Chapter 12 Reverie #2
She slowly turns, seeming to struggle with tearing her eyes away before finally going to get in.
Goddamn nosy-ass lady.
Just as I open the passenger door, she whines, “Oh, shoot! They’re blocking the road. I can’t get out.”
My mouth drops as I snap my head toward the entrance.
I can’t tell from my angle, but it looks like there's a large enough gap to fit through.
However, when I walk over to her side, I find that they did not, in fact, leave any room.
She can still just drive through the grass to get around them, though.
When I point it out, she shakes her head. “I don’t want to get stuck if it ends up being too wet and muddy. Would you mind asking one of them to move, dear?”
I try to keep my irritation from showing. Because, of course, she thinks she’d get fucking stuck, and, of course, she realizes this after the officers already walked away.
“Sure,” I force out.
I’m so tempted to dock a star for this shit, maybe even two. But I won't, because I'm a nice fucking person, and frankly, none of this is her fault.
I turn back and race toward the dorm again, feeling significantly less comforted, even with the red and blue lights flickering across the pavement.
The moment I get to the middle row, it feels a lot fucking quieter, and my paranoia takes over.
I swivel my head constantly, searching for anyone to jump out.
Just as I head between two cars in the final row, only feet away from reaching the sidewalk, my foot catches ice, and I go ass over teacup.
With a squeak, I land painfully on my back, knocking the breath from my lungs.
For several long moments, I can only stare up at the light-polluted sky and try to figure out how to breathe again. I count four stars before I finally inhale. I’m on the sixth when I feel a little like dying.
Jesus fucking Christ.
Groaning, I sit up, gritting my teeth as pain lances through my spine.
I hate my life. Everything about it.
My tailbone smarts as I slowly get to my feet. My knees wobble, but I appear to be alive. I suppose I won't know for sure until I try talking to someone, and they either answer or look straight through me.
That’s the last thought in my head before I feel a menacing presence behind me.
However, I have no time to react before hands appear on either side of my head and they slap a strip of duct tape over my mouth.
Instantly, my hands fly up, but something is slipping over my head, plunging me into darkness.
Panic surges in my system, and I act on pure instinct alone.
I tear at the obstruction, noting the thick, coarse fabric of some type of sack.
Before I can rip it off, someone grabs my hands and forces them behind my back before circling a zip tie around them and pulling tight.
Then, they’re hauling me up and over their shoulder, sending my world teetering on its axis.
I scream through the tape and thrash wildly with all my strength, but to no avail.
They don’t speak, and I’m too hysterical to note anything else distinctive about them.
Lionel? Dread? It could be either of them.
I attempt to belt out another scream, hoping the Uber driver will at least hear the muffled cry, but only moments later, I hear what sounds like a car door opening, and I’m thrown inside. I land uncomfortably on my tied hands, my wrists twinging with pain and my shoulders straining.
The distinct fabric rubs against my hands, and I instantly recognize it as felt.
They threw me inside a fucking trunk.
Their hand dives into each of my coat pockets, finding my rolled-up charger in one and my phone in the other, slipping them out.
“No, no, no, no!” I try to shout, the words muffled, but the trunk slams shut with a finality that has me choking on my tongue. I’m locked inside the cramped space with hardly any room for movement.
My chest heaves far too quickly, but it only makes it more suffocating with the sack over my head. I’m freaking the fuck out, and I need to calm myself down. I know I need to, but it feels like an impossible feat right now.
The engine turns, and the car revs to life, vibrating beneath me. Then, I’m lurching forward as they take off, nothing to catch me from rolling straight onto my face.
I wiggle onto my back again, continuing to strain for air and sucking the fabric into my mouth with every inhale.
It only serves to freak me out more, and if I don’t get this bag off my head soon, I’ll find myself too far gone in this panic attack and pass out.
Which would be the worst thing ever when time is of the fucking essence.
