Page 26 of A Light in the Dark

TWENTY-SIX

I’m impressed with your boldness.

Once Joel cleaned up, I escorted him to my front door, plucked the spare key off its ring, and handed it to him. “Until you are released from being a hostage, you may hold on to this, as my hostage needs to be able to let himself back into his cage.”

“Your house isn’t a cage, Valerie.”

“It is now. Any winged visitors who come in through door or window do not get to leave until I give my permission. That means my house is now a cage. It’s a comfortable cage filled with food and happiness and crafting supplies, but its status as a permanent structure of luna moth containment has been finalized.”

He laughed, added my house key to his key chain, and joined me in raising a brow. “And your solution is to give me the key so I can let myself in and be a hostage?”

“Yes.”

“I’m impressed with your boldness.”

“Call it a recent development due to ready access to silk. I am not even going to try to fight my new obsession. It makes me happy.” I shot him my smuggest smile. “You may not be Shifter Five, but you’re local, you’re my hostage, and you’ve already paid out with an entire bag of silk just for me.”

Halfway down the street to visit our neighbor, Elenora stepped out of her home, waving and grinning at us. “Ready for your lesson?”

I waved back, and as the thought of finally mastering some form of baked good appealed, I grinned and hollered, “I even brought Joel along for the ride!”

“Good girl. Don’t let him escape, you hear?”

Giggling over the absurdity of the situation, I eyed the luna moth shifter. “You hear that, Joel? You are not permitted to escape. You’re mine now.”

“You’re absolutely loving this.”

“I really am.”

Joel sighed. “In one last final attempt to be a voice of reason, normal people approach baking and cooking trying to avoid poisoning people.”

I slowed to a halt and regarded him with a raised brow. “Joel, you are dealing with a woman who is obsessed with silk from a very specific source, has established rules about when certain species may leave her house if they’re foolish enough to enter it, and wants to grow literal poison in her garden.”

“Why are you talking about yourself in the third person?”

His bemused tone offered hope he found me to be pleasant enough company. “Because I can. And it’s true. That’s what you’re dealing with. And you are now in my silky web. You can struggle if it would make you happy. ”

“There is something to be said for a good struggle. I understand the appeal. I propose we take turns struggling.”

I laughed at his proposal, and as I saw many benefits to the arrangement, I bobbed my head in agreement.

The grind of ill maintained brakes alerted me to trouble up the hill. I turned, hoping the foundations emerged from the potential wreckage. A rusty car, so far gone I assumed the owner had bought it from a junkyard, smacked into Joel’s stairs.

To my astonishment, the stairs won, resulting in the vehicle flipping, smacking down on its hood, and rolling our way.

Our neighbors weren’t so fortunate, and while I gawked at the demolition derby, Joel grabbed my arm, yanked me towards the wall, and peeked around our neighbor’s stairs.

Two SUVs, one silver and black, followed after the rolling vehicle, which smashed into my steps.

By some miracle, they held, and the car ground to a halt.

The likely culprit of my steps’ inexplicit survival whistled before hurrying up the hill, all humor fleeing from his face as he went to see if the driver had survived. “Call the police,” he ordered without as much as a glance back.

I did as told, climbing the hill while holding my phone to my ear.

“Emergency services, what is the nature of your call?” a man’s voice answered.

“There’s been an accident. A car smashed into the steps and foundations of several homes, and it’s flipped several times.” I gave him Joel’s address before explaining that the vehicle had come to a halt at my steps. At the dispatcher’s request, I gave him my address as well. As I drew closer to the stopped car, I winced at the volume of blood splattered over the vehicle. “I think the driver’s dead.”

“Why do you think that?” the dispatcher asked in a sharp tone.

I leaned over for a better look inside the vehicle, determined the driver’s neck had snapped, resulting in his head being turned at an unnatural angle. “It looks like his neck is broken, his eyes are open, and he’s not moving. There’s blood everywhere, too.”

Joel crouched next to the vehicle, and he shook his head. “He’s dead.”

“My friend thinks he’s dead as well. The car hit the steps quite hard, and then it flipped onto its roof. It’s an older vehicle.”

“How old?”

“It’s so rusted I can’t even tell the make or model,” I admitted. “Especially not now.”

The two SUVs parked, and four men came out to check out the accident site. I’d always liked that about Stonecreek; while there were issues, for the most part, if people saw a problem, they’d help. They would often complain about it, but they’d show up and do what was needed. Two of the men went to Joel, and the other two came my way. They dressed well, wearing suits and likely fresh from a shift of work. I appreciated I’d been able to keep a Monday to Friday schedule, but Stonecreek never slept, not really.

