Secrets Boxset: A Riveting Kidnapping Mystery Collection

by J. S. Donovan

The stranger turned into a side road. “A quick detour,” he explained. His gray eyes stayed on the windshield.

  Anna shifted in her seat as she became progressively more uncomfortable. The van got farther from the main road. Instinctual fear set in. “The rain is clearing up.” That was a lie. “I can walk the rest of way.”

  The man smiled at her like she was speaking ridiculousness. He said softly, “It’s only a quick detour.”

  The man stopped the van in front of a small ranch home. “I got pop inside,” the stranger said.

  “I’m fine.” Anna replied, not waiting to leave the van.

  “Come on,” the stranger teased. “It will only take a minute.”

  Anna averted her gaze. She felt the man’s gray eyes on her. Biting her lip nervously, she nodded.

  The man grinned victoriously and unlocked the doors. He turned his head and opened the door. Anna noticed the knife clipped to his belt. She didn’t hesitate. Swift as the wind, Anna burst out her door and dashed in the opposite direction of the car.

  “Hey!” There was venom in the stranger’s shout.

  She could hear his boots stomping on the gravel behind her. Anna pressed harder. The rain pelted her face and splashed her eyes. Her clothes weighed her down and the wind worked against her. The man’s boots splashed through the mud puddle. Anna closed her eyes and spit rainwater out of her mouth. Run, she told herself. Run! Run! Run!

  Finger twined into her hair and yanked, pulling her to gravel and wet dirt. She screamed, but the rain poured louder. Her scrawny legs kicked, spraying mud all over her jeans. The man pulled harder, dragging her across the lawn and closer to the solitary ranch home.

  The trailer’s back door wouldn’t budge. Anna thought about picking it, but Strife could be home any minute. Propping the screen door open with a rock, Anna took a step back and slammed her foot against the chipped wooden door. It bashed open and smacked against the inner wall before waving lifelessly. Dust particles danced in the air as Anna stepped inside the laundry area. Heaps of clothes piled atop the washer and dryer in the shape of volcanoes. Stained underwear and socks spilled across the floor. Anna grimaced at the stench of musk, sweat, and vomit. Gun raised, she stepped past the laundry hall and curved into the kitchen.

  Dozens of beer cans covered the countertop by the dish-filled sink. Pill bottles lined an open cupboard. A calendar with scantily-clad women hung from a nail on the wall. A red Sharpie circled a date. Anna approached, feeling a spike of dread. August 14th. The day Anna arrived in town. Anna first saw the Corvette two days after. Had it been following her since she arrived in Van Buren? Anna wasn’t sure if she wanted to know the answer. She looked out into the living room consisting of a stained couch, TV, and coffee table littered with old pizza boxes, cereal bowls, and smashed insect carcasses. She walked by the coffee table, disturbing a hive of fat, glossy roaches nesting on leftover crust. The bugs scurried across the tabletop, down the leg of the table, and between Anna’s feet. She trained her eye on the hallway.

  She stepped over the roaches and trash debris and headed for the corridor. Her heart raced as she opened the first door. Hundreds of boxes of magazines and trinkets filled the room to the ceiling. She went to the opposite door and turned the knob. Old pinball machines, multiple firearms, and discarded furniture. After checking the decrepit bathroom, Anna turned to the final door.

  The stranger’s grip jerked Anna’s hair from her scalp. She screamed and grabbed ahold of the doorframe as the man pulled her inside. The wetness of her fingers weren’t strong enough to stop him. Her back was dragged into the ranch home’s ugly laminated floor, leaving behind a muddy slug trail. She dug her claws into the man’s hand, but he only pulled tighter. Her fingers found the leg of a chair and brought it down with her. They neared a bolt-locked door. In determined silence, Strife undid the first hatch. Tears streamed and with a cry of pain, Anna tore herself from the stranger’s vise grip. On her hands and knees, she scurried in the opposite direction. With a natural expression, the stranger looked at the long locks of hair tangled around his fingers. He drew his folded knife. At the flick of the wrist, the serrated edge revealed itself.

