Blood and Sympathy

by Lori L. Clark

  He had a roll of duct tape pushed up his arm and the skin was tattooed with the words "SYMPATHY FOR THE DEVIL." Before he got my mouth covered, I bit him hard enough to draw blood, nearly making me gag on the coppery taste.

  I broke out in a cold sweat as soon as he slammed the trunk lid down, enveloping me in total blackness. I hated small, enclosed spaces, and I despised them more when I couldn't see anything. It smelled of burnt oil and rubber and with each inhale my stomach churned. I swallowed hard, knowing if I puked, I'd choke on my own vomit.

  The car fishtailed. Gravel road dust poured through every invisible crack and crevice, further denying me any fresh air. I didn't know how far he'd driven before we stopped. Hour-long minutes passed after he shut off the engine, keeping me in blinded silence. I took short, shallow breaths, my lungs screaming for fresh air.

  Footsteps approached, followed by a jangle of keys. Light poured in on me, and my lungs screamed for air. He lifted me from the trunk and put me over his shoulder as though I weighed no more than a dishrag. He carried me toward a ramshackle cabin.

  I needed to clear my brain, get my bearings, to try to recognize something, anything. I was positive I didn't know where we were, but that didn't keep me from becoming a keen observer of the surroundings. It was just after sunrise. The front door of the shack faced east. We hadn't driven far, so I had to be somewhere near Devil's Fork Lake, but I had no idea where, exactly.

  He dropped me on a stained--from God knows what--mattress lying on the floor. I scrambled away from him, pushing my back against the wall with my knees bent in front of me. You have no idea how hard it is to move when your hands and ankles are bound.

  He ripped the tape off my mouth, and it stung like a motherfucker, bringing tears to my eyes. I blinked rapidly. That son of a bitch wasn't going to get the satisfaction of seeing me cry. No. Hell no.

  He wore one of those full-faced rubber clown masks. The only facial feature visible was his eyes. Hard, cold, and sapphire blue. How the hell did I memorize details when I was terrified that every beat of my heart might be my last?

  I sensed that we were the only two people around, and from the look of things, no one else had been here for a very long time. So much for the hopeful theories about finding Olivia.

  He wouldn't tell me his name when I asked. He just eyed me through the creepy clown mask like I was going to be his last meal. The bulge in the front of his baggy shorts was impossible to miss, and I stopped breathing when he pulled his dick out. I thought for sure the bastard was going to rape me. Instead, he jerked off. He fisted his hand in my hair, hard enough to bring tears to my eyes. He spit on his free hand and began to stroke himself, slowly, teasing at first. I should have closed my eyes. I shouldn't have been so fascinated by the way his hand worked up and down his hard length. He held my head immobile while he came all over my face.

  When he finished, he laughed like a fucking lunatic. "In case you get hungry later, wild thing."

  He was still semi-hard when he tucked himself back inside his pants and sauntered toward the door to leave.

  I sat stone-still until I heard him start the car and drive away. I didn't know how long I had before he'd return, or even if he was coming back. Should I work my hands free first? Or would it be better to get my ankles unbound and get the fuck out of there while I could?

  The tears I'd kept from falling while that monster was still here began making hot tracks down my cheeks now that he was gone. I had to find a way to get out of here. I would not go down without a fight. Fuck that.

  The cupboard doors were either entirely missing, or hanging off-kilter from broken hinges. Maybe there was a knife in one of the drawers? I worked myself upright and hopped across the rodent shit-covered floor. There were a couple spoons in one of the open drawers, but nothing I could use to slice through the tape.

  The heavy feeling of defeat began to settle in the pit of my stomach, and I leaned my head against the cupboards. The kitchen window had been broken out long ago, but the morning sun glinted off a single shard of glass. Problem was, I had no way to reach it. There was another window on the other side of the cabin, but the fucker had bound my ankles so tightly I couldn't even shimmy. And crawling with my hands behind my back was next to impossible. I had to hop.

