Sativa.

25. Snitch

Taxidermy hasn't ever made sense to Blaine.

When she was eight or nine, her and Clark frequented pawn shops. The one within walking distance to their trailer park boasted an impressive collection of creepy stuffed creatures. What's the allure of hanging realistic animals that scrutinize from a perch on the wall?

Once Blaine comes to, she's acutely aware of a set of glassy black eyes. A stuffed head of bull elk is posed on the wall across from her. Her whole body aches, and her left cheek is sticky from deep cuts inflicted by whip-like tree branches, but the elk's stare bothers her most.

Blood matts her face like mud, glueing her hair to her skin, but she's unable to move her arms. An agonizing throbbing at the back of her head dominates her progress to full consciousness, making the world foggy and dim. Thick rope bounds her wrists tightly. She tips her head upright until the back of a wooden chair digs into her neck.

She's alone for now. The room is small with a wood stove under the elk head and a cot spread across the floor near the door. Wind blasts through cracks between thin walls and the whole structure wobbles precariously. Despite not seeing anyone she can hear a man speaking loudly outside.

"I don't know what to do boss!"

A pause.

"Yes, I knocked her out. Pretty sure she's a snitch."

Another pause.

"She should be waking up soon. Fuckin' hurry up so I don't have to deal with this bitch."

Fully aware, Blaine recognizes how much trouble she's in. Thinking of what he could do when he returns spurs her into blind panic. Wiggling her arms as best she can, she pulls against the restraints and grinds her teeth when the rope cuts into her skin.

"Her name? Of course I don't know her damn name! Just say the word and I'll finish the job."

Still struggling to free herself Blaine tugs harder against the knots. The chair scoots loudly across the wood floor. All that squirming nearly tips her over.

The door falls shut behind him with a thud, nearly wobbling right off the hinges. She freezes in place her chest tightening. On the verge of stopping breathing entirely Blaine stares at him with wild eyes.

"Well, look what the cat dragged in." He sneers.

He has a raspy voice and grungy long black hair curling past his shoulders. All that's clean about him is the snakeskin boots on his feet practically gleaming with polish. A pistol holster is clipped to his ripped jeans. She knows her fate now -- a bullet to her already failing brain.

Blaine has had her share of shady encounters but nothing like this. The man reeks of death and it isn't because he obviously doesn't shower. No, the stentch filling her nose is more of an omen. His eyes are soulless as the black glass in the elk head hanging on the wall.

"I'm not a snitch." Once she manages to inhale she finds her voice too. Despite a pathetic whimpering in her tone she adds, "I just stopped to ask for directions. Let me go."

He chuckles, the sound dry and void of any humor. "For a snitch bitch you sure are dumb." When he leans toward her she screws her nose up at a foul odor. "Boss told me to wait but he never lets me have any fun."

Even after she tilts her head away his grimy hand caresses her face. His fingers catch in her sticky hair and she bites down on her lip to prevent crying out as strands are pried from stinging cuts.

"You look like the type who loves games." Rancid breath washes hot against her cheek as he continues to comb her hair with his fingers. "And you're too pretty not to play with."