  Anna made it to the door when the stranger grabbed her arm and twisted her around. In a swift motion, Anna raked her nails down his right eye. Blood trickled down the man’s face as he brought the knife up to her chin. The sharp point under Anna’s jaw forced her to look at him. Behind the man’s gray eyes was sick pleasure. He moved in for a kiss. Anna spit on his face.

  Angry, the man slammed her to the ground. He grabbed her wrist. She tried to crawl away from him as he led her to the bolted door, wasting no time on the next latch. It opened into a rickety wooden stairs descending to the black basement. With a hand, he lifted her up by the wrist until her wet toes balanced on the floor, and, as she fought, he twisted her around. Anna felt the cold metal of the knife through her shirt. Her fighting ceased as she looked into the dark abyss. Before she could turn back, the man shoved her and nearly caused her to fumble down the stairs. Slowly, she bounced down a step and then another. Her mouth turned dry and her heart raced violently as she neared the darkness. The door shut behind her. She could feel the hairs rising at the back of her neck.

  “Keisha?” Anna called out quietly to the closed door.

  No response.

  She tried the knob.

  Unlocked.

  With caution, she opened the door to Strife’s bedroom. Tacks pinned a black and white swastika flag over the unmade king-sized bed. A Nazi soldier helmet, a trench knife, and other Axis WW2 paraphernalia displayed itself proudly on a shelf. Next to it was a locked gun cabinet with glass panes boasting a number of shotguns and hunting rifles. A laptop sat open on the desk. Multiple adult websites were open on the browser, but it was what was laid across the bed that made Anna’s jaw drop. A small purple dress, fit for an eleven-year-old.

  The rain stopped. Out on the black night, Anna stumbled up to the front porch light before collapsing to her knees. Her father opened the door. From the look on his face, he’d been worrying all day. He knelt down to her level and overturned her small wrists, gawking at the raw and red scrapes from rope burns. Anna remembered him screaming at her mother and then loading Anna into the truck. Weeping, Ashley took the keys from him and climbed inside the driver seat. Richard went inside for his gun. He came back to Anna as she was about to be driven away. “Who?” he asked her.

  “Strife,” Anna replied, not sure when she heard the name.

  The details of how she escaped were fragmented and fuzzy. She recalled sliding out of her binds after Strife had left the ranch home, but that was the extent of it.

  When she was in the hospital that day, she overheard her mother talking. “Greenbell found him at local liquor store. Richard’s not happy. He was planning on… you know.”

  Anna didn’t go back to school. She’d lay in bed from sun up to sun down, unable to escape her mind. The doctor got the results weeks later. She wasn’t pregnant. After much arguing, Anna underwent experimental hypnotherapy. Ashley argued the ethical ramifications, but Richard wouldn’t relent. The events of that horrid evening were lost to Anna, fortunately, but you couldn’t erase scars. Eventually the past catches up with you. That fact was proven when Strife returned home from jail and found Richard sitting on his couch with a cocked gun.

  After a long drive through the wilderness, Richard put a gun to Strife’s head and made him dig a grave. Unknown to either one of them, Anna had hidden herself under a blanket in the backseat. When Strife was finished, she waited for her father to shoot the man. Instead, Richard commanded Strife to leave Arkansas and left him handcuffed in a five-foot hole. He’d been gone ever since…

  Feeling the soft fabric against her fingertips, Anna turned to the closet. She opened it, revealing racks full of little girl’s clothing and dresses. Flashes of Strife’s basement came to mind. The feel of calloused hands against her pale skin. Anna shut her eyes, trying to silence the images. The booze in
his breath. The cold of the knife blade against her neck.

  Rumbling.

  Anna opened her eyes and perked up her ears. She rushed to the window, prying open the discolored binds with her fingers.

  The Corvette’s engine growled as it pulled into the front yard. It parked and the front door opened. Out from the front seat, the tall, gray-haired man stood. He wore snakeskin cowboy boots, tight jeans, and a dirty collared shirt that revealed the white curls on his chest. His hair was pulled back into a loose ponytail. His face was wrinkled with a rough complexion. His gray eyes were alert and ready. The right one had faded scars from Anna many years ago. Edger Strife slammed the door. He looked Anna’s way.

  She pulled away from the window, breathing from her mouth. She turned her bloodshot gaze to the hallway and took off into a sprint.

  The front door opened.