  Shattered glass, no bigger than my thumbnail, peppered the floor surrounding the boarded up window. Nothing I could use to cut my restraints. A string of curse words tumbled from my mouth as my situation became more and more hopeless with each passing minute. Until I saw a small, rusty screw lying by itself in the midst of the rubble.

  If I could just work that through the tape, get a hole started, maybe I could saw my hands free. It was a long shot, but it was better than nothing, and it was all I had.

  CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN

  Braden Sayer

  I tried to concentrate on the damn carburetor I was trying replace the jets in, but it wasn't working for me. I couldn't stop my thoughts from going back to Claire and worrying about where the hell she was.

  Even though I tended to be a glass half-full kind of guy, I found it nearly impossible to keep from fearing the worst. Especially knowing my sociopath of a brother was out there wandering around.

  At quitting time, I tore off toward the trailer to take a quick shower. The thermometer had topped over a hundred degrees during the afternoon, and that wasn't counting the heat index. Uncle Jeb had mentioned going to the Copeland's right after work, and I wasn't wasting any time.

  Uncle Jeb's lips drew into a thin line when I returned to his house after my shower. "Reverend Copeland's coming to eat supper with us tonight."

  "What? We're just supposed to sit around the table making small talk while Claire's missing?"

  I could tell by the hard glint in his eyes that he didn't approve of my tone. "Her daddy seems to think she's just run away because of their fight. She'll cool off and come home when she's ready."

  "You already mentioned that earlier today. I didn't buy it then, and I'm not buying it now. If she intended to run away, she would never have showed up on my doorstep in the first place." I shook my head. "No, sir. This is something else."

  He tipped his head to the side, eyeing me. "Why do you think that?"

  I was so close to telling him about Brogan stopping by the trailer the other night. I hadn't seen hide nor hair of him since then, and If I admitted he'd been here, Uncle Jeb would kick my ass for not saying something sooner. I'd be in a whole mess of trouble for not letting the sheriff know, too.

  "Gut feeling is all."

  "We can't go getting half the county in an uproar over some hunch, Braden."

  My mouth twisted with defeat and I nodded. I set the table and poured three tall glasses of lemonade. By the time Reverend Copeland knocked on the door, Uncle Jeb had finished slicing the fresh tomatoes for our BLT's.

  I grumbled under my breath, Uncle Jeb shot me a warning glare, and I invited Claire's daddy inside. He shook my hand and smiled. Southern fakery at its finest. "Good afternoon. Braden, is it?"

  He knew damn well what my name was, but I returned his false charm, mirroring the coldness in his steel gray eyes. "Evening, Reverend. Any word yet from Claire?

  "No, son. Claire's got herself a ferocious temper." He chuckled and took a seat at the table. "But then, I suppose you'll be learning that the hard way on your own sooner or later."

  I chewed on the inside of my cheek, dying to speak my piece, but I kept my mouth shut.

  Uncle Jeb cleared his throat and changed the subject. "This'll be the last of the tomatoes for the year, as dry as it's been."

  "I heard that," Reverend Copeland said. "This drought isn't doing any of us any good. Devil's Fork is so low the fish are starting to die. A person can't hardly sit outside and enjoy the evening breeze, what with the stench and all."

  My hands shook with suppressed anger. I wanted to pound my fists on the table and shout at this small talk bullshit.

  "Braden, see if there's any of that cherry cheesecak
e left, would you?"

  "Yes, sir." I stood and went to the fridge. I wondered why the fuck we were sharing Claire's dessert with her daddy who couldn't care less where she was, what she was doing, or even if she was okay. What the fuck kind of man had that little respect for his own flesh and blood?

  I dished up two servings for them and took mine to go. "I'll save this for later. I'm going to take a drive into town. Is it okay if I borrow your truck, Uncle Jeb?"

  Normally he'd chide me for not asking to be excused from the dinner table, but he overlooked my rudeness for a change. "You know where the keys are. Don't be out too late."

  "I won't." I nodded curtly at Reverend Copeland and left.

  There wasn't much for me to do. If her daddy was right, and Claire had run away from Hensteeth, I sure as hell didn't know where to look for her. I figured if she left without telling me she was going, she probably didn't want me to find her.

