Page 14

Brittney Walker

“Hello?” My voice croaks from me weakly as my lids do their best to flutter open.

Every last inch of me aches as I struggle to make sense of my new surroundings. Those last few memories flit through my mind in jags, the sound of shots being fired, someone clad in black, their face covered with a ski mask then tackling me.

The needle.

That sharp pain in my chest.

My hand reaches there and it still feels sore.

I’ve been coming in and out for the last few hours. Every time I open my eyes, I refuse to believe what I’m seeing. I just drift back to sleep and hope to somehow rouse from this nightmare. I’m lying in a room that feels more like a tomb than any place for the living.

There’s a chain shackled to my left leg, attached to the base of the impossibly heavy bedframe, and the chain allows enough lead for me to make it to the toilet.

It’s dark, save for the single nightlight emanating from the tiny bathroom. There’s a bed that’s made up, but I haven’t had the energy to crawl onto it just yet. The floors are carpeted with a thick pile and that somehow brings me a modicum of comfort.

The smell of mildew is thick, and the air is cold. It’s the kind of cold that seeps into your bones, making every shiver a reminder of how far you are from everything you know.

The bathroom is devoid of any bulbs in the light fixture, and the mini fridge to my right is stocked with nothing but water and apples. They’re my only companions in this confinement, and a part of me prefers it that way.

Who the heck is this monster who’s brought me here?

I try my hardest to remember even the smallest detail, a grunt, a whisper, but they didn’t say a word before they tossed me into the trunk of their car.

The car was a dark color. That I know for sure. It’s the one thing I zeroed in on before I blacked out. But that won’t get me far.

The only thing I care about right now is getting the heck out of here alive.

There’s a small window to my upper left, letting me know I’m probably in a basement of some sort. But it’s boarded up, stealing even the smallest glimpse of the outside world from me. Not that I can travel to it with the short lead on this chain. Earlier there was a seam of light outlining the window, and for a second I thought it was a porthole to heaven. How I wish it were. But it’s gone.

It must be night. Although I doubt I’ll get a wink of sleep now that I’m coming out of whatever they pumped me full of.

“Help?” I moan as I struggle to get onto my knees. “Anybody? Can you hear me? Please, I need help!”

My heart pounds against my chest as if trying to escape this nightmare. The silence is deafening, but there has to be someone nearby—someone other than that monster.

My mind begins to race.

What the heck could I have done to deserve this?

Was this random?

Why me?

Why not those other women?

I riffle through my past at lightning speed, trying to search out something, anything, that could have led to these consequences. An entire litany of people that I’ve wronged with my blind ambition flits before me. The competitive edge that drove me in the real estate world—that push that led me to believe I always had to be on top—now feels like a curse. The faces of those I’ve stepped on along the way play out like a parade of horrors, and it’s as if I can hear their voices mixed in with the creaks and whispers of this house.

Is this punishment for my sins? A reckoning for the hearts I’ve trampled on my way to success? Or simply just the hearts I’ve trampled?

And just like that, I go from fear to fury.

Whoever is behind this is going to pay. I’ll make sure I punish them myself. I won’t need the police.

They messed with the wrong woman if they think this is going to end in their favor.

I’m getting out of this alive and they’ll be dead once I’m done torturing the crap out of them.

The sound of rustling emits from the other side of the door and I gasp.

“Hello?” I call out in a panic. It’s either a savior or a devil. And with the way my luck has been going, I’m betting on the latter. “Hello, can you hear me?” I cry so loud my voice pierces my ears.

“Yes, I can hear you,” a deep, slow, and methodical voice calls from the other side of the door and I shriek in terror.

That’s no savior.

That sounds like the devil himself. And oddly, it sounds a lot like Darth Vader, too.

“Can you hear me, Brittney?” they continue.

“Y-y-yes,” I stammer, unsure if that was the right move.

“Good. I hope you’re comfortable. I’ve been thinking about you all day. Have you been thinking of me?”

My heart jumps its way into my throat and I can’t bring myself to answer.

“I’ll take that as a yes, too.” The disembodied voice warbles with laughter. “I’ve got some sad news for you. Robin Hanson was found dead in her home.”

Robin? My mind reels with the possibilities.

“Robin was killed”—they pause for a moment—“but you won’t have it so easy.”

I pull my knees up and bury my face between them, trying to muffle my whimpers.

“I’ve brought a present for you. Do you like presents? I thought you might get lonely, so I brought you a couple of friends. But don’t worry. I’ll be back in a little while to keep you company myself.”

The door opens and a box is hurled this way. No sooner does it land on the ground than two large gray rats scamper out of it.

I scream my head off as the door shuts tight once again.

And that disembodied voice laughs like mad.