Return to Me (Breaking Free Book 2)

by Renee Fowler

  There’s a bit of warm sunlight streaming through a dirty window high up on the wall. My hands are tied. Even without the restraints, I can’t move. I can only blink. My eyelids feel so heavy.

  There’s more light now. The ceiling is exposed ductwork, bare insulation. I’m in a basement. I’m below ground, and I’m alone. I try to scream for help, but my throat and mouth are cotton dry.

  I’m obviously on something, but I can’t remember taking anything. I certainly don’t remember coming to some creepy basement. How the fuck did I get here? My mind is so fuzzy. My thoughts are disjointed and fragmented.

  I used to chase after a feeling similar to this. I loved it. I craved it, but right now I would give anything for a clear head. I have to get the hell out of here. I wiggle, roll onto my side, and end up with the side of my face smooshed flat against the icy, concrete floor. I’m eye level with a grungy drain. A slender, pale spider pokes up through the grating, and I roll back in the opposite direction. I fucking hate spiders, and bugs, and all manner of creepy crawlies.

  Gabe is always happy enough to dispose of them for me, but he never kills them. He sweeps them up on a piece of paper, and releases them back outside to live another day.

  Am I going to live another day?

  How many days have I been here?

  Time has taken on a strange slant. Whatever poison is currently coursing through my system is different than anything I’ve ever taken before.

  Remembering the spider, I try to wiggle back up on the mattress, but my body isn’t responding to my brain’s commands. I roll back over, and the spider is gone. Is it in my hair? Considering my current predicament, I have far bigger things to worry over than a small spider, but right now it’s looming large in my mind.

  “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Dirty, scuffed up boots stop inches in front of my face. I try to turn my head to see who they belong to, but before I have the chance, I’m lifted in the air and dumped back on the mattress.

  “Are you the eyeball eater?” I croak towards the masked man looming over me.

  A masculine laugh sounds from behind me. There’s two of them. “How much of that shit are you giving her?”

  “Not enough from the looks of it,” the one peering down at me says.

  “She’s already tripping ball, man. We can’t kill her.”

  “You can’t overdose on this stuff... I don’t think.” He laughs.

  When I spot the hypodermic needle in his hand, I start to flop around. The other guy standing above my head places a boot on my abdomen, which is all it takes to restrain me. I still don’t have full control of my body yet. All I can do is beg for them not to do this as I watch him plunge the end of the needle into a small, glass vial and withdraw the remains of the clear liquid.

  He lets the vial drop to the mattress beside me. “Hold her down.”

  “Nooo,” I moan. “Almost fourteen months.”

  “What the fuck is she going on about?”

  His whiskey brown eyes are all that is visible of his face behind the knitted ski mask. “Who knows.”

  I know. I recognize him now. I didn’t remember him the last few times we encountered one another. I should’ve. Even in my less than lucid state, I understand I should keep the knowledge of this recognition to myself.

  The needle cuts into the skin on my arm, and my thoughts shatter. The image of that spider is centered in my mind, and it breaks apart into a thousand tiny spiders, and they all grow and expand, and break apart again. It just keeps happenings. Spiders and spiders and spiders. They’re in my hair. I think my hair is made of spiders. They’re writhing along my scalp, crawling down my neck, dancing down my spine. It’s a nightmare spider fractal dreamscape I can’t escape from. I’m trapped in my head with a million spiders that want to consume me.

  When I wake up again, or regain touch with the world around me, I’m not sure which, it’s still light out. Is it the same day or the next day? I smell piss, and I realize with a taste of bile at the back of my throat, it’s my own. They’ve left me here to piss on myself in this cold, damp basement. My hands and wrists are still tied, and now there is something cotton wedged in my mouth that tastes vaguely of motor oil.

  I take in my surroundings, or try to. My vision swims. I’m still experiencing the skitter of spider legs across my skin, but I no longer see the creatures gyrating in my mind. Whatever the hell he gave me is horrific, like nothing I’ve ever had before, and nothing I want to experience again.

