. Kristy wouldn’t untie her or even touch her; she’d whisper a promise and keep moving. Kristy turned and walked toward her. The woman wasn’t far from her current location, and though the detour would take Kristy farther from the double doors, she reasoned it was worth the delay. As Kristy approached, the woman’s eyes widened in shock. At first, she thought the woman saw something behind her, perhaps even the Blue Rose Killer himself. She glanced over her shoulder but saw nothing. When Kristy walked toward her again, the woman let out a ghastly, guttural shriek; the deafening sound forced Kristy to cover her ears. There came another shriek in the distance, then another, followed one after the other by more of the same. She looked around and observed the women in the cages not only screaming in sync with the others, but standing for the occasion. Kristy’s heart pounded; she was in trouble. The barn seemed darker now, as though the women emitted black clouds with their shrieks. She turned to the double doors and ran toward them.
As she ran, an unidentified thump echoed through the barn; whatever the sound was, it caused the shrieking to stop. The barn was silent, so Kristy stopped running, fearing that her footsteps would echo and give away her position. There were faint noises for a moment, but then came the one she dreaded most; heavy shoes slapped against hardened dirt and were getting louder. If Kristy didn’t move, fear would paralyze her. She sprinted toward the doors with all her strength. She couldn’t hear the footsteps anymore, but she imagined them keeping pace with hers. The edges of the doors, outlined by incoming sunlight, grew larger until she reached them and burst through.
Kristy’s eyes refused to open; the sun blinded her despite it being near dusk. She didn’t have time for her eyes to adjust; she committed to a direction and staggered forward. The barn doors swung outward; he was pursuing. Kristy ran, only to trip, fall, get up, fall again, and crawl before making it to her feet once more. Her arms extended and she tried to navigate, using the trees to guide her. Despite the trips, she fared better than expected, but her optimism vanished when she heard footsteps right behind her.
What happened next was lucky. Kristy had been sprinting and stumbling toward a steep hill or cliff. Had she been able to see, she would’ve been too frightened to leap over the edge, but she had no choice. The Blue Rose Killer made one last attempt to grab her but failed, and Kristy tumbled over the cliff and plummeted to the bottom. She rolled and flopped, branches and rocks scraping and battering her the entire way. She thought for a moment that the fall itself would kill her. Better the fall than the killer. She came to rest at the bottom of the hill and lay there, evaluating her injuries. She was in tremendous pain but didn’t appear to have any broken bones. I’m alive.
After a few moments of recuperation, she got back to her feet. Her eyes had adjusted and she viewed her surroundings. Behind her lay the high, steep hill she tumbled down. Ahead were more forest and hills. Was he following her? Assuredly, he knew these woods. Would he veer around and try to cut her off? She stumbled forward, cursing herself for not looking around the barn for shoes or water. Kristy picked a direction of travel and committed to it; she couldn’t afford to walk in circles. The thought of arriving back at the barn after being turned around made her shudder. The sun would help her navigate until dark; after that, she’d have to use her instincts.
The woods were thick. Kristy plowed through brush that required tactical steps. Once Kristy made it to the top of the next hill, she looked back. The forest-green barn loomed in the distance. During the four days she was there, she had imagined it being red. The color green must have served as better camouflage for his house of horrors.
Several hours of walking had caused Kristy’s feet to cramp; she was exhausted and anxious. What if this path leads nowhere? What if she didn’t find a way out and died here? She considered the helpless women at the barn. They’d all die if she failed.
And just like that, Kristy banged her knee on something. It was dark; the sun had set hours ago. She reached out to investigate and touched what appeared to be a post. Something metallic. A fence. It was only three or four feet tall, but given her exhaustion, she struggled to crawl over the top. She tumbled and fell to the other side, landing softer than she expected. The terrain was much clearer. Sh
e climbed to her feet and saw a ditch ahead, and beyond it lay a narrow clearing. The break in the trees allowed the moonlight to sneak through enough to reveal a paved road. Kristy’s heart almost leaped out of her chest. I made it.
