Page 6 of The Wolf

Poppy

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Twilight was a weird thing. It was a place in time that felt paused, like you were floating above everything, unaware but still alert.

There were fleeting images of blurred faces with flashes of light no brighter than a flickering plane in the sky and voices as quiet as the whisper of dragonfly wings.

That was all I could remember in the twilight.

But there was more. I knew there was more, even though it escaped me.

The memories were like dreams swept away by consciousness after opening your eyes.

I could feel them, but I could only grasp the illusion they were there.

I opened my eyes to darkness. For a brief second, I thought I was blind until a thin glow of light appeared near my feet. I tried to lift my arms, but I couldn't. Panic set in, causing my heart to race and my breathing to quicken.

What's going on? What's happening?

I bent and pulled, trying to move my arms and legs.

Coarse rope scratched my wrists and ankles.

My arms were bound in front of me, and my ankles were tied together.

I was still in my dress from the gala, but my heels were gone.

The silk fabric was stuck to my damp skin like wet leaves on the pavement.

The dress twisted and tightened, suffocating my entire body.

Fuck. Where the hell am I?

I can't breathe! I clawed at my throat as if there was rope around my neck, but all I did was scratch myself. I was going into a state of shock. I closed my eyes and took a few deep breaths. I had to calm down. I needed to focus.

My body jostled around as the sound of an engine bled between my ears.

As I took another slow breath, I could smell exhaust fumes in the blank space around me.

In one explosive burst, I realized I was in the trunk of a car.

The tires whirred against the ground. Pebbles popped and crackled as they spit beneath the treads.

Each bump rocked my body, causing it to jump up and slam down hard.

Shit. What the hell do I do? What is happening?

I was trying to remember the evening. The night played through my mind. I was at the lobbying event. I had a drink. I remembered Dylan, and instantly, I was angry. Then I remembered being outside and hearing a noise.

Was I fucking kidnapped? Am I'm in the trunk of the kidnapper's car?

When I was a child, we had a safety class in school.

A firefighter had come in and told us about not playing in old refrigerators because you could get stuck and run out of air and how if you played in the trunk of a car, the heat could harm you, but that most vehicles had a latch inside in case you got stuck and needed to get out.

The newfound memory ignited a rush of adrenaline.

I could do something to help myself. I could escape.

I felt around the trunk. My hands glided across the roof and down where it latched shut.

My fingers danced across the ridges, tracing and feeling in the darkness.

Another bump caused my head to ricochet off the trunk lid.

It left me dazed for a moment, but I wouldn't give up.

I started feeling around again, more determined to find the emergency pull string.

Got it.

I gave it a hard tug, but it broke free, draping against my palm like a strand of loose hair.

I grunted with frustration, punching the roof of the trunk with both hands.

“Fuck!” I screamed. “Let me out! Fucking let me out!” I screeched as loud as possible, kicking my legs up and down like a beached fish and slamming my arms. I had lost my mind in an instant.

I couldn't control myself at all. I felt enraged.

“Let me out of here! Fucking let me out of here, Asshole!” I punched again and again, hitting the trunk as hard as I could.

The car began to slow down. The wheels dragged against the pavement as it veered to a stop. The engine hummed softly, vibrating the metal frame beneath me. I listened intently, waiting.

Time seemed to slow down. The engine's rumble hemmed and hawed between trying to go and trying to stay idle. The sound of a door creaking open startled the silence. I inhaled a quick breath, listening as heavy feet slowly clicked against the ground.

My fingers began picking at the binding, trying to break my arms free.

Over and over, I feverishly scratched and pried as the feet moved closer to the back of the car.

I twisted my wrists back and forth. The binding burned against my skin, but I didn't care.

I needed my hands. The intense need to be free was pushing through the pain.

The binding around my wrists finally broke free. I moved to my ankles, working at the knot in the rope. It was tight, but I was determined to get it off. A key clinked against the lock. My fingers became more frantic as they worked. My ankle binding finally loosened and fell off.