  There’s that single basement window that I might be able to squeeze out of if I can reach that height. Across the room is an old and dented washer and dryer. Next to that is a metal shelf stuffed with an assortment of dusty odds and ends. A large rectangular cooler on the bottom shelf could work, but first I have to untie my hands.

  Why is Dylan doing this? I know I should’ve remembered him, but fuck. My stomach rumbles, gnawing on itself. My throat is bone dry. Is he planning on leaving me down here to starve and rot? Is he the eyeball eater? Maybe he’s upstairs sharpening a knife to skin me alive for that pair of gloves. I really don’t feel like hanging around to find out.

  Wiggling around, I try to get a look at the rest of the basement to my back, and I feel something hard and small press against my ankle. I twist and shimmy down to take a better look.

  I nudge the empty vial with the edge of my toe. Ketamine. I’ve heard of it. Never tried it. I guess it’s not the sort of thing that gets passed around at the type of parties I used to frequent. I can’t imagine anyone doing that shit for fun, but something tells me he was giving me way more than a recreational dose.

  The metallic grind of an old lock turning from up the steps draws my attention, and I quickly reposition myself on the nasty mattress, hiding the glass vial beneath my ankle. I close my eyes and pretend to sleep, trying hard not to wince at the thud of boots growing closer. One of them is whistling a cheerful little ditty. He’s actually fucking whistling.

  “I told you. She’s still out cold.”

  “We can’t chance her waking up while we’re gone.”

  “I’ll just call in. One of us should be here to keep an eye on her.”

  “No. I told you, we gotta stick to our regular routine. We can’t draw any attention to ourselves until someone pays up.”

  “Well, they better fucking hurry. Why can’t we just get the money from her?”

  “What is she going to do, cut us a check? I worked all this out, remember? We’ve got to be smart about this.”

  All they want is money? I can get them money. I just want to get the hell out of here, but I don’t want to die. Maybe they’re going to kill me once they get that money for all I know. They don’t seem to care too much about my welfare. I have a vague notion of a plan, and if they’re leaving, maybe I can escape once they’re gone.

  “Just give her a little bump to keep her under. We gotta ration that stuff anyways. I don’t know how long we’re gonna have to keep her like this. I don’t think we’ll be able to snag any more from work without someone noticing either.”

  It takes everything in me not to wince, whimper, or give any indication that I’m awake. Not only do I not like getting shots, I already know of the spider-filled horror that awaits me after this next one.

  There are no spiders this time, thank god. Just a warm, creeping lethargy, and soft muted colors. I’m floating, weightless. I can feel the sound of their boots back up the steps like a pleasant bass line Thump. Thump. Thump. That unrecognizable tune he was whistling plays through my mind like a lullabye.

  It would be very easy to nod out, take a nap, escape from the nightmare of my current reality, but I can’t do that. I’ve got to get the fuck out of here.

  Chapter 39

  Gabe

  I can’t stand the thought of going home to face Mia right now. She’s happily still pouring through old fan correspondence, and making inquiries looking for Trin, so I go to see Shane.

  “It’s probably nothing, but I figure
it can’t hurt to look into, right?” I say.

  “No, it can’t hurt.” Shane is still in uniform. We’re sitting out on his front porch. He leans back in his rocking chair and props his legs up on the railing. “That name sounds familiar though, doesn’t it?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “I wish you had called me earlier. I could’ve ran him through the system while I was at the station, but if I go back now to do it, I’ll end up on leave with you, rookie.”

  “Nah, I don’t want you to do anything to get yourself in trouble.”

  “Okay, little angel.” He attempts a smile, but it comes out a broken grimace. “We’re gonna find her, Gabe.”

  Were we? I’m beginning to wonder if I’m ever going to see her again. “Brent get out yet?”

  Shane stares at his watch. “They let him go about an hour ago I guess. Even if he didn’t have anything to do with her disappearance, that piece of garbage doesn’t deserve to be walking around free.”

