CHAPTER FOURTEEN
– NORIE –
“Motherfucker,” I scream. Except, it doesn’t come out that way, instead it’s a very muffled “Mmmhhhggrr.” All due to the tape Gilpin placed on my mouth.
I can’t rip it off because he’s bound my hands and feet with rope before he shoved me into a trunk.
Shoved, because a person isn’t made to fit into a damn trunk.
I feel like a damn pretzel in this tight space.
The split second I saw Gilpin entering my room I freaking knew it was bad.
There was no time to react when he lunged forward and punched me in the eye.
Everything instantly went black. I regained consciousness when I was lying on the floor and he was yanking me up by the arms to shove me into the trunk.
Another punch knocked my lights out until I woke up in pretzel mode. I’ve tried screaming but it comes out muffled and wiggling out of my restraints only makes the rope bury deeper into my skin. Then it felt as if we were driving by the sounds and the shaking. Panic is flowing through my veins.
I don’t have a freaking clue what to do. My mind has been running overtime, throwing out options on how to escape, how much air will last me in here, how this might end. Dammit, I can’t do anything.
Yet, I refuse to give up and keep wiggling my wrists and feet in an effort to loosen the rope. I grit my teeth when my wrists start to hurt, and I swear it feels as if there’s blood sliding down my fingers. A whimper escapes when the crate I’m in roughly moves, as if someone hit the brakes.
My heart races, my breathing is erratic, and I force myself to calm down. Even if my mind screams, “This is the end.”
No. I grit my teeth, close my eyes, and hold my breath.
It’s something my mother and I did as a game.
Each time she gave me a bath growing up, we’d compete to see who could hold their breath the longest. My mother always won, but due to training day in, day out I can hold it longer than anyone I played the game with.
My breathing slows and I try to block out the way the crate is shoved and pulled. I whimper when it tumbles roughly and I give another hard pull on my bound wrists. Blocking out the pain, I focus on my movements and gain some more room between the rope.
The sliver of joy to free my hands is short-lived when my body is being thrown against the crate, as if someone pushed it down a hill. Another hard landing and then I’m really starting to freak out when water enters the crate through a tiny hole.
Shit. There’s so much to live for, many things I want to do, try, dream, whatever...refuse to die like this. Seriously, I should keep living just to be able to freaking kill Gilpin. He’s the one who needs to die, not me.
The water starts to soak my clothes and I finally manage to free my hands completely. I rip the duct tape away from my mouth and scream loud enough my throat instantly hurts. There’s not enough space to free my bound legs, but at least I can try to claw at the crate. Not that it does any good.
Water is sloshing, covering half the crate by now and strangely enough.
..it’s rather soothing. I have to tilt my head to gasp for air and escape the water hitting my mouth.
It’s clear Gilpin threw the crate into a pond or a lake or whatever.
I keep my head up, chasing the last air when the crate hits the bottom, making me gulp in my last breath.