His voice cracks on my name, and I sprint down the hill to my house. The tears don’t spill until I’m safely inside with the door bolted. What have I done? I slide down the orange wood and bury my face in my knees. We fought so long and so hard to stay together before this, and now I can’t breathe. I will never be able to breathe again. What have I done? Maybe Christian hasn’t left the top of the hill yet. If I hurry, I can take it back and—
“Don’t cry, little one,” comes a masculine voice.
I jerk up with a gasp to find the man from the dance crouching in front of me. My heart nearly stops. “Wh—what are you doing here?”
He smiles, strangely sincere. “I can’t leave without my treasure, can I?”
I shove up to my feet, only for him to mimic the movement. His body shimmers. A side effect of the fear, most likely, but it sends me into a frenzy. I lift the latch on the door, muscles tense and ready to flee. A scream rips from my throat despite there being no one nearby to hear.
A flash of white flies into my peripheral vision. A hand slams down on my mouth. I scream again, so hard my throat burns, but the muffled sound is lost behind a clammy palm. A sickly-sweet smell invades my senses when I inhale for a second scream. The man loops an arm around my waist, pulling me against his wide chest. I kick back at his legs, but he only presses the cloth down harder. I dig my nails into the broad forearm. Wetness blooms under my fingers, but if anything, he holds tighter.
My feet dangle in the air and each kick holds a little less oomph than the last. My eyelids are heavy. So heavy. No, I scream at myself. Stay awake. I have to stay awake. I have to get away. The world tilts, my vision blurring. No, no, no. I can’t lose consciousness. I scream into the hand again, but it’s the last thing I do before pinpricks sear their way across my skin.
A deep, pulsating, terrifying darkness swallows me whole.
My stomach churns, pulling me, gagging, from unconsciousness. My legs tingle, ready to cramp with the slightest movement. Acid sears its way up my esophagus, and I groan. When I pry open my eyes it’s to a darkness so complete, it throbs. Or maybe that’s my head pounding. I press my eyes shut, and open them wide, but there’s still no light. My pulse roars. I’m blind. I pant, my lungs begging for air. This has to be a dream; it can’t be real.
I shift, pushing up on my elbows, and my head thumps against something hard. Sliding back down, my elbows bump a wall on either side of me. There isn’t enough room to straighten my legs. My chest feels as if it’s being ripped open and a piercing ringing fills my ears. I press my hands above my head, running them along the smooth surface. Using the side walls for leverage, I push. My arms and shoulders scream with pain, but I keep going until I’m dizzy from the effort.
“Remember,” I whisper. Hot tears roll down the sides of my face, pooling in my ears. “No boogieman.”
There wouldn’t be room for one in this box anyway. Box... Coffin. I’ve been buried alive. Bile coats my tongue. “No, no, no, no, no,” I whimper. I can’t be underground. I can’t be. I won’t die like this, leaving my mother to wonder what happened to me.
“Help,” I scream. My throat feels like sandpaper, and I bang on the roof. Pain shoots down to my elbows. “Someone help me!”
Metal clanks on the other side, and I freeze. I’m not buried; not yet. There’s still time to get out. I resume my assault, pressing against the ceiling with both hands and my forehead. A cramp burns its way up my calf. Fresh tears stream down my cheeks, but I ignore the stinging muscles and claw at the surface above me.
“Please,” I scream again. “Let me out!”
The lid cracks, a thin line of light spilling inside. I shove my way free, gasping for air, but a pair of arms wrap around my waist as soon as I’m standing. They keep me from climbing out of my prison. Before I can shout again, a hand clamps over my mouth. My lips scrape against my teeth so hard I taste blood, and my calves grate against a sharp edge as my captor pulls me from the coffin.
“Stop squirming,” a man hisses in my ear. “I’m not going to hurt you.”
Liar. I swing my elbows back in quick succession. They bounce off his abdomen without loosening his grip. I kick back, my cramp blazing with the motion, and I jerk against the pain.
“Stop or you’re going back in there.”
