by Strand, Jeff
She didn't move.
"Pretending I'm not here isn't going to make me go away," he informed her. "It's only going to make me angry. I dismember when I get angry." He'd thought of that line a couple of years ago, and used it whenever he could.
She opened her eyes.
"Sit up and get the spare tire out of there for me. And hurry up."
"I can't move my arms," she said.
"Yeah, well, it's your own fault that you had to leave without a coat. I'd suggest that you get your circulation going pretty damn quick."
He kept the gun pointed at her while she moved the sack of garbage out of the way and lifted the spare onto its side.
"Push it out of there," he said. She was obviously too petrified to try anything, but Alan wasn't taking any chances.
She rolled the tire over the rear of the trunk, and let it bounce off the bumper and onto the ground. Alan was surprised that the bumper didn't snap right off of this piece of crap car.
"Now the jack," he said. "Don't throw it."
She picked up the jack and dropped it onto the ground.
"Very good. Now curl up like you were before. That was adorable."
She ducked back down as he slammed the lid shut again.
He got the tire changed without anybody driving past and without the car falling on his foot. See, good karma for not squishing the cat.
* * *
Rebecca had forced herself not to cry (again, at least) for the first few minutes of being a prisoner, but really, what good would that do? She needed the release. The stench of rotten garbage made her want to throw up, but she did struggle to avoid that particular release, since she didn't know how long she'd have to remain in the trunk.
She'd sobbed and sobbed until the car went out of control. And when the man had opened the trunk, giving her a potential (if extremely remote) chance to escape, she'd done nothing. Not a thing. She hadn't even opened her eyes until he forced her.
She was dead. And so was Gary.
Not that there was much she could do with a gun pointed at her, but she hadn't tried anything. She hadn't even thought of a plan. She wasn't just scared. She was a coward.
She deserved to die in this cold, dark trunk.
But Gary didn't deserve to die. She had to be strong for him. Keep herself alive long enough to think of a way out of this.
She gently blew on her fingers, trying to enjoy that tiny bit of warmth.
* * *
When the car stopped again, Rebecca had no idea how long she'd been in there, except that she had no tears left and had to go to the bathroom so badly that it was painful.
Somebody knocked on the trunk. "You alive in there?" asked the kidnapper.
"Yes."
"Then close those eyes. If they're open when I lift the lid, you lose 'em."
Rebecca closed her eyes. The trunk lid opened, letting in even more cold air.
A different man with a deep, scratchy voice spoke. "Why is she in there without a coat? And you didn't even empty the garbage first?"
"I forgot about it."
"It's good to know that I'm paying somebody who's so attentive to the small details," said the second man, with a snort of contempt. "Get her out of there and bring her inside before she freezes to death."
"Yessah, massah."
"Don't be racist. It's not cute."
"Whatever."
Rebecca felt a cloth sack drop over her head. "I've got a gun pointed at your skull," said the man who'd kidnapped her, tapping her hard on the forehead with it. "So be nice, Becky."
He took her hand, and helped her as she climbed out of the trunk. She lost her balance on her frozen feet, but he steadied her before she fell.
"Whoa, Jesus, is she rank!" said the second man. "Even in the cold that stuff reeks. See what happens if you forget the small details? You see?"
"I'm serious, man, I'll shoot you. I'll do it."
The second man's voice turned deadly serious. "Don't threaten me. Not even if you're kidding."
"Yeah, yeah, whatever."
The first man led her inside, where it was much warmer. In fact, it felt like they had the furnace on full blast. He led her across a wooden floor, and then gently eased her down onto a sofa. The first man sat down next to her and pressed his gun against her side.
"Welcome, Rebecca," said the second man. "I hope this idiot didn't make things too uncomfortable for you."
She remained motionless and silent.
"Would you like to see where you are?"
After a moment, the man next to her pressed his gun more tightly against her side, hard enough that she let out a gasp. "He asked a question."
"Be careful," said the second man. "Don't damage her. Rebecca, would you like to see? You'll have to promise to behave yourself, but if you do, we'll let you see. Do you want that?"
She nodded. The sack was pulled from her head, and she immediately closed her eyes against the blinding light.
"Would you like anything? A drink, maybe? I could nuke some pizza if you want."
"Bathroom," she whispered.
"Sure. Alan, take her to the outhouse."
"No problem, Stephen. I guess if Stephen wants me to take her to the outhouse, then I'll do what Stephen wants."
"Good. Then do it."
Alan tapped Rebecca on the shoulder. "Uh, Becky, you kind of need your eyes for this part."
Slowly, she opened her eyes. The light still stung from spending so much time in complete darkness, but she could see that she was in a small cabin, virtually unfurnished except for the sofa and a wooden chair upon which the second man sat.