  Anna swung into the room filled with boxes. She could hear Strife’s boots on the laminated floor. She peeked through the gap of the door. Strife whistled. Anna’s fingers curled tightly around the pistol grip. He stepped into the kitchen. Anna froze, feeling herself tremble. Strife placed his keys on the kitchen counter and opened the fridge.

  Anna took a step into the hallway. She might be able to make it to the front door if--Strife shut the refrigerator and looked down the empty hall. Anna’s back pressed against the wall of the box room. She held her breath.

  Strife walked through the living area, popping open his beer can. Anna hoped he would stop. He kept on to the hallway. Anna held the gun up high so that the top of the barrel touched her lips. With shifty eyes, she watched him meander through the hall and stop right by her door. He lowered his beer and studied the entrance to his room. It was closed when he left, but now it was open.

  He took cautious steps forward and slipped into the bedroom. Anna slowly opened her door the rest of the way and stepped out to the hall. She aimed her gun at the back of Strife’s head right as he turned out of view. A bead of sweat trickled down her nose just like the raindrop on that dreadful day. The living area was behind her, along with the front door. She slowly stepped backwards. Her gun rose at the threshold of Strife’s room. Each of her steps moved deliberately. Each breath from her lip was controlled.

  Movement in Strife’s room. A shotgun barrel curved around the doorframe.

  Boom!

  Anna ducked low, feeling the force of the blast blow over her head. She dashed into the living room as another blast ripped past her and obliterated a number of beer cans a few yards away. Cockroaches crunched beneath Anna’s feet as she found cover near the wall. Something scurried up her pant leg, tickling her flesh with tiny limbs. She smacked her slacks with her palm, feeling the roach splat against her thigh. Grossed out, she turned back to the hall.

  And stared down the sight of an auto-loading shotgun. Strife locked eyes with her… and pulled the trigger.

  9

  Threatened by Death

  Anna recoiled to the side as the scattershot took out a chunk of the wall. Wood fragmentation and paint chips splashed over her, coating her glossy button-up with a sheen of dust and powdered debris.

  “Drop the weapon!” Anna shouted.

  Moving with tactical precision, Strife trekked through the hall. His boots clacked against the floor as he stepped closer for the kill shot.

  Anna dashed to the couch. Catching a glimpse of Strife in her peripheral, she dove behind the sofa’s backboard.

  Boom! Boom! Boom!

  Three blasts blew through the cushions inches above her head. Fuzz and fabric rained down upon her. Still lying on her side, she peered up through one of the gashes and fired the pistol.

  The bullet shattered the hall light above Strife’s head. He stuck to the wall, avoiding the falling glass.

  On her hands and knees, Anna scurried to the kitchen. Another shotgun blast rang overhead, causing her to smack her chin on the kitchen floor. She whipped her head back. Strife stood in the living room. A wisp of smoke snaked from the shotgun barrel aimed at Anna. She rolled over, avoiding the loud, certain death that ripped a hole in the floor. Within moments, the gunner would be at her. The back door wasn’t far. Anna took a breath and ran.

  Strife followed.

  Beer cans erupted into aluminum scraps that confetti’d the kitchen. Anna zigged. Ceramic dishes shattered. Anna zagged. Pills popped and showered Anna and the floor. She darted into the laundry room and rammed her shoulder into the back door. Stumbling, Anna barreled into the blinding sunlight.

  Strife pulled shells from his pocket and fed his shotgun as he jogged through the obliterated kitchen. He turned into the laundry room right as the screen door slammed shut. With a hard frown, he pushed aside dirty clothes and made his way outside.

  The truck’s lock clicked after Anna pressed the button. She reached for the handle. A burst of scattershot ripped into the door. She twisted back and aimed the pistol.

  “Don’t move!” She felt the gun shaking in her hands.

  The dirt at her feet erupted at the impact of the shotgun blast. Her wide eyes turned to churned earth at her toes to the tall lanky man at the top of the steps. Under his gray eyes and crooked nose, Strife smirked. He was enjoying this.

  Anna pulled the trigger.

  Strife slapped the side of his neck as if squashing a mosquito. Blood trickled down his pressed palm. Holding the shotgun in one hand, he watched Anna sprint into the woods. Letting the blood flow into his collar, Strife coiled his bloody hand on the shotgun grip and trailed behind.

