Struck Down

by Penelope L'Amoreaux

  “How will I be able to reach you, sweetheart?” My mom’s worried eyebrows pinching together.

  “Mom, that’s the point. I need to be unreachable for a while. Off the grid and all that.”

  “I know you’re depressed, but couldn’t you just take prescriptions and go to therapy like the rest of us?”

  We laughed. She didn’t like it, but she knew me. When I made up my mind, it was made. We had joked that I gave stubborn a run for its money.

  “Just be careful. And call me when you can.”

  “Okay. It might be a few months, mom. Don’t freak out, alright?”

  I shoved everything back into the bag, nervous. Did I forget anything important? I had the necessities, right? Food, shelter, clothes?

  Girl scouts had been years ago. When Matt and I had planned our hiking trip, I had let him take care of most of the details. He liked that sort of stuff. I always just went along.

  Not now. Now you’re doing this on your own.

  Packed again, showered, and trying to reassure myself, I said goodbye to the crummy motel room. Time to hit the road.

  I never even made it to the highway.

  Chapter Three

  “Where are you heading, doll?”

  The rough voice came as I looped around the motel. I had turned in my key was heading toward the road.

  I saw the two men from the night before. One was leaning against his car. It was large and old, that kind of beat up Chevy that looks like it shouldn’t be running anymore. The other, the one who spoke, was walking toward me.

  “Um, I’m just heading to the road.”

  “You hitchin’?” While his stride seemed relaxed, he was moving to me at a quick clip. I noticed his hands never left his pockets. I supposed he wanted to look relaxed, but it made him look strange. Dangerous.

  I felt a little sick. “No,” I lied. “I’m just walking to my boyfriend’s house.”

  “Why pay for a hotel, then? If you’re hitchin’, it’s okay--we’ll give you a lift wherever you need to go.”

  I stumbled a little as I tried to move away. He was closing in quickly. “No, thanks though.”

  “Come on, honey,” he was less than ten feet away, “we don’t mind, do we, Troy?”

  His friend shrugged, indifferent. As the man got closer I saw his face was weathered and scarred. Not attractive. His nose was lumpy and crooked like it had been broken a few times. Last night I wouldn’t have been able to pick him out of a lineup. Close up, though…

  He looked scary.

  “Please, I don’t need a ride.”

  “Sure you do.” His stride quickened.

  I didn’t wait. I turned to run.

  The problem was that I was in my flip flops and carrying a very heavy pack. As soon as I tried to take off, a flip flop fell off my foot and I stepped on broken glass in the parking lot, a deep slice opening on the sole of my foot. The pain through me off balance and the weight of the pack took me down. I fell, skinning a knee as well.

  I could hear his footsteps as he ran at me. Inhaling deeply, my eyes rolling in terror, I prepared to scream, but I never had the chance. He was beside me, his hands out of his pockets. One hand grabbed my hair, yanking it back, while the other shoved some cloth over my nose and mouth.

  The smell was sickly sweet, burning in my nostrils.

  Then there was black.

  * * * *

  My head was swimming. When I opened my eyes I couldn’t see anything.

  But I felt a lot. My body was humming, my knees tucked close to my chest, feet tingling as they slept. My shoulders ached, sharp pains shooting through my arms, which were yanked tightly behind me and bound.

  I tried to move my feet, but they were also tied together. Most importantly, though, was the gag in my mouth, my lips stretched around it, breathing made difficult in my panic. As I gasped for air my tongue would push too far to the top of my mouth and I couldn’t breathe, or I’d start coughing only to have the air blocked by the gag. After painful minutes I managed to calm down just enough to inhale, the air rattling as it went in but tasting wonderful and soothing my burning lungs.

  The air smelled musty and with a tinge of cigarettes. It also felt heavy.

  A honk let me know where I was. I was in the trunk of a car.

