Under normal circumstances, either of them could easily outsprint me. But nothing about this is normal. Right now, I’m not just running—I’m propelled by raw, unbridled fear. The adrenaline coursing through my veins makes my feet blur beneath me as I weave and dart through the trees, the forest closing in like a living, suffocating maze. Rocks and jagged branches cut into my bare feet, leaving sharp, stinging trails of blood, but I don’t care. Pain is a distant echo, muted by the singular, primal urge to survive.
Every step is a gamble, my heart thundering louder than the rain that pelts my back, blending with the ragged sound of my own breathing. I zigzag in frantic patterns, hoping that if they are following, the erratic path will throw them off. My mind spins, half-formed prayers flitting through the storm of thoughts. Please let Vince stall him long enough. Just long enough.
The air grows thin, each breath a battle as my vision blurs at the edges, the world around me narrowing to a tunnel of trees and rain. My muscles scream, my lungs burn, and the adrenaline begins to fray, leaving exhaustion clawing at my legs like a beast desperate to drag me down. I stagger, fighting the dark splotches that threaten to pull me under, and glance up just in time to see it—a small cabin, a beacon of hope just beyond the treeline.
A surge of desperate energy surges through me, pushing me forward on trembling legs. I steal a glance over my shoulder, fear twisting in my gut, before I focus on the cabin and sprint the last stretch. The world tips and spins as I reach the stoop, collapsing halfway up the steps. I’m gasping, every ragged inhale clawing at my throat as I press a shaking hand to my side, feeling the sticky warmth of blood mixing with rain.
The storm thrashes around me, thunder rolling so close it shakes the ground beneath my knees. My vision swims, water dripping from my hair and blurring my eyes as I claw my way up the final step, fists pounding weakly on the wooden door. The sound is barely audible over the storm, each knock a plea.
Bent over, chest heaving, sobs choke me as I strain to catch my breath. The wet, splintered wood bites into my skin, grounding me in the pain as I shiver and wait, every heartbeat an eternity.
The door creaks open, a shadow framed by the warm glow of light spilling out into the rain.
“Oh good heavens, what’s happened, young lady?” The voice yanks me from the thick fog of fear like a lifeline, deep and rough with shock. In the doorway stands an older man, his eyes wide and frantic as they rake over me—soaked, bleeding, trembling. I try to speak, to force some sound from my raw throat, but the words stick like thorns. My gaze meets his, wide and pleading, and that seems to be all the answer he needs.
His eyes flick to the blood trailing from my torn feet, pooling in red rivulets on the worn wood of his porch. “Christ, come here!” There’s a tremble in his voice, but it’s steady enough to jolt something inside me. My limbs refuse to cooperate; exhaustion pins me where I am. Without hesitation, he leans down, sliding his arms under mine, lifting me clumsily but firmly. Pain flashes through my side, sharp and electric, but I’m too numb to react beyond a sharp intake of breath. He steadies me as we stagger inside, the warm, dry air of the cabin embracing my rain-chilled skin.
He guides me onto a worn, overstuffed couch, and I sink into it with a shudder, clutching my side as my chest heaves, each breath rattling painfully. The cool, smooth wood beneath me provides a brief, grounding relief against the sting of my cuts.
The man moves swiftly, a blur of movement as he slams the front door and disappears down the hall, his footsteps echoing with urgency. Drawers open and close with sharp clatters, and then he’s back, a towel and first aid kit clutched in trembling hands. His eyes are frantic yet soft with worry as he wraps the towel around my shoulders, fingers brushing my skin with a delicate care that makes my throat tighten. I try to say thank you, but all that comes out is a strangled rasp.
“Hold on, let me get you some water.” His voice is rough yet gentle, like gravel wrapped in velvet. Before I can respond, he disappears into the kitchen, his boots thudding across the old wooden floor. A moment later, he returns with a glass so cold that it stings my palms, the condensation trickling down my fingers. I clutch it tightly, the icy chill grounding me as I gulp down the water in desperate, uneven swallows. The liquid soothes the raw ache in my throat, momentarily washing away the panic.