There was always somebody working somewhere, and our long days made it possible for everyone to have lives while the city stayed up all day and night.

The first one to reach me, tall with blue eyes and lighter brown hair, looked me over. “You all right? We saw the crash, and it looked like you were pretty close.”

I supposed that from the top of the hill, they might have believed we were fairly close to the crash. I pointed where we’d been actually standing. “We were, fortunately, a safe distance. It’s a good thing somebody had shored my steps.”

“Oops,” the somebody up the hill said without a scrap of guilt or remorse in his tone. “Right now, I’m glad I had someone swing by and take care of that. That might have ended a lot differently if your steps hadn’t been shored. Pity about the driver. I guess he lost control at the intersection?”

“It sounded like his brakes had given out.”

“Yeah, I heard that.” Joel rose to his feet, shook his head, and regarded the driver again. I joined him, bending over for a better look at the body.

Nothing could bring back the dead, and all I could do was hope that he’d died shortly after the collision with Joel’s steps, dodging any suffering.

I rose to tell Joel I’d skip down the street to apologize to Elenora about missing out on our baking date. Something cold and hard smashed into the side of my head. My legs gave out beneath me before fiery pain in my skull flared up and consumed me from within.

The sweet and slightly tart flavor of strangleberry washed over my tongue, and the only reason I choked on it involved my semi-conscious state. Coughing and hacking woke me up, and my head pounded to the beating of my heart. I registered voices, laced with urgency, but the words escaped me. A hand clapped to my mouth and pressing my chin up prevented me from spitting the berries.

It took me a few more moments to comprehend someone attempted to kill me with my favorite poisonous treat.

I opened my eyes, but something dark obscured my vision. Fury over my situation burst to life, and I kicked my feet. Attempting to swing did me no good.

Someone had tied my hands behind my back.

My feet, however, connected with a body, and I earned a grunt. With nothing else I could do, I hammered away with my heels, following the sound and determined to leave my mark. A pair of strong hands seized my ankles, and I battled to free myself so I could continue my pummeling.

“Make certain she swallows,” a deep voice ordered, his tone sharp. “It’s no good if she just swims to shore once we throw her in.”

Somehow, I would make the fuckers pay. Well aware the berries wouldn’t do jack shit to me, I did as they wanted. I’d have to put my acting skills to the test, pretending I choked. Shuddering and spasms matched the expected behaviors, so I gave little kicks of my feet, pretending as though the strength drained away as my throat closed and the berries did their lethal work.

Without Elenora’s death cobbler, their plan would have worked.

I needed to thank her later, sometime after I got myself out of my predicament.

“That should do it. Untie her and toss her in,” the deep voiced man ordered.

Forcing myself to go limp save for deliberate twitches, faking ragged breaths and erratic kicks tested my patience. Every instinct screamed for me to get up and run.

In reality, I’d have better luck following their plan, swimming to shore the instant I determined I could escape from them.

Expecting them to remove the blindfold, as a blindfolded corpse indicated foul play, I closed my eyes and waited. They, whomever they were, untied my hands first before removing the blindfold. Then someone grabbed me under my arms and another took hold of my legs. Without any fanfare, they swung me back and forth before releasing me, tossing me off something. Before I clued in screaming might be a good idea, I slammed into the water. My ass took the brunt of the fall, followed by my back, which hurt enough I gasped. Rocks beneath the surface spared me from swallowing water, buying me time to gasp in air before I flopped into rushing currents.

I opened my eyes, flipped myself over so my back faced the surface and might disguise some of my activities, and fought to get my bearings. White caps churned around me, and I determined I’d been thrown into some river at a narrow point, guaranteed to batter me and sweep my body far away. Large rocks served as obstacles, and I used my hands to push off them and limit the amount of damage I suffered through before being swept far enough away to risk struggling for the shoreline, which bordered a thick forest.

Fortunately or unfortunately, depending on how one viewed it, the river’s rapids swept me along at a rather brisk pace. I twisted around, and once satisfied I couldn’t spot anyone upstream, I began the tedious process of swimming for shore. Fortunately, the presence of trees helped, as some of them had extended their roots into the water, giving me something to hold on to. After several tries, I secured a hold, hauled myself to the shoreline, and scrambled up onto the stony beach.

Then I muttered curses, taking stock of my situation.

Somehow, my house keys and phone remained in my pocket, but the phone’s screen remained dark no matter what I did. I assumed the spiderweb of cracks had something to do with its premature demise. Having my keys offered some comfort.

When I made my way home, I’d let myself in, check on my roses, and pick my favorite corner to cry in for a while before dusting off, taking names, and doing my best to secure a healthy blend of vengeance and justice.