My first instinct is to rub my wrists together, testing just how tightly they’re bound. The plastic scrapes against my skin painfully, but I hardly notice.
I don’t have much room, but after some maneuvering, I’m able to roll myself onto my upper back and lift my hips enough to stretch my arms as far down as I can.
Sweat forms along my hairline as I struggle to get them looped beneath my butt.
Whimpers fall from my lips, frustration and panic mixing into a dangerous storm.
I’m on the verge of tears as I slowly and painfully strain my shoulders.
Instant relief floods my chest the moment I wiggle my ass through my arms just enough to lower my hips and curl my knees to my forehead.
It’s awkward as I bring them up my thighs, only to struggle to free my feet in the confined space. At one point, I bash my knee into my nose in the process, but the pain is a dull throb beneath the sharp panic slicing into my stomach.
After another minute of struggle, I finally loop my arms out from my feet, breathlessly grunting out a victorious sound.
The first thing I do is tear the hood off my head and then quickly rip the tape off my mouth before I can overthink it.
There's no time to be gentle, and it only prolongs the pain anyway. I stifle an agonized groan and inhale deeply the second it’s torn from my skin.
For a second, all I can do is lie there and fill my lungs with oxygen, consumed by the sharp burn radiating from my face.
Part of me is grateful for it, though, because it cuts through the worst of my panic.
It's still there, but it’s no longer reaching its tipping point.
I waste no more time, biting at the zip tie around my wrists.
But it’s too tight, and all I accomplish is pinching my own skin with my teeth more than the plastic.
Fuck!
I squeeze my eyes shut, racking my brain to remember how the fuck to break zip ties. The only method that keeps coming to mind is raising my arms above my head and bringing them down quickly, but I don’t have the goddamn room for that.
Shoelaces!
I don’t even remember where the fuck I learned it from, but I’m pretty sure I can use them to create enough friction to burn through the plastic.
Curling my knees to my chest once more, I untie my laces from both boots, the tremors in my hands making my movements sloppy and uncoordinated.
It takes several attempts to get one lace between my wrists, cursing beneath my breath all the while.
Once it’s finally looped through, I make quick work of tying it with the lace on my other boot, knotting them as tightly as I can.
Then, I strain my wrists toward my face and bear down my feet to create tension before bicycling my legs back and forth. Sweat coats my hairline and lower back, and the position is awkward and uncomfortable as hell, but thankfully, it doesn’t take long to snap the zip ties.
“Fuck yes,” I whisper, another shot of relief keeping me from spiraling completely.
I immediately untie the knot and retie my boots correctly in case I need to run. I’ll be fucking damned if I get free, only to fucking face-plant and ruin my chances of escape.
Once I’m finished, I move on to figuring out how the hell to get this trunk open.
I don’t know what kind of car this is, but it doesn’t seem terribly old. I know my sedan has a glow-in-the-dark safety release, but I see nothing.
I feel around the soft felt surface above me, desperately searching for the lever, but with no luck.
“Shit,” I mutter, scouring around more frantically.
There has to be something, but I’m still too panicky and erratic. Why the fuck can’t I find it?
Finally, my fingers brush across what feels like a T-shape divot. My brows pinch, trying to process what I’m feeling until it dawns on me.
Did the fucker remove it?
It feels like where the release handle used to nestle in, but now, there’s nothing except a carved-out space with a tiny hole near the bottom where the wire used to come out of.
“What the fuck,” I hiss, angrily kicking my foot out and promptly ignoring the pain that shoots up my leg.
I go to reach for my North Star—except I took it off, and that daunting realization becomes too much.
I press my trembling, balled fists against my forehead, hating myself more than anything right now.
My breathing grows shallower and faster, little panicked wheezes joined by the sound of the tires against the pavement.
The overwhelming urge to cry arises, so I move the heels of my palms over my eyes, as if that alone will keep them contained. A sob rises in my throat, but I repeatedly swallow it down while attempting to calm myself once again.
