I turned a corner and saw a classic Bentley along the side of the road. It looked like a 1970-something, beautifully polished, all black, with flared fenders. As I approached, I saw a metal jack hooked to the rear of the car, the trunk propped open, and an older woman waving for help. The woman was standing behind the car, her hair white and flowing with what little breeze the day offered. I slowed down and saw the sweat drenching her long floral print dress. This wasn’t a well-traveled road; if I didn’t help her, she’d have a heat stroke soon.
I pulled up behind her car, leaving a couple of car lengths between us. Her relief spread wide on her face as she started walking toward me. “Car trouble?” I called through the window.
She gave me an exhausted smile, “My tire is flat.” I reached in my purse to fish out my cell phone when I realized I hadn’t brought it with me. It was still at the house. It felt like an oven outside, so I considered driving her to Will and Gretchen’s house so she could call someone to change her tire. Just as I was about to offer, it hit me – I’d only seen Centaurs at their house. What would they think of me coming back with a sweaty old woman?
Helping the lady would help me get my mind off my meeting with Drake tonight. I knew how to change a tire, and I didn’t want for this lady to be in the heat any longer than necessary. It had been months since I’d done something kind for a stranger. The last time I’d helped pay for someone’s groceries when they were short at the cash register.
I walked past the old woman to the passenger side of the vehicle. As I looked at her tires, both were fully inflated. I started to walk toward the other side of the car when a man who had been crouching low to the ground leaped at me from near the front fender and put a white cloth over my nose and mouth. Before my mind registered what was happening, everything around me went dark.
I came to and knew I was in the car’s trunk. I silently swore at myself for stopping to help. I knew better. When I didn’t have my phone with me, I should have offered to go to my house and call someone for her. What the hell was I thinking? Newer cars had glow-in-the-dark trunk releases installed; that hadn’t been a consideration thirty years ago when this one was new. I could hear the rhythm of the road: thump thump, thump thump, thump thump. It felt like I would suffocate. Sweat dripped off me; the air was hot and heavy. My head throbbed. I felt all around it to see if he’d given me a concussion after he knocked me out. Satisfied that I didn’t have a head injury and the splitting headache had to be a hangover from whatever substance was on the cloth he put on my face, I started kicking at the back seat to try to get air. It was futile. I couldn’t make the seat cave in, and if the driver heard me, he ignored my pleas for help.
After I don’t know how many kicks, I remembered a television show where someone was locked in the trunk, and they’d messed with the wires and somehow shut off the car. I started pawing in the darkness looking for wires, a fuse panel, anything. I turned my body over to the other corner, still nearly suffocating from the heat and did the same panic search for something that would stop the car. My search was fruitless, and I felt myself losing consciousness. My last words were, “Mom, help me.” The darkness swallowed me a second time, and I believed the trunk had run out of air. I told myself I’d see her soon.
I awoke again, still in the darkness. The car was driving slower; I could hear gravel under the tires. I assumed we were nearly to our destination, and I searched for a tire iron or anything I could use as a weapon. The car’s trunk was empty except for me. I cursed myself again for stopping to help the stranger. I’d seen enough television shows to know abductions rarely turn out well if the victim isn’t found in the first twelve hours. I didn’t know how long I’d been in the trunk but vowed silently not to be a victim. I wouldn’t go down without a fight. It didn’t matter that I was a giant sweat ball who desperately needed air – I’d be ready to spring as soon as the car stopped and the trunk opened.
I felt my mind clouding again. I tried counting silently in my head – anything to keep my mind occupied so I wouldn’t lose consciousness again. I got to 326 when the car came to an abrupt stop. I slammed up against the car’s wheel well but refused to release a whimper. I heard the car shut off, two doors open and close, then footsteps walking away on the gravel. They were leaving me in the trunk! I knew I couldn’t hang on much longer. I started screaming with what was left of my energy, hoping a passerby might hear me. “HELP!! LET ME OUT!! HELP ME!! HELP!! LET ME OUT!! HELP ME!!” More silence was all that answered. I continued screaming for help until my voice refused and my body went limp.
I felt air on my face and looked up into the darkening sky. The same man who had ambushed me stood looking down at me. I couldn’t focus on his face; my body was too busy sucking in the fresh air. He held out his hand to me; I refused to take it. I lay there in the trunk, immobile from fear, unwilling to move. When I didn’t accept his hand to climb out, his gruff voice said, “You don’t want out? Fine, sleep in there tonight!” He reached for the trunk’s lid and every muscle in my body flexed; my arms and legs flailed trying to get out before the coffin closed on me.
My reaction pleased him; an evil grin emerged on his face as he held out his hand to me a second time. I looked at his hand but instead wrapped both of mine around the lip of the trunk while I swung my leg out onto the ground.
I stood propped up against the car, taking in my surroundings. It was a fortress that stood in stark contrast to the environment around it. It was in a swamp – literally: tall grass, Cypress trees with their knees protruding from the water, and Spanish Moss everywhere. It was dusk, and the life all around us seemed to be waking up. Even in the diminishing light I could see bright blossoms from nearly every plant that lined the flowerbeds around the house. It looked like a welcoming plantation house, a large two story front porch with eight pillars across the front, and big windows to catch the marsh breezes. It looked like something from Gone with the Wind, until I put my back to it and saw the swamp and foreboding trees that surrounded it. I saw a one lane bridge with enormous metal gates deterring visitors further down the lane.