According to my shirt, I’d been shot in the chest at least three times, as it was covered in red-brown stains. I patted my head, found a matted spot, and determined I’d gotten a rather nasty clonk, resulting in a substantial amount of blood shed. The throbbing throughout my skull supported my theory I’d gained a concussion at a minimum.

Luckily for me, the strangleberry being shoved down my throat had woken me up, else I would have drowned without any struggle whatsoever. A full pat down revealed a great deal of tender skin, which would bruise in a hurry. Had I been in Stonecreek, I would have called emergency services to summon an ambulance. As that wasn’t an option, I’d have to either head upstream and run the risk of running into my kidnappers or go downstream, hopefully finding civilization sooner than later.

In the future, I would make certain I never went anywhere without a pocketknife or other tool, as I foresaw having a bad time.

While Stonecreek had a gentle enough climate, starving or dehydrating would be a serious concern.

It all depended on how remote of a location they’d dumped me in.

I regretted not having gotten a look at their vehicle or the surroundings before I’d gone for a swim. In reality, had I made any other decision, they might have worked a little harder to kill me. However, the method worried me.

How many of the refugees had been forced to consume strangleberry, losing their lives before they’d had even a chance to struggle? Not only would I make Elenora a blanket, I’d make her matching gloves, a little hat, a scarf, and a shawl—and I’d go rampage at Yolana’s store and fashion it from Shifter Five’s precious silk. The first thing I would do when I got home involved crying, and then I’d hit up my silk stash and cuddle with it. After I comforted myself using the power of silk, I would find Joel and seek out some comfort from a living person. Then I’d get to work securing justice, notifying my parents I’d gotten into more than a little trouble, and otherwise resuming life.

At least I held some hope my boss would forgive me for disappearing.

With a little luck, I might even make it home by Monday morning, in which case I’d adjust my order of operations and go to work, throw myself into the tasks with a fervor destined to alarm everyone, and then head home to cry, cuddle with Shifter Five’s silk, and seek out Joel.

Pleased with my plan for what I would do once I found my way home, I began the tedious process of making a plan for getting home. While I’d grown up in the country, my survival skills were limited to rubbing sticks together to make fire, learning how to make a spear using a stick and sharp rocks, and setting up a basic shelter.

As fire, sharp sticks, and shelter could result in my survival, I picked my way along the shore, heading downstream in case my kidnappers opted to follow the river in search of my body. The last thing I needed was them to discover I’d survived their machinations, so I’d do my best to make their work as difficult as possible.

Having a plan helped. My feet squished in my shoes, and I was grateful I’d gone for sneakers rather than kitten heels or flats. Had I been in any other type of footwear, I would have been running around the forest barefoot.

With my luck, stones would pierce my feet, I’d be embedded with thorns within an hour, and I’d find every single spiked plant and step on it. A thousand and one different ways the forest might kill me rattling through my head, and to hold my anxiety at bay, I searched for an appropriate stick to sharpen and turn into a weapon.

The forest had sticks aplenty, and it wasn’t long until I sat at the water’s edge, making use of a sharper rock to whittle the wood down to a point. The task consumed more time and energy than I liked, but having something beat having nothing. If I didn’t find someone or something to stab with the stick, it would help me navigate through the woods without taking a fall.

I had more than enough bruises without adding to my collection.

Muttering curses every step of the way, I began implementing the next step of my plan, which involved making as much distance as possible before foraging for berries that wouldn’t try to kill me, setting up a shelter, and starting a fire to keep warm. With a little luck, I’d be able to fish with my stick, but I wouldn’t hold my breath on that.

Spear fishing took a lot of practice, something I lacked. While desperation often proved to be the mother of invention, I wanted a full belly, warmth, and shelter in case the weather soured.

In Stonecreek, the weather liked souring.

I kept a wary eye on the sky, ready to run for higher ground in case rain fell and the waters swelled. I comforted myself with thoughts of home and the inevitability of finding civilization eventually through following the river. Sure, I might reach the ocean first, but oceans had beaches, and where there were beaches, there were people. If I did make it to a city-state with a beach, I’d have a lot of explaining to do, but a few phone calls could handle that.

Kidnapping victims weren’t typically charged for illegal border crossings, and there had been witnesses. I could only hope the witnesses hadn’t come to any harm—and that the dispatcher who’d been on the phone with me wasn’t in on my disappearance.

Puzzled, I pulled my phone back out of my pocket, narrowing my eyes at the realization one of the bastards had grabbed it and put it where it belonged without my awareness of it. The broken screen remained dark, taunting me.

I upgraded from muttering curses to snarling them, returned my busted phone to my pocket, and resumed my search for civilization, hoping I would find a road before I ran out of strength and ended up another fatal kidnapping statistic.