The trunk popped free, allowing cool, fresh air to spill in, filling me with new life. It lifted fast, revealing the outline of a man. I couldn't see his face, just his hands as they burst towards me like tentacles.

I slapped and punched at him, all while screaming as loudly as I could. “Get the fuck away from me! Fuck you! Help! Help!” I had no idea where I was, but instinctively, I yelled for a savior.

The man was startled, not expecting to find me untied. He stumbled backward, leaving me enough room to pop out and take off running. I didn't look where I was going; I just ran. I darted towards the treeline and kept moving.

“Fuck! She fucking took off! Get your ass out of the car!”

There's more than one. . . Fuck! Who are these people?

“What the hell happened? How did she get loose?” The other man barked as he shot out of the car.

“Fuck if I know. She went that way!”

“Well, don't just stand there! Let's go fucking get her!”

I was already moving quickly, but when I heard that man yelling, I ran. I ran as hard and fast as I could. I broke through bushes and crashed through sharp branches. But they were always on my heels. Following. Tracking. Hunting.

No matter how fast or how far I had run, they always seemed to be two steps behind me.

I found a little ravine on the mountainside and tucked myself inside.

The men appeared above me, talking out a plan, knowing I was close but not knowing how close I actually was.

The men took off in different directions.

I waited a few moments, then darted back in the direction I had come.

If I could get to the car, I might be able to get away.

It was still running when I broke free. The keys should be inside, and I could drive off.

Adrenaline fueled me like dry debris fed a fire.

But I made a mistake. I thought I had outsmarted the men by doubling back to the road.

The silence of the forest was a trick. The adrenaline that ran through my veins, percolating like hot coffee, made me think I was in control.

A set of arms flew out from behind a tree, capturing me around the waist. The man lifted me off the ground and spun me around, slamming my back against the tree.

“You stupid fucking girl.” His face was masked by a sheet of darkness. “This was the wrong move.”

“No! Let me go!” I wiggled and kicked. I punched blindly, connecting with his body.

The man used his weight to pin me against the tree. He gripped both my wrists, forcing them over my head. I couldn't move. I was trapped again. “Enough!” he yelled.

My eyes were full of tears. I couldn't see the man's face as the wind blew the treetops and the moon cast down a beam of faint light.

He was warped like a Picasso painting, blurry and smeared.

“Let me go! Please, just let me go!” I was begging him to set me free.

“Why are you doing this?” My voice softened as I cried. “You don't have to do this.”

“I told you to shut the fuck up.” He took both my wrists in one of his bear-sized hands and held them tight. “Your pleading won't get you out of this.”

“You don't have to do this! Just let me go!” I wailed, inhaling deep, petrified breaths. Each breath was more intense and fearful than the last.

“God just shut the fuck up,” the man snapped. He used his free hand to pull something shiny out from behind his back. As he lifted his arm, the moonlight caught a piece of the metal object.

That's a gun. . .

“Please, don't kill me. My father has money,” I said frantically, trying to keep his attention so he didn't do something stupid. “He'll—”

Thwap!

The man brought the butt of the gun down hard on my temple, knocking me out cold. In an instant, everything was gone. The sky, the man, the cold, the world: all of it was gone as he sent me spiraling into unconsciousness.

When I opened my eyes, I was looking up at a ceiling fan. It had three blades rotating with a slow, sloppy wobble. Dust soiled all the edges like mud around the sole of a sneaker. There was a musty scent that soured the air.

I rubbed my eyes. They felt dry and itchy, and my throat hurt when I swallowed. The right side of my head throbbed. I softly touched my temple with the pads of my fingers, gingerly examining the tender lump.

What the hell happened? Where am I now?

I slowly pushed myself up from the small cot I was lying on and looked around.

There was a door across from me, a window to my right, a small stool, and a cot.

That was it. There was nothing on any of the cracked, dirty plaster walls.

Not a picture. Not wallpaper. Not even crown molding to show the room had once held some sort of meaning other than a tomb.

The floor was old, dull wood that was buckling in random places.

The ceiling was speckled with dark orange water spots and giant cobwebs as thick as cotton candy in the corners.