He was a large man, heavily muscled, with brown hair and acne scars. He wore a black leather jacket and thick glasses that were almost comical in appearance.
Almost.
Then she had a sudden realization that nearly brought her to her knees. She'd now seen both of the kidnappers. She'd seen inside their cabin. They'd used each other's names. No way were they going to let her live.
"Where's Gary?" she asked, voice trembling.
"Bathroom first," said Stephen. "Then everything will be explained."
CHAPTER FIVE
Alan led her back outside and around the rear of the cabin. They were somewhere in the forest, but that did absolutely nothing to help pinpoint her location.
"There you go," he said, gesturing toward a rickety outhouse as if he were a maitre d' in a five-star restaurant showing her to her table. "I hope you'll find the accommodations to your liking. You could make an escape attempt through the hole, but I must warn madam that it doesn't get my highest recommendation. Be quick."
Rebecca opened the door and shut herself in. The door didn't have a lock, so she held it with one hand while she untied the string on her pajama bottoms with the other.
She hated outhouses, even under happier circumstances. Whereas the fear that bugs might crawl up onto you while you were using the toilet at home was a completely irrational fear, here it was very much a possibility. Spiders, ants, beetles, any of them could be crawling on the underside of the seat right now. Except that there wasn't a seat, just a hole in the wood.
In the rare instances when she'd used outhouses in the past, she always felt the need to hover over the seat. That wasn't going to be easy while holding the door shut.
She mentally cursed herself for worrying about that kind of thing when her husband was in serious danger.
Maybe even dead.
No, not dead, he couldn't be, but he certainly had more substantial problems than stressing about a kidnapper catching a glimpse of him peeing.
To distract herself, she thought of a story that she'd found absolutely hilarious as a child. She didn't know if they'd actually done this or not, but some friends had claimed to have set up a speaker underneath an outhouse. They'd hide with the microphone, wait for somebody to enter, give them a chance to get started then shout "Hey, people are working down here!" and wait for the victim to burst out of the outhouse, pants around t
he ankles.
She'd gotten in trouble at school several times over the years thinking of that story at improper moments, but it didn't make her feel any better now.
Rebecca managed the best she could, pulled up her pajama bottoms, and left the outhouse. Alan was waiting for her. "Everything come out okay?"
She ignored his comment. Alan chuckled and led her back into the cabin.
After she was seated on the couch again, Stephen handed her a cup. "Here's some hot chocolate for you," he said. "Some asshole forgot to bring marshmallows, but it'll warm you up."
"Thank you," Rebecca said. Thanking her kidnapper for bringing her a cup of hot cocoa was ridiculous, but it was an unbreakable habit. She probably would've thanked Adolph Hitler for a shower cap.
"So, Rebecca, do you miss your husband?" asked Stephen.
"Of course I do."
"Happy marriage? No divorce plans on the horizon?"
She shook her head.
"Good. I'm glad you like him. So let me answer the big questions that are probably on your mind. Yes, he's alive, and yes, you can have him back."
She nearly wept with relief. She didn't care how much they wanted for ransom; she'd come up with the money, somehow.
"Here's the deal," said Stephen, leaning forward. "You have to prove that you're worthy to get him back."
"How do I prove that?"
"Gary and his buddies went through an absolute nightmare. Scary, scary stuff. Now, that was always the intention, of course, but even we didn't anticipate it going as far as it did. But your hubby showed what he was made of. To be honest, he impressed the hell out of me. His buddies did all right for themselves, too, at least one of them did, though in the end...well, I don't want to give too much away. But Gary, no matter how much we messed him up, all he cared about was getting back to you."
"Is that fucked up or what?" asked Alan.
Stephen glared at him, and then returned his attention to Rebecca. "I've heard a lot of begging in my life. Hell, sometimes the pleading is the most satisfying part. Know what I usually do? I pretend to go along with it, offer a glimmer of hope that they've found my soft side, and then I laugh in their face. One woman was crying her eyes out, saying that she had a six-month-old baby at home that needed its mommy, and I honestly didn't feel a shred of remorse. It made it more fun to watch Alan with the hacksaw."
"You're not drinking your hot chocolate," Alan noted.
Rebecca took a sip, burning her tongue.
"So when Gary told us that he needed to get back to you, it wasn't anything I hadn't heard before, but something about the way he said it just got me in the heart. Weirdest thing I've ever experienced. People spout a lot of superficial lovey-dovey crap, but this guy loves you. He deserves you. Believe me, he deserves you. The question is, can you prove that you deserve him?"
Rebecca nodded frantically. "Yes. I'll do anything."
