Riley Benjamin Graves
September 7, 1999 - June 20, 2024
No.
No.
Chapter 1
Riley
“TELL ME A PRETTY LIE.”
(THE NIGHT OF THE KIDNAPPING)
I’m awakened when an all-encompassing pain radiates from my shoulder, the agonizing heat spreading like wildfire to every corner of my body.
I attempt to blink away the darkness that consumes my vision, but the effort is futile.
Where the fuck am I?
My body is jostled again, and my exposed skin scrapes painfully across rough carpet, earning a deep groan that bubbles up from my chest. My shoulder throbs uncontrollably in a never-ending pain. At the same time, a sticky warmth seeps through the fabric of my shirt. The pain is excruciating, and I don’t understand what the fuck is going on. When I try to reach up to the wound to investigate, it takes me a moment to realize my wrists are bound tightly together behind my back.
I hear cars honking around me and a dull hum ringing in my ears that I finally register as the vibration of an engine.
Am I in the trunk of a car?
The faintest whimper catches my attention, and I turn my head—albeit slowly—towards the sound. I can’t see shit, and Idon’t have access to my hands to feel around. I feel so weak and cold, and I can’t get my limbs to move. The familiar rasp of a tiny cry pierces my senses again, causing my sluggish heart to pick up its rhythm fractionally.
“Co…Collins?” I try to say her name, but my lips are so numb, and my senses are fading in and out so uncontrollably that I’m not sure if I actually said her name or not.
“Ri—”My name on her lips breaks off on a sob.
All at once, the memory hits me of how I—we—ended up in the trunk of this car together.
I remember feeling confused by the lack of security around the buses when I’d first stepped out of the venue. I brushed it off, thinking that maybe they were inside doing a sweep of the perimeter or something.
I remember running to the bus to grab my headphones only to find the door hanging wide open and Jones was nowhere in sight.
I remember the shock of finding some man I didn’t recognize hauling a dazed and bleeding Collins over his shoulder.
The raised gun in his hand.
The shot fired at me.
Laying in a pool of mixed blood after I’d collapsed, I could do nothing but stare at the destroyed interior of what had become a home-on-wheels to us.
The fear that crept into my bones and the anguish of knowing—fuckingknowing—thathefound her, that we weren’t careful enough with her safety and failed to protect her. I remember when the man had returned and dragged me off of the bus by my feet. The asphalt that had ripped my back to shreds along the way. The loss of blood left me unable to fight back when he zip-tied my hands behind my back so tight that the plastic dug into my skin painfully. He then dumped me into this tiny trunk next to an unconscious Collins.
Everything faded to black just moments after the trunk slammed shut.
A soft touch pokes awkwardly at my face, and it pulls me from the haunting memory. I wouldn’t flinch even if I had the energy because I know it’s Collins feeling blindly for me in the dark. Hard, sharp plastic scrapes across my neck, and I realize that her hands are bound, too.
My stomach plummets with how helpless I feel.
The car takes a sharp turn, the movement forcing Collins’ hands away from my face, and I find myself wishing I could chase her touch, despite the situation.
“I’m so sorry, Riley…” Her voice is no more than a whisper through every hiccup and sob that passes her lips.
