Fear

3

Some hours later, I came to with a groan, my head pounding like a drum in my skull. My eyes struggled to focus at first, but when they did, I wished they hadn't.

I was in some kind of metal box. A container, maybe? Definitely not the bar. The air smelled like rust and old sweat, and the cold from the floor pressed into my spine. My mouth was dry. My stomach churned. I felt like I'd been hit by a train-and not just because of the hangover.

'What...?'

The low, constant hum of movement filled the space. I felt it too-the faint, rhythmic rocking beneath me. We were moving. A van. A motorway. My stomach dropped.

Then I remembered.

Him.

'Shit.'

I tried to scream, but there was tape across my mouth. My chest seized, and I started to panic. My breaths came too fast through my nose, sharp and shallow. My wrists were tied. Ankles too. I wriggled, thrashed, anything to get free-but it only made the ropes bite tighter into my skin.

A voice cut through my panic.

"Well, look who's awake."

I flinched. My head snapped in his direction. I hadn't heard this voice before. This was someone else.

A blonde-haired man with an unnerving grin perched on a stool in the corner of the van. He crawled forward on his hands and knees, calm as anything, like this was some kind of sick game. I pressed myself back against the metal wall, heart hammering in my chest.

He was young, about my age. He had a large burn scar on the left side of his face, more burns on his pale arms and legs, and cigarette burns on his wrists. The van stunk of tobacco, and a packet of cigarettes peeked out of his shorts pocket. Tattoos covered his arms, including a large flame on his right arm. He wore a loose black tank top, black denim shorts, and battered blue trainers.

"Relax, baby," His voice was weird, soft and almost feminine, but with an underlying menace. "I'm not gonna hurt you."

The way he grinned, far too wide, made my skin crawl. He looked like the Joker.

I wriggled, trying to loosen the ropes. No use. I was trapped. I tried to scream, but it was muffled by the tape.

He let out an exaggerated sigh and rolled his eyes.
"I had a feeling you'd be a screamer. That's why I taped you," he said casually with a smirk. "Can't have you screaming your head off in here."

Then he laughed. Not like a grown man-like a kid. Sharp, like it didn't quite fit.

Tears welled up in my eyes without me even noticing. I felt them streak down my cheeks. I blinked hard, trying to keep it together. Then he reached behind him.

I flinched, expecting something-anything-but he pulled out a crumpled tissue. And wiped my tears.

Gently.

"There, there. No need to cry," he said, his voice dipping into something almost sympathetic. "You don't look so pretty when you cry."

I stared at him, stunned. He tucked the tissue into his pocket and tilted his head.

"It's gonna be a long ride. We're already late for the flight."

I stared at him, eyes wide, breathing erratically. I tried to speak, but it was just a muffled "Mmmmm."

"I suggest you relax and make yourself comfortable. We aren't even out of England yet."

Relax? I couldn't relax! I'd been kidnapped, taken who knows where, far from my family, friends, and everything I'd ever known, my whole life. I began to cry harder.