Stephen leaned back in his seat, cracked his knuckles, and smiled with satisfaction. "Then you're off to a good start. It's simple, really. All you have to do is relive his entire nightmare, step by step, minute by minute. Go everywhere he went. See everything he saw. Do everything he did. And survive it."
Rebecca gaped at him. Was he serious? "I don't understand...I can't..."
"Now, now, don't ruin that good start you had. Gary wouldn't have used the word 'can't.' Gary would have said, yes, anything for my darling wife, where do I sign? Did I mention that he's going to die a very slow, excruciating death if you don't come through for him?"
Now Rebecca's legs were shaking. "How do I know he's still alive?" she asked.
"You don't. You go on faith. Gary would have gone on faith, I bet. You'll learn as you go. Just think of the whole thing as a game. In the right frame of mind, it could even be fun."
Rebecca stared at the larger man, stunned. How could they possibly expect her to live through an ordeal that Gary barely survived? And that Scott and Doug presumably didn't survive at all? It was impossible.
"You won't let him go," she said. "I've seen what you look like. I've seen your house."
Stephen let out a surprised laugh. "Give me some credit. This shack is not my house. And yeah, you've seen what we look like, but that doesn't matter because we're on our way out of the country. Consider this our farewell party."
"I don't believe you."
"Then leave. Leave now. But let me tell you, they won't find your husband anytime in the near future. And when they do, they'll be too busy puking their guts out to put him in the body bag. Make you a deal, though. If you get through the first part of the morning, the easy part, we'll throw you a bone. How's that sound?"
Rebecca shook her head. "I want the proof now."
"Well, you don't get the proof now. You go on faith or he dies. I will, however, be more than happy to provide you with proof when he's dead. Do you think you could identify one of his ribs?"
Rebecca looked into his eyes. Stephen wasn't kidding. He really did intend for her to relive Gary's weekend.
She couldn't possibly make it through this.
But she couldn't possibly refuse.
"All right," she said. "I'll do it."
"Great!" exclaimed Stephen. "That saves us having to shoot you right here. Now, we still have some more work to do, so my partner and I have a long night ahead of us. You, on the other hand, need some rest, so we'll be taking you to the guest bedroom. I apologize in advance for the quality of the mattress, and for having to lock you in the room, but some things just can't be helped."
* * *
The room was empty save for the bed, lacking even a window. The wood looked good and strong--she didn't see any way she could break through it. There were several locks on the outside of her door, and she'd heard them all slide shut, so there wasn't much chance of getting out that way.
There'd been some shouting, though she couldn't make out the words, and then she'd heard a car drive away. She still heard occasional footsteps. Even if it was possible to get through the door, it certainly wasn't possible to do it quietly enough not to get caught by whichever one of the kidnappers was still in the cabin.
The smart thing to do was climb in bed, do everything she possibly could to put this whole horrific situation out of her mind, and try to sleep. She didn't know what was going to happen to her tomorrow, but she'd certainly be better equipped to deal with it with a full night's rest.
She climbed in bed, got under a blanket that smelled of mildew, and closed her eyes. She couldn't cry anymore, and her mind was racing so furiously that it exhausted her.
She fell asleep.
CHAPTER SIX
In her dream, Rebecca prodded her dead husband as he lay sprawled on their bed, blood trickling from his eyes. "Gary, it's time to wake up," she said, shaking his shoulder. "Gary? Gary...?"
"Gary...?" repeated Alan, gently tapping her cheek. "Gary, you're going to be late for your camping trip."
Her eyes flew open. Alan hovered over her, waving a handheld alarm clock that read 6:30. "C'mon, Gary, it's time to get up. You don't want to keep Scott and Doug waiting, do you?"
It took her a few seconds to fully awaken and realize what he was talking about. This was too bizarre. He couldn't possibly be serious, could he?
Alan grinned. "Just kidding. We're not taking it that far. But you still have a schedule to keep, so up and at 'em. We've got some clothes for you." He pointed to a pair of jeans and a red sweater that lay draped over the foot of the bed. "You owe me."
"Thank you," Rebecca said.
"Get dressed. I'll be back in five minutes with a grape jelly-covered bagel. Remember, like Stephen said, just think of this as a game. That'll keep you out of the loony bin, though maybe not out of the cemetery."
She wanted nothing more than to let loose and punch the smug bastard. If he was caught off guard, she might even be able to bring him to the ground, bash his head against the floor a few times, and force him to tell where they were keeping Gary.
Or not.
&n
bsp; Alan left the room and closed the door behind him. She got up and quickly dressed, then sat on the edge of the bed to wait. If only there was something, anything, in the room to use as a weapon. But what was she going to do, overpower them with her slippers?