I looked for a second route onto the estate, but in the diminishing light, I didn’t find one. There was a beautiful garden suitable for an English castle to the rear of the house – I immediately thought of Hannah’s warning to me a few nights ago. A woman’s voice brought me back to the present when she said, “There’s no use looking for a way out. You’ll be here for a while.” It was the same old woman who had flagged me down for help earlier.
I glared at her, “Who are you?”
“Zandra Chiron. I’m your grandmother.”
My eyes widened. Gretchen had mentioned her in a conversation with Will. I hadn’t been paying attention. “You kidnapped me?”
“Your father was being difficult. He told me you would be escorted at all times, yet my driver and I found you without an escort. No Centauride of age should be left unguarded. You’re lucky we found you.”
I answered her but moved my glare to her driver, “He put me in the trunk! I could have died!”
“Watch your tone, Camille. Aragon did what he thought was best.”
“Putting me in the trunk and driving me. . . where the hell am I?!”
“I’ll not warn you again. Watch your tone. You will not be the pampered princess at my estate. You are here for your protection and education. Aragon will show you to your room.” Without an apology, a thoughtful word or a kindness of any measure, she turned and walked away. I could see a vague resemblance to my mother, but she was so vile to me that I didn’t want to see any part of my mother in her features.
The chauffer pointed toward the house. As we stepped into the foyer, I demanded, “Where’s the phone? I need to call my father!” Aragon neither responded nor acknowledged that I’d even spoken. I hated myself for it, but I stamped my foot like a child and screeched, “Where’s the phone?!”
He put a firm grip on my shoulder and physically moved me to the stairs. I didn’t know where this man was from, but
judging from his size, he had to be part Samoan or maybe a retired Sumo Wrestler. When I still refused to give up my ground, he picked me up like a sack of potatoes and carried me up the steps. When we reached the upstairs landing, he glared at me, as if daring me to continue to be difficult. I wasn’t.
Aragon pointed to the last room on the right and followed me into it. I didn’t have any luggage, so I wasn’t certain what his purpose was. The room was dimly lit; the paint on the wall was old and peeling near the ceiling’s edge. I spotted a long forgotten spider web on the window. It looked like no one had been in this room for a very long time. Rather than continuing to stare at Aragon, I explored the room. It was the size of a large studio apartment, with four windows that had to be at least seven feet tall spaced evenly along the east wall overlooking the front of the property. There was a sitting area with sofa and winged chairs just inside the room. A bathroom was attached to the room that was not accessible from the hallway; a closet was full of dusty clothes that looked to be long forgotten. I dug through the drawers in the closet and found an old pair of shorts and a t-shirt that seemed not to have absorbed the dust I saw everywhere else. As I stepped out of the closet, I announced, “I need a shower.”
The chauffer didn’t flinch. He stood with his back to the door, a menacing look on his face but no response. As I looked in the bathroom, it, too, needed a good cleaning. Did she think I was going to be Cinderella? I dug around and found some soap and some shampoo whose contents had long since separated. “Great. Hey, Aragon, where can I get some shampoo and conditioner?”
I peeked through the doorway when I still didn’t get a response from him. “Hello-o-o-o, you’re going to have to talk to me eventually. Where can I find something to wash all the sweat off of me?”
Miffed at his lack of response, I walked toward him and reached around him for the door handle. A single hand shoved me backward. “What the hell? I get that you aren’t talking to me, but I need something to get cleaned up with!” I started to wonder, maybe he was mute? No, he had spoken when he offered to let me spend the night in the trunk.
I heard a tap on the door. Aragon opened it, and a petite woman walked in with a serving tray piled high with sandwiches, chips, and OHMYSWEETGOODNESS—cold water! As she set the tray down on a coffee table beside the couch, she didn’t make eye contact with me. I immediately reached for the water and emptied the glass in seconds. As I was pouring more water into the glass from a pitcher off the tray, a second knock at the door echoed, and Aragon let in a middle-aged man who had a basket of toiletries, a pair of satin pajamas, and a change of clothes. Both the woman with the food and the man left without saying a word or even making eye contact with me. I was grateful and thanked them both, though neither acknowledged me.
As I towel dried my hair, I sat in the bathroom, wondering: What had I done to deserve this? Just hours ago my mind raced with the possibilities of the future. I had silently hoped to slow down the “Drake Freight Train,” but I had never anticipated completely derailing it. Having satisfied my physical need for water, food and hygiene, I let my mind wander back to our lunch today. I thought of the fantasies he kept sharing with me through his touch. It had been a foreign experience and one that still gave me butterflies thinking about it.
Drake would think I stood him up tonight. I still wasn’t convinced that Bianca’s plan had merit, and I hated the idea of being responsible for whether someone’s bloodline continued—especially when I didn’t know anything about him or his family. Sure he was handsome, and I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t attracted to him, but this whole Centaur relationship thing seemed to be for keeps. No matter how great he was, I wasn’t ready to commit myself to him or anyone.
I wondered how long it was before people realized I’d been taken? I hadn’t locked my car, and it had been abandoned close to Will’s house. Hopefully someone was looking for me by now.
I needed to push thoughts of Drake out of my mind and focus on the problem at hand. How was I going to get out of here? Where was here?
Chapter 24
Camille Benning – Florida- Thursday Morning
Blood Debt Page 26