  I'd already sweated up the clean clothes I'd put on after my shower since it was still at least ninety degrees in the shade. I got out at the park and walked to the dock. Reverend Copeland had been right about one thing. The water smelled like death. Icy fingers of dread crawled down my neck, and I shivered. Claire, where the fuck are you?

  CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT

  Brogan Sayer

  When I went back later that day to pay wild thing a visit, she was gone. Fucking gone. I smashed a three-legged chair against the wall and it splintered to pieces. I noticed a trail of blood smeared on the floor, leading out the door. I followed it outside until it disappeared into the woods behind the cabin.

  My mouth went dry and I spun in a circle. I tried to organize my thoughts. How long had I left her alone? One, maybe two hours? Fuck me, she could be anywhere by now. I was about to head back to the car and get the hell out of there when I heard the faint sound of snapping twigs. It was probably just an animal or something, but then again, it might be her. I walked in the direction of the noise, stopping and listening.

  Footsteps ... and they were moving away. I saw something. It was there and then it was gone. Just a flash of color. Think, goddammit. Hadn't she been wearing a red tank top that morning? I started to run, pounding over the ground after her.

  "I see you! You might as well just stop right now and make it easier on yourself!"

  I lost sight of her so I stopped running and held my breath. I strained to hear, not moving, for several minutes, and unable to see or hear a damn thing. Not even a bird. It was quiet. Too quiet. I was about to give up and get the hell out of there when I heard something behind me.

  I spun around. There she was, on the ground not more than twenty yards in front of my nose. A grin split across my face. "Wild thing," I whispered and moved toward her. She must've tripped and was on the ground, she gave me a deer in the headlights look. "Gotcha."

  She screamed and managed to get her feet under her. She was off like a shot. Bitch was fast. I reached out and got a piece of her shirt, but she slipped away from me, heading straight for another cabin. I dove for her again, losing my balance. I pitched forward, and landed on my face. She sidestepped out of my reach.

  I pushed to my knees and watched as she ran for the cabin. Before she went inside, she turned to face me and flipped me off. "I'm calling the cops," she screamed at me.

  Maybe she was bluffing, but I couldn't take that chance.

  CHAPTER FORTY-NINE

  Claire Copeland

  For once, luck was on my side. Alistair never locked his cabin. No one was home when I burst through the front door. I twisted the deadbolt and peeked out through the curtain. The psycho must have bought my story, because he hightailed it out of there. It didn't make me feel any better. Fucker could still be lurking in the trees, just waiting for me to come back out.

  After I'd worked my hands free, I cut the tape from my ankles with a shard of glass. Yeah. Stupid move. I wound up slicing more than the duct tape. My hand bled like a stuck pig, but at least it had slowed to a trickle. I rinsed it under the cold water and wrapped it in a towel to try and get it to stop.

  I'd lied. There wasn't a phone at the cabin and since I lost my cell phone somewhere, I had no idea what the hell to do next. I found a baseball bat in one of the closets; it was the closest thing to a weapon I could find.

  It was almost lunchtime and I knew Braden would be going to the bait shop to bring me my lunch. If he didn't know I hadn't opened the store, he'd soon find out.

  I had to get out of the cabin. Who knew when Alistair might show up--and I trusted him like I trusted the fucker who'd shut me in the trunk of his car earlier. I sat and stared out the window, my senses on high alert. Even the tiniest movement from the day's slight breeze set me on edge.

  If my kidnapper was still out there waiting, he was more patient than I was. He'd either kept himself hidden very well, or he'd left. It was just after noon, the makeshift bandage on my hand had started to soak through with blood, and I was starting to feel woozy. I needed to get back to Braden.

  There were two ways to get to the marina. The main road or through the woods. My plan was to work my way back to the marina by way of the wooded area across from the cabin. I grabbed hold of the wooden bat and crept outside. When I was sure the coast was clear, I darted across the road. Walking along the shoulder would be too risky, so I skirted the tree line. I'd be able to hear a car for miles before it got to me, giving me plenty of time to duck out of sight. If anyone fucked with me, I'd whack them upside the head with the Louisville Slugger.