Fear lances through me, and my gaze darts around the tiny room. A set of bunk beds attach to a white steel wall dotted with rows of rivets. Wide industrial pipes run overhead, and a small cracked sink is tucked into the corner. My coffin isn’t a coffin at all—although it smells like something died in there—but a large black steamer trunk with the name ‘Ackerman’ painted on the lip. It takes up almost the entire floor, leaving just enough space for one of us to stand outside it. One circular window about the size of my head is the only source of light. The door must be behind me because I don’t see another way in or out.
My kidnapper must take my stillness as agreement because he lets go, and shoves me forward. I land on the bottom bunk, barely missing the edge of the sink with my forehead. Nausea rolls through my body and saliva floods my mouth. I inhale, ready to scream, when he steps forward with his hand raised. I choke down stifling air and press myself against the wall. His hand falls back at his side without striking, but the threat still leaves me breathless.
“I know you,” I say before I can stop myself. I’ll never forget the shaking jowls, or sunken eyes. He’s in a polo shirt now, his gut hanging over his belt, and his thinning hair is greased back. Not like it had been when he crashed the bicycle, but like it had been that night in the empty barn. “You were at the dance. That was… that was you on the bike.”
“It’s nice to know I’m memorable.” He extends a pudgy hand to shake. “Name’s Walter.”
I recoil. How did he find me after I left with Christian? Did he follow us home? He could have kept up on a bicycle, but I don’t remember seeing anyone behind us on the drive. As soon as the barn was out of sight, I had put Walter out of my mind. I was sure I’d never have to see him again. I should’ve watched longer, should’ve paid better attention; he gave me such a strange feeling… I should have asked Christian to drive faster. Should have.
“What do you want?” My voice cracks. “Are you going to kill me?”
“Kill you?” He laughs. “If I was going to kill you, I wouldn’t have gone through all this trouble. What do you take me for—a fool? This took a lot of planning. I didn’t know until I saw you at the dance that I would need you. Luckily, I already had some chloroform, not that I intended it for you, of course, but it took so long to get you alone. When I saw your mother at the farm without you, I transmitted to your house as fast as I could, but you weren’t there. Without knowing where you went, the quickest way to travel was on the bicycle, and we both know how that turned out.” He shakes his head. “No matter. I got you, didn’t I?”
It should reassure me that he needs me. It means he won’t kill me, but my mind is spinning with other reasons for being here. With the possible motives he would have to carry chloroform. I grip my skirt. “What do you need me for exactly?”
Walter steps into the trunk to close the distance between us. “You’re going to use that voice of yours to make money in New York. Behave yourself because you can benefit from this, too. You could be as big as Jean Harlow one day. Imagine!”
His rancid breath churns my stomach, and I stop inhaling until he’s finished talking. He wanted me to go with him that night at the dance… But this still doesn’t make sense. “I don’t understand.”
“It’s not important right now.” Walter reaches up to the top bunk without looking away, and a coil of rope falls, pooling on the edge of the bed. He winds one end around his fist. “What’s important is how the rest of your trip is going to go.”
I inch down the thin mattress until my back hits the wall. “Don’t put me back in there,” I plead. The thought of being trapped in the trunk, tied up or not… Cold sweat beads on my face.
“I won’t have to if
you do as you’re told.” He sniffs, running his arm under his nose. “I’ve talked with the captain, and he’s agreed to give you free passage as long as you stay in the room. We don’t need you upsetting the other passengers with crazy tales, and I don’t have the funds to pony up if you try to escape.”
“Captain?” I forget to breathe as the word sinks in. The nausea. The world moving under my feet. It’s not a side effect of the chloroform. “We’re not...” Pushing to my knees, I press my face against the window. A bright blue sky stretches out over a darker blue ocean—ripple after ripple, as far as the eye can see. There isn’t a single bird in the sky or speck of land on the horizon. “No.” I push away from the glass. “No, no, no. Tell me that’s not the Atlantic Ocean.”
“Of course it is.” He slides the trunk in front of the door, and stands between it and the sink. “There’s nowhere for you to run, so let’s make a deal. Promise to stay quiet and I’ll only tie you to the bed.”
