Into The Woods

My arms are weak. I'm in excruciating pain. I lift my hands off my lap to my face and touch something warm running down my left temple into my hair, dripping into my ear. The pain in my arms is more than I can bear, and I drop them back onto my lap. I've done my best to prop myself up on the armrest of the truck door. As I glance down at my fingers, the viscous fluid spreads across my skin, swollen and numb from the zip tie, making it difficult to escape. My sparkling white-gold wedding ring is no longer bright with life, but dull and red. My thumb rolls into the crimson blood, leaving a stain. The blood is mine.

I am not fully alert from my semiconscious state. A sharp ringing fills my ears. An abrupt, pulsating pressure pounds throughout my head. The sound of Clyde Moody's "Shenandoah Waltz" is playing on my abductor's truck radio. The music reminds me of a happier time dancing with him. I remember a jolt to my head from a massive object sideswiping me, possibly a tire iron. I never saw the blow coming.

The smooth blacktop road ends, and we bump along a shell-rock dirt road. My neck aches from the vibrations of the door. Sycamore tree branches sway in the wind. The pale pinkish-orange sky fades to a deep blue as I look out the tinted back seat window in a blurry daze. Darkness is coming.

My eyes close, open, and then close again. Tears form and stream down my face. I finally realize all this torture is because of a lousy twenty-thousand-dollar inheritance that's buried in the woods. Today is my last.

The truck comes to a sudden halt. A loud thump from my abductor's hand smacks my little black notebook skirting the center console armrest. He shifts the gear into neutral. I hear him make a hasty switch from two-wheel drive to four and put the shifter back into drive. Trees surround us as we head down an unused muddy path that ends in an open green field. The stench of the diesel fuel seeps into my nose when the truck comes to a complete stop. This is it.

My abductor opens his door and shuts it. He is slow on the uptake as I watch him make his way over to my side. My heart almost pounds out of my chest with every step he takes. He opens the truck's creaky back seat door, imprinting the sound into my memory, haunting me.

I desperately want to scream for help but cannot; he has sealed my mouth with duct tape. He grabs the rope that binds me, violently yanking me out of the truck onto the cold, wet ground. Pain.

I remain on my back and thrash, helpless, weeping. From the fall I can feel more bruises form on my body. My open wounds ooze blood. My abductor slams the door of the truck and stands over me. Bending down, he grabs my face, trying to make me look at him. I resist, closing my eyes tighter, not giving in to his demand. He squeezes harder. I have no choice but to look. More tears trickle down my cheeks as I open my eyes and gaze into his repulsive, russet-brown eyes burning with passionate fire eyes that once were filled with love. Gone. He stares at me with a lustful, malicious grin, making hissing sounds between his lips. Wanting.

The rope burns, grinding into my flesh. He drags me along the ground behind him. The weeds and tall grass rip more of my clothing and pierce my cuts.

He stops and begins to hum "Don't Fear the Reaper."

Chills contract my spine from the sound of his gravelly voice. I close my eyes, praying to God for any relief. My hands are cut free. He reaches in his shirt pocket and places my little black notebook in my tender hands. With his muscular body, my abductor easily picks me up and carries me in his arms. I hate the thought.

I bury my head in his chest. I'm too weak to open my eyes. His breath reeks of cheap alcohol. My face feels a hard but smooth texture not like clothing, more like a belt; it smells like leather. Something stiff digs into my ribs. Could it be a shoulder holster? Just breathe and think of an escape plan.

My attention shifts to the sound of running water. I hear his footsteps go from rustling through the grass to stepping onto something hollow that makes a resounding creak, a bridge perhaps. I inhale. I exhale. Fight or die trying. My fingers find the back-strap over the gun. Adrenaline kicks in. There is still hope.

Click.

Bang.

Thud. I drop hard onto the bridge.

Splash.

Hours pass. My eyes are wide open, searching the night sky enriched with billions of illuminating stars with fireflies fluttering about, while the melody of chirping crickets ring in the air. The buried inheritance secretly dies with me, erased at the bottom of the river that runs deep into the woods. And for me, I am free.