  But both of us sitting there understood that people with money for decent legal representation walk free all the time. It happens every day.

  Shane pulled out his phone. His thumbs flew over the touch screen. “We do know this shit. Dylan Ross, remember?” He held the phone up for me to see.

  “He looks a little familiar I guess.”

  “He’s the one that was harassing Nikki that night, and I let him go.” He lets out a long sigh. “It says here he works out at the animal shelter.” Shane paused to stare down at his watch again. “You wanna go take a look at some stray puppy dogs?”

  I follow Shane’s truck out in my Jeep. The county animal shelter is back off Old Mill road. There’s only two cars and one van in the parking lot when we arrive. “This is where we got Rosco and Sadie,” Shane says as we stroll in. “You better not mention to Gina we stopped in here. She’s already been hinting around about getting another one. Those two fleabags are plenty for me.”

  I give him a weak smile. I know he’s trying to keep the mood light, but I’m having a hard time feeling anything except worried sick and depressed as hell.

  Shane flashes his badge, and asks to speak with Dylan Ross. I feel conspicuous and ill at ease beside him not in uniform. Hopefully no one pauses to question what the hell I’m doing there.

  The guy behind the counter tenses up a bit, then calls down a hallway behind him. Dylan Ross stops dead in his tracks at the sight of Shane.

  “Do you mind if we have a quick word?” Shane asks.

  “Uh. What is this about?”

  “I just wanted to ask you a few questions. This won’t take long.”

  Dylan wipes his palms along the front of his dark blue jumpsuit and comes around to address us. His buddy behind the counter scampers off to the back, presumably to give us some privacy.

  “What do you do here, Mr. Ross?” Shane asks.

  “Huh?”

  “At the shelter.”

  “Everything. Take care of the animals. Help people out when they come in.”

  “Do you know Trin Sinclair?” Shane asks.

  Dylan laughs nervously. “Um, sure. Who doesn’t?”

  “Do you know her personally?”

  “Can’t say I do.” He blinks rapidly and his gaze sweeps fast to either side before fixing back on Shane. “What is this about?”

  “You’ve never met her before?” I ask before I can stop myself. The plan was to let Shane do the talking.

  “I knew her back in the day, sort of. Not really.”

  Shane catches my eye briefly. “How so?”

  “We were in a band together for a little while,” he admits reluctantly.

  “Really?” Shane plasters a big, goofy grin on his face. “Well, that must’ve been something. Not too many people can say they’ve played in a band with Trin Sinclair.”

  “I guess.”

  “Well, what happened? What are you doing working here then?”

  “I… Uh, it’s a long story.”

  “Great. I love stories, and I’ve got nothin’ but time.”

  “It’s not much of a story really. It was some shitty bluegrass band. It wasn’t really my thing.”

  “That must be rough,” Shane says, with a vague pout. “It’s gotta sting to hear her on the radio when you’re stuck here cleaning up dog shit, huh?”

  “What the hell is this about?” Dylan asks.

  “When’s the last time you saw her again?” Shane asks conversationally.

  “I can’t remember.”

  “Where abouts do you live, Mr. Ross?”

  “I’ve got a little place out on Lake Shore.”

  “Small world. I’ve got a weekend place out there.”

  “Look. I don’t really know Trin anymore, and I’ve got work to do before I clock out.”

  Shane held his hands up. “Far be it from me to stand between a man and his work, but I’m gonna need to take down your phone number and address in case we have some more questions.”

  “I don’t like this guy,” I say as soon as we’re outside. “He seemed nervous.”

  “Yeah.”

  “I might take a drive out to his place and see what I see.”

  Shane gives me a look. “You can’t go busting in there, Gabe. You know that.”

  “I know.”

  “Maybe I’ll head back to the station, see if I can find a reason to get a search warrant.”

  “I’d appreciate it.”

  “Don’t do anything stupid,” he warns as I climb in my Jeep.

  “I wouldn’t dream of it. You know I’m a little angel.”

