Unlovable

Chapter 28

While Darcie originally froze, now she was everything but frozen in fear. She ran, quickly, in the opposite direction of Harold, trying to get away from him.

Harold reached out and grabbed a handful of hair, yanking her back to him.

Darcie fell to her knees and his grip on her intensified. Pulling her up he held her flush against him. She clenched her eyes closed, not wanting to see him, praying silently that his being there was just another nightmare. As soon as she was parallel to him, he cuffed their hands together.

Wishbone stood growling at his feet, nothing but a pup. Harold glared down at him and kicked into his stomach, sending the dog sliding across the hardwood floor. Wishbone yelped before hiding under the coffee table.

Darcie wanted to yell, to curse at him, but her throat was burning and closed. Neither of them said a word. He drug her around the cabin as he packed her bag, got himself something to drink, and even while he went to the bathroom. The phone rang in the distance and she tried to think of a way, any way, that she could possibly get to it.

By the time she was close enough, the ringing had stopped.

Her heart was practically jumping out of her chest.

Darcie was sure Harold could see the frightened, pumping muscle through her shirt. She could feel the pulsating all the way in her toes.

Darcie's cuffed wrist was beginning to throb. It took all of her will power to restrain herself from shedding the tears that threatened to spill. She braved angry pull after angry pull and wondered what could possibly be coming next. After he set her bag by the door, he handed her a blank piece of stationary and a ballpoint pen that he had found on the Hornblower desk.

"Tell him you went home," Harold said as he forced her into the desk chair.

"Who?" Darcie asked, playing dumb.

A growl escaped his lips. She quivered.

"You know exactly who I'm talking about. Roger Reynolds! The fool you've been gallivanting with like the whore you are! Now write!" he commanded, she thought, strangely calm.

Darcie glanced at the wall clock. She had to stall. Roger would save her. He would be there within the half hour.

He said he would protect her, and she trusted that he would.

"I can't," she said softly.

"Why? Have you gone completely stupid since you've been gone?"

Darcie snorted.

"My writing hand, my right hand, is kind of connected to yours."

Darcie could hear Harold grit his teeth together. He unlocked the cuffs, holding one hand strongly down on her shoulder. With the other, he reached into his belt and produced a police issued .22. Slowly, he brought it to her temple.

"Try to run again and I swear to God Darcie I'll shoot you without thinking twice."

Darcie shoved the barrel deeper into her head to prove his point. Darcie had no doubt that he would pull the trigger if he felt the need.

"Write!" he demanded again.

Darcie flinched briefly before setting the pen to the paper.

"Dear Roger," she wrote as slow as possible. "Harold told me to tell you I went home and..."

Harold, looking over her shoulder, snatched the page up and shoved it in his pocket quickly. He spun the chair around and slapped Darcie, unbelievably hard, across the face. She could feel the slight trickle of blood arise in the corner of her mouth.

"Stupid bitch," he hissed through clenched teeth.

Darcie trembled as he turned the chair back around and pushed her into the desk, so close that she could hardly breathe. "Fuck off again and so help me God you're boyfriend's going to be cleaning your brain off the walls," he said with a final shove.

Slowly, she brought the pen back to a clean sheet of paper. She hesitated as her tongue glided against her wound.

"Damn it, Darcie," Harold cursed, clearly losing his temper "Do as you're told!"

Darcie swiped at her eyes with the back of her hand. She didn't want to give him the pleasure of seeing her crumble.

"I can't," she said, thinking only of the look on Rogers face when he discovered her gone.

"You better hurry, kid. He shows up and we're still here I guarantee that you'll watch him die."

Darcie looked up at Harold, her eyes pleading.

"Please," she begged. "Don't hurt him."

"I won't have to," he said surprisingly tender as he used his finger to move a fallen strand of coal black hair from her face. "As long as you start writing now," he finished.

The idea of watching her sweet, dependable, loving Roger die at the hands of this cruel, unfeeling animal completely devastated her.

Harold would kill them both if he had to. Darcie had no doubt about it. There was no exaggeration in his eyes, just cold, tormented hate. She didn't have any choice. After taking a deep breath, she began to write.