Chapter Twenty-six
Bree
Bree woke up in the dark. The sound of a large engine in her ear, and the rhythmic thumps of tires hitting pavement section joints permeated her brain first. Then her cramped legs started screaming and it was all she could do to keep from crying. A vague memory of hide-and-seek came to mind, and she recognized the pretzel shape she was in; she was jammed into the foot-well of an old sedan. Only this time she was tied up. Despite the urge to break into tears, she didn’t risk a single sniff. It didn’t help. The small space smelled of dirt, and copper, and chocolate fudge with peanuts.
She didn’t move, even though the edge of the blanket covering her was inches from her face. It wouldn’t take much to ease it back and get a look at the man who’d kidnapped her.
But she was afraid.
The car sounded like it was moving quickly. Highway quickly. There was no starting and stopping to indicate stoplights or traffic, and no turn signals or sway to the car like the driver was changing lanes. She’d have one chance to get away, and she wasn’t going to blow it by fighting for the right to jump out of a moving vehicle at breakneck speeds.
Besides, he was too close. She could hear him muttering to himself.
She wanted to mutter to herself.Be quiet. Don’t move. Please, God, let him forget I’m here.She was beside him, in a foot-well. He wasn’t going to forget she was there. But maybe he could ignore her for a few more minutes.
Bree heard the sound of flesh hitting something solid. She didn’t care what the psycho was pounding as long as it wasn’t her.
Screeching tires covered up her moan as the car lurched to the side and almost spun out as it gained traction on a gravel road.
“Sit up, bitch. I know you’re faking. You cunts fake everything.”
She eased herself onto the seat. Psycho had one hand on the wheel, and the other clutched his knife.
Now that she could see, Bree realized she had no idea where they were. Scrub land on one side, a plowed, barren field on the other. No buildings. No power lines or cell towers. The phone in her pocket was about as useful as a brick. A tiny, breakable brick.
“This isn’t right. I wasn’t going to use this place. But the room isn’t ready and I have to stop you.”
Stop me from what?She didn’t ask out loud. In the movies, they said to keep them talking.
In the movies, the victim got several takes to get it right. Pyscho’s knife looked like a one-stab-and-it-was-over deal.
They drove forever. He slowed once or twice, but Bree didn’t reach for the door handle. She’d still be hurt on the landing. And there was no place to go, no help to find. He was heading somewhere. He said he had a specific destination. She could make a run for it when they stopped, if she didn’t lose her head first.
Allison was right. Gallows humour came fast when Death came a ’knocking.
It was a cottage. Or a shack. A structure at any rate. Bree did not want to go in there. It screamed that bad things happened inside. The river in front of her was a better choice. Yeah, she’d probably freeze to death in a few minutes but when they found her body all her parts would still be attached.
The car rolled to a stop beside a wood pile. It was the first piece of luck she’d had. She’d hit him with a stick until he died. Or she did. At least she’d go out fighting. Bree looked for a good piece of firewood.
“Out of the car, cunt.”
Bree didn’t need to be told twice. She bolted out of the car and reached for the closest piece that could be used as a weapon. She ended up with a baseball bat-sized branch.
“Drop it,” Psycho ordered.
“No.”
It was the first word she’d said to him, and it felt good. Like maybe she’d regained a tiny bit of ground heading out of victim territory.
“I said drop it, you bitch.”
“No.”
Psycho came around the back of the car. Bree kept pace going around the front. If she kept the car between them, he couldn’t kill her. If he came over the car at her, his hands would be busy and she could hit him in the head till he stopped moving. It wasn’t a long term plan, but it would work until she came up with something better.
“Stop moving!”
Oh, hell, no. Living people moved. She was going to move for the rest of her life.