I set the glass down, my hands trembling as a sob tears free from my chest. My shoulders shake uncontrollably, and I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to suppress the chaos inside me.
He stands close, not hovering, but close enough that I can feel the weight of his concern pressing against me. His eyes, shadowed with worry, follow my every movement, as if bracing for the moment when my fear becomes something tangible he can act against. The silence wraps around us, broken only by the rhythm of rain drumming against the windows and the erratic thud of my heartbeat echoing in my ears.
A single, raw “please” slips past my lips, the sound barely more than a whimper. “Do you have a phone?” The words crack, splintering in the air like glass.
“Oh honey, I'm afraid I don't! I have no need for one out here.” His brow creases, the corners of his mouth dipping with an apologetic twist. My heart clenches, and a sob shudders out of me. I press my hand to my side, steadying my breath, feeling the sting of fresh scrapes under my fingers.
A shift in the air makes me look up, and to my surprise, a little girl stands at the edge of the hallway, eyes wide and glistening with the kind of fear that mirrors my own. She can’t be more than six, with fine blonde hair gathered into pigtails and a faded pink nightgown that looks oddly out of place in the middle of the day. In her small hands, she grips a stuffed lion, the fabric worn and patchy from years of love. She stares at me, half-hidden behind her makeshift shield.
Instinct kicks in, and I try to force a smile, a reflex born of wanting to comfort others even when I’m falling apart. But it’s shaky and false, and the girl’s knuckles whiten as she clutches her toy tighter.
The old man follows my gaze, turning back with a look of surprise. “Oh goodness!” he says, moving toward her. “Come now, Callie, don’t be afraid,” he coaxes, his voice dropping to a soft murmur as he reaches out. The girl flinches, her wide eyes locked on mine until he gently rests a hand on her shoulder and guides her back down the hall. Her gaze breaks only when he turns her, the soft thud of a door clicking shut marking her departure.
He returns, eyes softer but clouded with worry. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to scare her,” I whisper, my voice shaky as I wipe at my damp cheeks, my chest heaving with each uneven breath.
“Oh, it’s quite alright,” he says, waving his hand with an absent gesture that makes the hairs on my neck prickle. There’s something in the way he moves, in the way he dismisses the moment, that gnaws at the edge of my mind, hinting at shadows I can’t quite place.
“Do you have a car? Is there any way you can drive me to the police station?” I ask, hope flickering in my voice, even as it trembles.
He sighs, regret pulling at his features. “Oh gosh, you know, I couldn’t get it to start the other morning. Been meaning to look under the hood, but with this storm... I’m afraid we’ll have to wait it out.” The words land like stones in my chest, and I bury my face in the couch cushions, needing a moment to hide from the world and the hopelessness creeping in.
“What happened to you, dear?” he asks, sitting beside me and brushing a damp strand of hair from my clammy face. His touch is gentle, almost fatherly, but there’s a weight behind it, an intensity that makes me shiver.
“A man took me,” I say, my voice raw and broken. “He’s been keeping me at the abandoned farmhouse, about two miles from here.” The confession rips from me, sharp and jagged, leaving me feeling hollow and exposed.
His eyes widen, darting to the rain-speckled window. “Oh my. The second this storm passes, I’ll get my car running, and we’ll get you to that police station. You’re safe here, with us. I won’t let anything happen to you,” he promises, his tone steady.
The sincerity makes my heart falter, a small, fragile flame of relief flickering to life. Soaking wet and trembling, I meet his gaze and whisper, “Thank you,” each syllable coated in nerves and exhaustion.
YOU ARE READING
Kidnapped
General FictionContent Advisory: This book contains graphic and mature, explicit themes throughout. Reader discretion is advised. What started as a late-night escape from home quickly spirals into a nightmare after witnessing an armed robbery. Trapped in the backs...