Intersection
Cane was about an hour away from his target now and had exhausted all of his thoughtful planning. All that remained was a relaxing drive through the countryside, though he couldn’t enjoy it until he finished his work. Cane traveled the world, but seldom did jobs take him to peaceful, remote areas like this one.
If Cane hadn’t been paying attention, he would’ve hit her. A distraught woman stood in the middle of the road, flailing her arms, flagging him down. He might have driven around her but she appeared hell-bent on stopping him. The woman was half-naked, filthy, and bloody. She seemed unsteady and weary, like she had spent her last bit of energy waving.
Cane was on a tight schedule. Whatever this woman wanted he didn’t have time for. The woman was aggressive; avoiding her wouldn’t be an option. The moment Cane pulled his pickup to the shoulder, she fell against the driver’s side window, banging and screaming. Out of sheer instinct, Cane lifted the .45 caliber pistol that was lying on the seat beside him. He didn’t point it at her, but the woman spotted it. Her eyes filled with terror and she backed away from the door.
As the woman twisted away from the truck, Cane opened his door and stepped out.
“I mean you no harm. You startled me.”
Cane expected her to keep retreating, but instead, she stopped and spun back around. Her relief turned into the same desperate panic as before, and Cane couldn’t understand her frantic pleading as she approached. He held up a hand before she got any closer, and she stopped.
“Get yourself together before you try to talk.”
To his surprise, she complied. She stopped, slumped down, hands on her knees. Cane had a moment to admire her natural beauty. She had long, wavy, golden brown hair, hazel eyes, and a lovely complexion, though marred by her condition; it was an odd time to appreciate her looks, given that her face was twisted in terror, but he saw beyond that. This was the face of an innocent woman. He didn’t see many women in his line of work, and he saw even fewer innocent faces.
She gathered herself; she spoke again, more composed, though the fear in her voice was still palpable.
“I was kidnapped. Held in a barn not far from here. I got away. Please help me. He has lots of women there. He’ll kill them all.” Kristy described her abductor and what he was doing with the women and detailed her narrow escape. If she was telling the truth, she had survived a perilous situation.
Cane wondered if she was crazy, but that wouldn’t explain why she was near death on a remote highway. The woman looked at him, searching for something in his face or eyes. Maybe he didn’t react suitably? She likely expected him to show shock, fear, or both, but Cane could feel neither. For a moment, Cane wondered what it was like to feel emotions the way others did. He detected the woman’s fear, recognized her desperation, and sensed that she wasn’t a threat, but he never learned how to interact with anyone in an emotional situation like this. Cane recognized his limitations. Ordinary people would be emotionally invested, but he was incapable.
Every passing moment was making him later to his target. But what could he do? Kill her? Leave her here?
She stood there, legs trembling, waiting for his reaction.
“Wait here; I need to make a call.”
Confusion was written all over her face, but she complied. Cane stepped to the rear of the truck and called Lynks on his cell.
“Cane, what’s up?”
“I’m gonna be late.”
Cane is never late, Lynks thought. “Car trouble?”
“There’s a girl here who says she was held captive in the area I’m in.” Cane relayed what she told him.
Lynks was speechless. In all the time they worked together, never had they encountered such a unique situation. Cane didn’t react well to people that delayed him; Lynks was surprised that he felt conflicted enough to call him. Cane didn’t make concessions, nor did he make any exceptions to the rules, both written and unwritten, that governed his life and duty.
Lynks had known Cane since birth; their respective mothers abandoned them as newborns, donating them to a clandestine government assassin program. Cane excelled and outpaced the others in training; Lynks was more of a wingman, or the brains of the operation.
“Lynks, I need you to look in about a ten-mile radius of my location and find a green barn.”
Cane relayed as much information to Lynks as he could, facts that he gathered from Kristy to determine the most likely direction. Minutes later, Lynks discovered a satellite image of a barn fitting the description.
“I don’t know who owns this place, Cane. There’s no info on it.”
“No matter. Can you map it out for me?”
Dark Again
Kristy leaned, frustrated and exhausted, against the front grille of the truck while the man talked on the phone. Just when it seems I’ve been saved, I come across this guy.