  Tall oak sentries sprawled in all directions. Anna struggled to find her breath. Every dry gulp felt like razors in her lungs. The bark at her back scraped her spine. Twigs jabbed through the sock on her exposed foot. She closed her eyes for a brief moment. Leaves crunched. He was near. Anna’s heart pounded.

  Du-dum.

  Strife scanned the woodland, seeing the exposed toe of a shoe behind a distant tree.

  Du-dum.

  Anna steadied the weapon in her hands.

  Du-dum.

  Strife arched around the tree with a small smile. His breathing intensified. He took aim. Gnarly tree roots and an abandoned shoe sat at the oak’s base. A present from Anna Dedrick. Fear overtook Strife’s smug face.

  “Drop it,” Anna commanded from behind him.

  Pistol pointed at Strife’s back, Anna stepped out from the adjacent tree. Cold pebbles kissed her sole through her sock.

  Strife grinded his teeth, not willing to turn back.

  “I won’t ask again!”

  Wind rattled leaves. Strife’s tense shoulders relaxed. The weapon collapsed to the underbrush.

  “Kick it back.”

  The shotgun slid behind Anna’s legs. She looked back up at Strife just in time to see the deadly point of his pocketknife coming down on her eye.

  Anna sidestepped and pulled the trigger. The pistol discharged next to Strife’s ear as the magazine slammed against his shoulder. Anna’s ear rang.

  Strife wrapped his fingers around the pistol barrel and tore it from Anna’s grip. It bounced away as Anna caught the man’s fist balled round the knife hilt. Slamming his shoulder against her torso, Strife shoved Anna. Foot catching on a root, they both tumbled down. Anna felt his weight pressing down on her chest. They fought for the knife as the bladed tip pressed closer to her throat. Strife’s expression was the same as it was on that day: cold and determined.

  Strife pressed both hands on the knife. Anna resisted the blade with all her might. Strife’s knee crushed her belly, stifling her breath. He pressed down harder. Anna’s legs kicked in all directions, roughing up fallen leaves and dirt.

  Anna yelled through her teeth and pushed the blade back. Strife jabbed down, sending the point into the dry leaves next to Anna’s neck. She reared back her head and rammed it in between his eyes. Strife staggered back. Anna’s finger found a dry log. As Strife went in for another jab, the termite-eaten wood smacked him on the side of the head, exploding into wood chips and dirt.

&nb
sp; Anna used the opportunity to wiggle out from underneath him and got to her feet. She looked frantically over the underbrush, trying to spot the gun.

  Strife rose up behind her. He shook the pain from his head and stood up with the knife.

  Found it. Anna dashed for the pistol, feeling the wind cut behind her as the blade sliced down. She rolled over, snatched up the pistol, and twisted back, barrel pointed at Strife.

  “On your knees!” she shouted, struggling for breath. Leaves and twigs stuck to her hair and clothes.

  Strife let the knife fall and dropped to his knees, locking his fingers against the back of his head at Anna’s command. With a soft Southern drawl, Strife said, “I missed you, Dedrick. You were always my favorite.”

  Anna hovered over him, keeping the gun trained at his head. Anger flushed her face red. Her finger slid over the trigger. Every fiber in her being wanted to put Strife into the shallow grave he dug years ago. “Where’s the girl?”

  Strife craned his bullet-grazed neck back at her. Anna looked down at his wrinkled and hide-like face. “I know where she’s not...” He startled cackling. “Playing the piano.” His sinister chuckle echoed through the woods and sent crows into the orange sunset.

  Anna teared up in anger. Her finger twitched above the trigger.

  Sirens could be heard from miles away. A line of police cars rolled into the windy gravel driveway. Wind jostled Anna’s hair and dust, dirt, and debris encrusted her from head to toe. She loomed above Strife amidst the junk-littered front yard. Behind her, the sun fell behind spiked treetops, saying farewell to a long and chaotic day.

  Sheriff Greenbell and Officer Ashburn stepped out of a squad car.

  “The Corvette in Fort Smith happened to be a sixteen year old skipping Physics class,” Greenbell admitted with a lowly expression. “It was a mistake to ignore you.”