  The tears came. They came for the pain and the surprise and the terror. They were made worse when the snot started to choke me and I had to viciously blow it out, feeling the mucous stick to my cheek and the bottom of the trunk. They came until my eyes were swollen and tired, my body still screaming in protest in the tight space.

  What did I think about?

  Not much, honestly. Maybe I should have tried to kick out a tail light. Or push against the trunk top so it might pop open. Maybe I should have started thinking of an escape plan.

  Maybe I should have prayed. After all, most girls who end up in trunks don’t live much longer.

  But I thought about the way the sunshine had felt on my skin the day before. I thought about Mandy and Sarah, the first people to give me a ride. Mostly I thought about my parents saying what a terrible idea hitching was, and Matt saying that there was something wrong with girls who wanted bad things done to them.

  Maybe this was just what I deserved.

  More tears came.

  * * * *

  I don’t know how long I was in the trunk before the car slowed to a stop. I had slept a little and I had cried a lot, but the truth is I couldn’t tell time in the dark. One hour felt like five.

  There was the sound of doors opening and the car rocked a little when they were slammed shut. Muted voices, all men. Some cold laughter that caused my guts to crawl inside of me.

  The click as the trunk released.

  This is it. Time to die.

  I had to squeeze my eyes shut as the trunk popped open. The sunlight was blinding. Did we drive through the night? I didn’t think so, based on the purely embarrassing reason that I hadn’t wet my pants. So wherever we were was a day’s drive away.

  When my pupils finally adjusted, I gasped into my gag.

  The man looking down at me was hands-down the most beautiful man I had ever seen. Dark hair tumbled into his face. His skin was tan from being outdoors and weathered so I couldn’t tell if he was thirty or fifty. Chiseled jaw with dark stubble. Strong nose.

  Cold eyes. Green and chilly, and staring at me with something like distaste in them.

  “This is what you thought I wanted?” His voice was smooth and deep and roared through me like fire. It sounded tight, like he was under strain. I noticed a thin sheen of sweat on his brow, his upper lip.

  I keened a little. Help me!

  “She’s a little rough for wear.”

  “Sorry, Mr. G. We didn’t have a lot of time when we grabbed her.”

  Mr. G. I cried louder, my eyes and nostrils flaring. Get me out of here! Help me!

  Don’t hurt me.

  He continued to stare down at me and I could hear his teeth grinding over my sobs.

  “Get her out of there.”

  My heart rejoiced even as my skin crawled when one of the men reached into the trunk to get me. He used his body to block the view in, leering.

  His hand pawed at my breast as he moved to scoop me out, the other roughly cupping between my legs and pinching me there, hard.

  I screamed until my voice broke, a jagged pain like a shard of glass lancing through.

  His hands bruised my sides as he yanked me out of the trunk and tossed me onto the ground. Pain jolted through my limbs when I landed. I was almost grateful for the gag as it kept my teeth from snapping together.

  “Get up.”

  I couldn’t move, and kicked my feet toward him. Whether it was to show him I was still tied at my ankles or to hurt him, I didn’t know. I felt more animal than human.

  Mr. G knelt at my feet and pulled a large, wicked looking knife from a sheath on his belt. Immediately I began to thrash, terrified of the serrated steel blade. His hand caught me at
the throat, pushing just hard enough to cut off my breathing except for one agonizing wheeze.

  “Don’t move,” he ordered.

  It was a simple order and one I should have ignored. But there was something in his voice, some rich quality which added weight to the command and before my brain could argue, my body responded. Instantly I stilled and even relaxed a little under his controlling grip.

  His eyes met mine, then. My tears had slowed to tiny rivulets out of the corner of my eyes. Before his eyes had been cold. Now there was something I didn’t understand in them… something that made him seem softer, younger for a moment. Less hard.

  Worried.

  The knife slid through the cords tying my ankles together. The rush of blood caused excruciating pins and needles in my feet and toes.

  “Get up,” he commanded once more.