  The day was hotter than the hubs of hell, and the humidity made me feel like I was trying to swim in a wet sponge. I didn't have a lot of energy, so the going was slow. I kept getting lightheaded, so I had to stop several times. I didn't know if it was from the blood loss or the heat, or lack of food in my stomach, but I felt like shit.

  My dad's SUV was parked at Jeb's house when I trudged up the lane, so I headed straight for Braden's trailer. There was no air conditioning inside, and I felt like I walked out of a sauna and into a three-hundred-and-fifty degree oven. Black spots floated in and out of my peripheral vision. That was pretty much the last thing I remembered before banging my head on the edge of the end table on my way to the floor.

  When I came to, Braden had my head cradled in his lap with a cold washrag over my forehead. The bloody towel around my hand had been replaced with a clean bandage.

  He rubbed an ice cube over my dry lips, and if I hadn't felt like death warmed over, I might have thought it was sexy. I cleared my throat and tried to sit up, instantly regretting the throbbing in my skull.

  "Ouch." I grimaced.

  The color drained from Braden's face, and he winced as though he felt my pain. "Easy."

  "What time is it?"

  "About ten-thirty. I've been out driving around looking for you. I damn near had a stroke when I opened the front door and found you crumpled in a heap on my living room floor." He brushed the hair out of my eyes and tried to smile. "What happened, Claire? Where were you?"

  I twisted around and buried my face in his stomach. I shook my head. "Some fucker grabbed me from behind just as I was about to unlock the bait shop. Used half a frigging roll of duct tape to tie me up right before dumping me into the damn trunk of his car."

  He gaped at me. "Did he ... did he hurt you?"

  I held up my wounded hand. "No, I managed to do that all by myself. But no, he didn't touch me. Unless you count jacking off and coming all over my face."

  "The fuck? Who was it? Did you get a look at him?"

  I chuckled humorlessly. "Just his junk."

  Braden scowled and said, "Unless there's a police lineup for penises, I don't think that'll do you much good."

  "No, he wore a clown mask the whole time."

  "I was worried half out of my mind." His arms were strong and comforting, and I felt safe. I felt his chest rise and fall rhythmically with each breath.

  "I saw my dad's car at your uncle's earlier. Did you tell him I was missing?"

  H
e nodded. "We tried, but your daddy figured since you two had a fight, you just ran off somewhere and would be back as soon as you calmed down."

  "And you believed him?" I pulled away to study his face.

  "No, I didn't think you wouldn't leave without telling me. I knew something was wrong." He stroked my cheek with the back of his hand carefully, as though he was worried I might break. "I don't get it, Claire."

  "Don't get what?"

  "Maybe it ain't my place to say anything, but how is it that when Olivia missed church everyone panicked? You don't show up to work and are gone for hours, and your dad says not to fucking worry about it."

  "Pfft. That's because Olivia never did anything wrong. Olivia was always where she was supposed to be, when she was supposed to be there. Me? I've been in trouble so much and fucked up so many times, no one thinks anything of it when I'm not where I'm supposed to be. It's ... expected. That and my dad hates me."

  His eyes narrowed. "I'm sure he doesn't hate you."

  "You can believe what you want. But you saw him tonight?"

  He nodded. "Yeah, he ate supper with Uncle Jeb and me."

  "Did he seem the least bit concerned when you told him I was gone?"

  His mouth twisted to the side. "Not particularly, no."

  "I rest my case."

  He cupped my chin and kissed me. "Well, I care."

  A single tear slid down my cheek. "That's because you don't know any better."

  He rolled his eyes. "Whatever. Can you walk?"

  I scrunched my nose. "I think so, why?"

  "First, I think you need to have that hand looked at."

  I quirked an eyebrow at him. "And then?"

  "And then you can tell the sheriff what happened to you today."

  Even though I was barely able to keep my eyes open, I knew he was right. "Okay." I wrapped my arms around his neck. "Maybe you'd better carry me."