Only tie me to the bed? I’m not going to let him tie me to anything, and I’m definitely not going to keep quiet while he tries. There may not be anywhere to run on a ship, but that doesn’t mean I can’t find help. Getting away from this lunatic is step one. Finding a way home comes later. “You kidnapped me,” I say, my voice rising. “And you just expect me to be okay with it?”
He picks at a skin tag on his neck. “That’s exactly what I expect because if you don’t, you’ll go back in the trunk. Then, if you’re still too noisy, I’ve got an entire bottle of chloroform left. I’d hate to keep you drugged for the next couple of weeks. Honestly, you wouldn’t survive it, and I rather like you. You’re pretty, talented, and magic—the whole package. Even if you weren’t a Symric, you have star quality. It would be a shame to waste such a rare talent as yours. You’ll get the audience addicted to your voice in no time, and we’ll never have to worry about filling chairs again. In fact, there will be so many people clamoring to get a dose of your magic that we’ll need a bigger theater in no time! So let’s try to be good, hm? Besides, a girl has to eat, right?”
My stomach growls at the mention of food, but it’s the last thing I want. It will just weigh me down anyway. Walter has at least two-hundred pounds on me and, with his talk of magic, clearly unbalanced, so I’ll need every advantage possible. I can’t push past him. Even if I could, the trunk is up against the door. I eyeball the window but it’s too small, even for me, and I’ll never survive the open ocean.
“What’s your plan then? Keep me tied up and hope no one notices?” I snap.
He grabs my arm, yanking me forward. “Like I said, the captain knows.”
“Does he know you kept me locked in a trunk for two days?” I shout. Two days. My breath falters. My mother and Christian must be going crazy by now. Almost as crazy as Walter was with all his nonsensical ramblings. A sharp stab of pain hits my chest. No. Christian might not even know I’m missing now because instead of getting engaged, I left him.
“I opened it while I was in the room so you didn’t suffocate.” Walter shrugs, calling my attention back to the present. “The captain said to pass along his regards, and he hopes you’re feeling better soon.”
“Feeling better?”
His clammy hands set to work tying a knot around one wrist. It’s tight but not so much it cuts off circulation. “I told him I was trying to get my sister to New York to see a specialist. Top of his field. There’s a new treatment that’s rather promising, you see.”
My brain strains to put the words into useful context. “What?”
“Guess you’re not as smart as I thought.” He moves on to tie the other end of rope to the metal bed frame. There’s enough slack for me to move about the room which doesn’t say much. “No matter. No one really listens to insane folk anyway. Not that they’ll get the chance,” he adds, meeting my gaze. “Because you’re not leaving this room, Symric.”
There’s a glint in his eye cautioning me he means business. He thinks he’s won. He’s confident in it, but confident people get lazy. They make mistakes.
“My name is Lina,” I say helplessly.
He chuckles. “A Symric is what you are though and that’s much more impressive.”
“I’m just a girl.”
His jowls wobble as he takes me in. “Hasn’t anyone told you before? Do they have a different name for it where you’re from? I’ve only ever heard Symric, but it’s not as if it’s a common topic around here. Mostly, Symrics are the subject of idle chatter from the people up north who deal with the fair folk. Rumor has it that the fairies keep your kind hidden from the rest of the world so aren’t I the lucky one?”
“Please.” I choke back a sob, not understanding a word of said. He’s mentioned Symric more than once, but it means nothing to me. Combined with his apparent belief in fairies, I can only assume it’s part of his delusion. “Just let me go. I won’t tell anyone what happened. I’ll just say I ran away—”
“That’s likely what they’re thinking anyway.” He gives the rope one last tug. “I was standing outside when you fought with your mother after the dance. I heard everything. I’m dying to know how you came to call someone so nonmagical your mother, by the way. Symrics can only be born to two Syrmic parents.”
My bones feel as if they’re full of iron. I ignore his mention of magic and focus on what he said about my mother. Will she think Christian and I eloped when it became clear we wouldn’t get their blessing? When she realizes I did the exact opposite of that, she’ll never believe he had nothing to do with it. She’ll be convinced he killed me in a fit of rage and start looking in every ditch she walks by.