  Shane grumbles under his breath and turns away.

  Just as I’m pulling onto Lake Shore, my phone rings. When I pick up, Faith is crying so hard I can barely make out what she’s saying. “Take a breath and tell me what’s wrong.”

  “Brent just called me. Someone has Trin. They’re holding her for ransom. He just found out because he just got out of jail? They want twenty million dollars, but he said she doesn’t have that much anymore. And we’re not supposed to call the police. They sent him a picture of her tied up in like a dungeon or something.”

  “I’ll be there as soon as I can, okay?”

  I already know before I climb down out of my Jeep, I’m breaking into this place. There’s no way in hell I’m going to sit around twiddling my thumbs, waiting on some judge to issue a search warrant, especially after hearing that.

  There are no other vehicles parked in the driveway, no signs of life. No one answers when I knock. I bypass the front door and walk around the side of the small cabin. The glitter of broken glass catches my eye around back, and I notice the busted out window. Crouching down I peer into a dark sublevel. There’s not much I can make out. An old mattress, an overturned cooler. I notice a bright red smear of blood on a piece of glass still clinging to the window pane.

  “Trin?” I stand upright, look around the ground. I yell her name a few times as I spot imprints of bare feet in the soft earth. They meander back and forth before disappearing into the woods. Why the hell would she have gone into the woods and not towards the road? I try to call 911 but I can’t get reception out here.

  The foliage is overgrown and thick. I push my way through, screaming her name. My footing slips and I slide several yards down the steep hillside before I catch myself.

  Climbing back to my feet, I scan down the hill. Far below is the lake lapping at the jagged shore of a cove, but I can barely make it out from this vantage. She wouldn’t have gone this way, would she?

  But then I spot a slick of fresh mud, like someone had recently slid just like I did, and there’s a few more footprints.

  I spot a flash of pink far below. “Trin!”

  After a bit more sliding, I make my way down further to find a scrap of pink fabric clinging to a low branch. Was she wearing pink the day she disappeared? Maybe. It’s her favorite color. She wears it a lot.

  Further below I hear a crash, and I yell her name again. If it’s Trin, why isn’t s
he stopping? Why won’t she answer me back? I rush as fast as I can in the direction of the sound.

  The underbrush thins out a bit, and I spot her careening down a sharp drop some distance away.

  The water breaks her fall. She flails a bit and goes under. I know Trin can swim, but she’s not making much of an attempt from what I can see. Maybe she hit her head on the way down? I don’t pause to question. I have to get to her.

  In my haste, I tumble down the hill too, but the water doesn’t break my fall. An overturned log does, and the impact knocks the wind out of me. By the time I recover and scramble to my feet, the surface of the lake is glass.

  I dive in, try to search for her beneath the water, but it’s too murky. I can’t see a thing. I swim out to where I think she went under, and dive down deeper. I don’t come back up until my lungs are screaming. My side is screaming too. I think I may have broken a rib.

  I take as big of a lungfull as I can manage and dive back down. My fingertips brush against the silky strands of her hair. I kick down and grasp her arm, drag her back to the surface with me.

  She’s not breathing.

  I pull her onto the muddy shore, tilt her head to the side. Lake water pours out of her mouth and nose. I check her pulse. It’s faint, thready, but there. I start rescue breathing. On the third breath she gurgles lake water, and I tip her head to the side again. She sucks in a huge breath.

  So do I.

  Her eyelids flutter open. The baby blue of her iris’ are almost completely obliterated by her inky pupils blown huge. “Gabe, is that really you?”

  Chapter 40

  Trin

  Over a year after the fact, and I’m still not sure what really happened. I can recall nightmarish bits and pieces. Spiders. Dirty boots. A cheerful, whistled tune. The two men responsible are both serving lengthy sentences for my abduction. I can’t recall the actual kidnapping, and I don’t remember running from Gabe or falling into the lake either. Since Gabe said it happened, I’m sure it did, and he suffered two broken ribs to prove it.