  My hands were still bound behind me. My feet were still coming to life. Getting up was a struggle. It took awkward maneuvering and several near falls to stand up. The cut on the bottom of my foot screamed, but I saw it wasn’t bleeding anymore. I met his eyes, afraid and a little defiant. I couldn’t tell if he was on my side. If he was going to help me. Or hurt me.

  He let me know as he struck me down, slapping my face in a shocking way that was only painful in that it was surprising. It knocked me down none the less.

  “You don’t get to look me in the eyes, slave. Now get up.”

  Slave? My mind raced, confused. I wasn’t sure if I had heard him correctly.

  Scrambling, I stood, keeping my eyes on my feet. My legs were quaking but I managed to stay up.

  “Good.”

  He walked away from me. Was I supposed to follow him? Now that my legs were free, I briefly considered running. We were in a small alcove, surrounded by woods. Trying to be still, I listened.

  There were cars nearby. We were close to a road. Maybe I could run for it. Maybe someone would stop, would save me.

  Chapter Four

  I remembered spending all day waiting for a ride. It had seemed so long ago, even though it had just been the day before.

  No one would stop for you.

  The voice inside my head was growing cruel. I still listened to it. Besides, with the slice on my foot I wasn’t sure how far I could make it.

  “Here’s the rest of your money.” Mr. G was talking to the two thugs who had kidnapped me.

  “I’m sorry, but we’ve just upped our price.” I didn’t dare look up, not wanting to be hit again, but I heard the tremor of fear as one of them asked for more money.

  “No.”

  “Well, it isn’t easy getting girls these days. It was broad daylight, after all, and we need something to pad our agreement, since we took such a risk to get you what you wanted.”

  “What I wanted was a girl. I have one. If you were incompetent in getting one, I should keep my money and kill you.” This was no threat, even I could hear that. Mr. G was deadly, and the hairs on my arms raised as I realized he had just bought me. A person. Who bought people? Mr. G did, and Mr. G had no problem killing people who crossed him, it sounded like.

  I belonged to a killer.

  “No, sir, that isn’t necessary. I just didn’t understand the transaction, is all.” The panic in the men’s voices terrified me. If they were scared of him, these men who kidnap women, then what did that mean for me?

  “Were you seen? Do I need to worry?”

  “No. No, we weren’t seen.”

  “Then you don’t need more money.”

  “No, sir. I’m sorry, I don’t know what I was thinking.”

  “Unsurprising. I’ll tell you what you’re thinking. You’re thinking you’ll get into your car with the money we agreed upon. You’re thinking you’ll drive away and forget about this. You’re already forgetting me. Because if I hear about this, ever, I will hunt you down.”

  They didn’t need to be told twice. Two doors slammed shut, tires peeled, and gravel flew as they drove away, leaving me with him.

  His feet crunched as he stalked toward me. He began to shake, his hands trembling, his body rocking to and fro. His breathing became hard and heavy, his inhales almost wheezes. As he neared me he pressed the palms of his heels into his eyes.

  He began to count back from twenty. Nineteen. Eighteen. I heard each number spat out, a whispered curse. When he hit one, he took a deep inhale and opened his eyes. He seemed calm and collected again, with the exception of the blood-drained white of his skin.

  I lifted my head tentatively, still not meeting his eyes. Maybe I still had a chance. He reached behind my head and undid the gag. Slobber dripped a little and my jaw had a deep ache from being held open for so long.

  “Please. Please let me go. I won’t say anything about this.” My voice broke with tears as I begged.

  He paused. I could see his fine leather belt, the crisp seams of his designer pants. Mr. G had money.

  Money he just spent on a human. He bought you.

  I turned and threw up. The force of the vomiting made me fall forward, my knees landing in the bile.

  “Disgusting. And you won’t say anything else until I give you permission to speak. Nod if you understand.” His voice was gravel, still quivering.