Cane’s physical presence was overwhelming; he looked like he’d been carved from granite, and every move he made seemed dangerous. He had a bald head and a beard so thick he looked like a wild animal.
When Kristy first saw the gun in his truck, she thought she was dead. She thought perhaps the Blue Rose Killer had an accomplice out searching for her. But when she heard his voice, something changed. He didn’t sound like a lunatic; he spoke with authority.
Kristy had no choice but to believe him, though it was hard not to be afraid. She tried to speak without fear bleeding through her every word, but after what she’d just been through, it was hard to keep her emotions together. She had trouble reading him as well. He didn’t seem overly concerned about her situation. After all she told him, his expression never changed. Did he not believe her? She expected him to look shocked, at least. He never asked if she was okay, if she wanted water, or even offered her a place to sit.
She was also getting frustrated. Was the man calling the police? She saw his demeanor as he spoke on the phone; it didn’t look like a 911 call. Who was he calling, if not the police?
Kristy wanted to sit and have a drink of water. She eased around the hood and stepped toward the passenger door to see if he had a bottle of water on the seat. There was a container on the seat, but it was a jar, not a bottle. Something floated inside. She stepped closer to get a better view, then screamed when she saw the floating eyeball and stumbled backward. The man still spoke on the phone but looked at her and frowned.
Kristy panicked; after all that she’d seen in the past few days, a floating eye shouldn’t have alarmed her so, but she reached her breaking point. Without thinking, she turned her back to the truck and sprinted ahead. Fatigue and dehydration caused her to stagger and stumble, but she was determined to live.
She never heard him coming. She felt an arm wrap around her chest and pull her backward, and for a moment her mind returned to the day that the Blue Rose Killer had taken her. Not again. This time, however, instead of a hand over her mouth, she only felt a needle prick her neck. Her world darkened again.
Returned
Kristy didn’t want to wake up. She felt light as a feather, able to relax for the first time in days. The urge to close her eyes and drift away was tempting, but something inside warned her to wake up. She struggled to keep her eyes open, but the fog was lifting.
Kristy tried to move her left arm but couldn’t; someone hooked an IV to her wrist. Confused, she looked around; she was lying on an old blanket in the bed of a pickup truck. Is it the same truck from the highway? No, this truck is older and a different color. The IV bag hung above her by a wire clothes hanger, wound around the rear window frame. She eased the IV out of her wrist and applied pressure with the included gauze.
Kristy sat up and looked around, which she regretted once she recognized the barn. She tried to imagine that it was a different barn, but that w
as silly. While she had never seen the front exterior, the color was unmistakable. Am I in the Killer’s truck? She looked around and saw the car that brought her here initially, via the trunk. It was parked close to the barn, its doors open.
Kristy fought the urge to lie back down and give up, but after all she’d been through, the thought of her ordeal ending here, where it began, motivated her to keep pushing. The one bright spot was the IV; she had no idea how long she’d been out, but she felt rejuvenated.
Kristy didn’t have time to celebrate; she had to act now. Remaining in the vehicle wasn’t an option, so she scooted forward. At the end of the opened tailgate lay a cell phone; tears filled her eyes and she nearly squealed with delight. A post-it note stuck to the top said, “Save the women.” Perhaps she’d save them after all. She pressed the home button on the phone to verify it had life, which it did, and she made a frantic 911 call. She didn’t have an address for the operator, but the dispatcher assured her they could track her location.
It would be awhile before anyone reached them. Was the Blue Rose Killer nearby? She considered hiding in the woods until the police arrived but she refused to leave the women.
She tried to make sense of the situation. Someone left a phone and instructions to save the others. Was it the man from the highway? Why would he do this?
She heard the hum of a power tool in the distance, but it didn’t sound the same as before. In fact, it seemed like it came from inside. She never heard one tool run this long.
The sound drew her closer. She reached the door, took a deep breath, and opened it. The familiar darkness brought her back to captivity; it was hard to bear. The smell was worse than she remembered; it was so familiar before that she had become numb to it. She considered exiting, but didn’t. She wouldn’t leave the women. Not again.