“Not feeling chatty, eh?” He shrugs, unbothered. “We have a long journey ahead of us. Plenty of time for us to get to know each other.”
“You don’t understand. My mother’s going to be devastated. I’m all she has. Let me go back. Please, Walter.”
He grunts. “It’s too late for that. Once my destination is out of sight, there’s no way to transmit anymore. My mother can, mind you, but no one is powerful enough to make it this far off shore without a ship of their own to go part of the way.”
“What?” I ask between heaving breaths. It’s partially a rhetorical question as I’m sure he’s simply lost his mind, but my own head is spinning so fast that I can’t stop the word from tumbling out.
“I’m a Transmitter. Obviously.” He speaks as though I’m stupid for not understanding. “I can travel large spaces in a single step thanks to some fairy ancestor generations ago. Diluted magic, but magic nonetheless.”
A sudden burst of rage burns its way from my throat. “There’s no such thing as magic!”
“I’ll get you something to eat. See if we can’t curb that attitude with a full stomach. If I hear a peep out of you, back in the trunk you go.” He motions under the bed. “There’s a pot tucked under there if you have any business to take care of.”
I glare at him as he backs away, slides the open chest away from the door, and leaves. If he thinks I’ll sit here and wait, he’s got another thing coming. There’s no telling what he has planned for me in New York. This is someone who admits to carrying chloroform with him on what sounds like a regular basis and believes in fairy magic so whatever it is, I don’t plan on finding out. I’ve heard stories about girls that go missing and are never found. I refuse to become the next cautionary tale.
With one hand untied, I pick at the knot around my other wrist. My short, brittle nails aren’t much help, but I keep working until they bleed. It takes longer than I hoped, but I finally dig the end of the knot out of the loop, and toss it aside. My heart explodes in my chest. Please don’t let me be too late.
I crawl to the end of the bed, avoiding the trunk, and step gingerly onto the cold floor. My shoes are gone, but running will be easier, quieter, without heels anyway.
My hand quivers on the metal knob. Please. Hopefully the dining rooms are on the other side of the ship because it’s now or never. My teeth clatter as I swing the door ope
n and dart from the room. A long, narrow hallway of doors stretches out on either side. The walls are the same as inside in the room—white-painted steel—only with a stripe of red across the middle. The dim lighting flickers and I stumble into the wall. The stench of vomit does nothing for my own stomach. I debate pounding on each door as I pass until I find someone to help, but I can’t be sure Walter doesn’t have an accomplice staying nearby.
Instead, I run to the right where more artificial light filters down a set of stairs. My bare feet slap against the floor. I launch myself up the narrow staircase, clinging to the railing for support. Knotted hair whips around my face each time I hit a landing and turn toward the next set of steps. Each heavy door has a large painted number, each number getting closer to one. I consider hiding, but can’t stop until I’m free. If enough people see me, maybe one will believe me. Or, at the very least, I’ll be missed by someone if Walter decides to throw me overboard. I’m hoping for the first option.
At the fourth landing, the letter “D” replaces the number. Real sunlight shines through the window—a small patch of blue against the clinical white of the landing.
I stumble into open air. The breeze carries a light hint of salt. I squeeze my eyes shut against the sun as it bounces off the water. “Help,” I call in a hoarse voice. I force myself to squint into the brightness, and find two men in tailored suits puffing on cigars. They turn away from the railing. “Please, help me.”
They exchange a cautious glance before the one on the left steps forward. His fedora shades his eyes against the sun, but he still squints as he scans me from head to toe. “What’s the trouble, miss?”
“I was kidnapped.” I sway as the exertion of my escape creeps in. “He locked me in a trunk and—”
“There you are.” Walter’s voice booms behind me, although I think he’s actually speaking in a normal tone. “I’ve been looking all over for you.”
I back toward the two men with my hands held out in front of me. “Keep away.”
When Stars Are Bright Page 4