  “I’m not worth any money, please, I’m just trying to get to--”

  He hit me again. This slap had a little more force to it, though it still wasn’t hard enough to bruise. My cheek stung.

  “I said you will not speak until you have my permission. Now nod if you understand.” The chill in his words almost made me throw up again. I nodded.

  “Good. Be still.”

  My body froze. It reacted to his voice, to his tone, in a way that scared me. He grabbed my bound wrists and, with a flick of his knife, freed them as well. This time I was prepared for the needles that signaled feeling returning and quickly brought my hands forward to rub them.

  “Stand up.” My legs trembling, I did.

  He looked me up and down. I could feel vomit dripping off my knees.

  “You’re revolting.” His speech was cultured but now, as he viewed and judged me, I heard a slight lilt. Like someone who grew up Southern but worked hard to hide that fact.

  His words tore through me. I didn’t know why. I had just been taken out of a trunk after being drugged and tied up. This incredibly handsome man had bought me. Owned me. Like he just went to the grocery store and through me in his cart.

  Yet he said revolting and I found myself upset over letting him down. Guilty for being dirty.

  “Take off your clothes.”

  My eyes jerked up to him. So far I had done what he had asked. But this was too much.

  We were standing outside. The sun was beginning to move down the side of the trees, orange-red rays warming me, the glare silhouetting his figure.

  “No.” My mouth felt dry.

  “You don’t want to do this.”

  “You’re right! I don’t want to take off my clothes. I don’t want to be here. I want you to let me go!” The rush of words made me scared, but once I started it was hard to hold them back. “Please,” I pleaded. “Please let me go.”

  You don’t want to disobey. Not right now.”

  But I just stood there, shaking. He was asking too much of me. I wasn’t just scared of being raped. I was scared that if I followed this command, I’d never be able to look at myself again.

  “Come here,” he commanded. I remained in place. Standing up to him felt good. My body ached from being in the trunk, but it was my body. I needed some level of control over the situation. Saying no was all I had.

  I thought he couldn’t take that away from me.

  His face grew stormy as I remained still. Finally, a low growl in his throat, he stalked toward me, the knife up and out. I flinched as he brought it to my cheek.

  “This isn’t a fucking game. You will obey me. We need to get out of here, now.”

  He traced the blade along my skin. It was cold as it circled and limned my collarbone, my jaw line. H
is hands still trembled, making my skin crawl with fear. It was like he was having an anxiety attack. One that could end with me being dead.

  “Don’t move. I mean it.”

  I shivered involuntarily and his eyes narrowed. The knife blade slid under the collar off my tank top. With a twist of his wrist, he sliced it open. The knife cut through the flimsy fabric easily. I mewled a little, my body tense, wanting to run from this man, terrified of the hurt that his body stance promised if I tried.

  He continued, cutting away my tank top.

  Pulling the fabric away from me, I was left in the open in my bra and shorts,

  He slid the knife under a bra strap.

  “No,” I whispered, but he sliced anyway. A few more flicks of the knife and the cups fell to the ground. My nipples, exposed, tightened painfully. Tears were falling down my dirty cheeks and my lip was trembling. Knowing he could see so much of me… I was filled with shame. My eyes stared at my toes.

  He cut away my shorts. My underwear.

  As my panties fell in shreds to the ground the sun was finally set. We stood in the dark, him looked at me and me looking at my feet.

  “Why did you do that?” My voice cracked, choking on a sob.

  He didn’t answer. “Let’s go.”

  He turned and began to head to the edge of the woods. With everything that had happened I had yet to really look at my surroundings. A sleek silver car that looked expensive waited for us on the edge of the tree line.

  I could run. I should run. This man, beautiful as he is, has just taken away my clothes. My dignity. He hasn’t hurt me… yet.

  I should’ve run, but I followed him to the car, anyway.

  Chapter Five

  He blindfolded me as soon as I buckled in. The leather seats were still hot from the summer sun before it had set and they burned my bare skin.