It feels impossible.
Especially when I have no idea whose face I’m going to see when this trunk hatch opens.
Never in my life did I think I’d pray for it to be Dread’s. In fact, I fear I might hug him if it is.
Because if this is my father… lying in this trunk alone may be the last semblance of peace I have before he kills me.
I don’t believe for a second his intentions for reconciliation are pure. At the very least, he’ll force me to return to California. At most, he’ll make use of Dread’s unmarked grave behind Craig Matthew’s house.
Regardless of his true intentions, my life will no longer be my own, but his.
Breathe, Rev, breathe. There’s no fucking time to panic.
Despite my body heavily disagreeing, I force myself to concentrate on the matter at hand.
They’ve ensured there’s no way out of this trunk, and while I could scream and kick in the hopes someone will rescue me, the likelihood of anyone hearing me is low, and I’d rather conserve the little energy I have left.
I want nothing more than to see who it is the second they open the lid, but I need to play this smart and pretend I’m still bound.
That way, I can catch them off guard when I attack them and give myself the best possible chance of escape.
I sniff back the tears burning in my sinuses and pat around for the hood.
I slip it back over my head, screaming at my brain to ignore how constricting it feels and instead focus on finding the strip of duct tape along with the zip tie left by my feet.
I tuck them into my coat pocket before twining my hands behind my back, pretending they’re still constrained.
After several long moments, the brakes squeal before the car comes to a stop. It’s impossible to keep my breathing perfectly controlled, but I force myself to take deep, slow breaths so I don’t spiral again.
In a matter of minutes, I may face my father for the first time in nine years, and while subconsciously, my body is attempting to prepare me for that, I refuse to let my brain even consider it. I refuse to allow myself to even imagine his face—or what I remember of it.
The trunk lid opens, inviting in a rush of ice-cold air that instantly cools the sweat on my skin. My heart is beating hard enough to break through my rib cage, and if I don’t pass out from the terror first, I might just find something left in my stomach to spew.
Though my body trembles, I keep still as their hands grab my biceps and pull me forward to boost me over their shoulder, all the while I firmly keep my wrists pressed together as if they're still bound. All I can do is hope they don't notice the zip tie missing.
Still, they say nothing while my head races, contemplating the best time to make a move. I’ve heard enough stories to know that in situations like these, timing is absolutely everything, and acting too quickly can make the situation worse.
Snow and grass crunch beneath their feet as they walk, and within moments, the sound gives way to shoes against pavement.
While I try to make sense of where they could be taking me, I hear a set of keys jingle.
Fuck, could Lionel be taking me to a house? I suppose it’s not entirely out of the realm of possibility that he has a connection here and is crashing at someone’s place, but the idea still seems far-fetched.
They push through the door, and we’re instantly enveloped in significantly warmer air, followed by the distinct snick suggesting they’ve relocked it.
A lump forms in my throat, and my muscles tense as I gear up to attack. Wherever I am, I can’t let them take me too deep inside the building in case I can’t find my way out quickly enough. I need a quick escape, not to get lost and end up right back in their hands.
A door squeaks open, and the strong, familiar scent that arises doesn’t even register. My mind is blank as I lift my torso, twist, and grab for their face, intent on gouging their eyeballs out.
Again, the small details don’t register—I just attack. They thrash their head, and I lose my balance on their shoulder. All I hear is a grunt before I pitch backward into the air.
They grapple to catch me, grabbing my bicep and preventing all my weight from landing on my tailbone when it hits the rock-hard floor. Pain shoots up my spine, and though it’s enough to take my breath away, it’s not enough to stop me from ripping my arm out of their hold and tearing off the hood.
Dread.
Oh my God, it's Dread.
Faint red scratches score across his cheekbone while he glares down at me, his nostrils flaring, expression twisted with irritation.
I can only stare up at him with wide eyes, my chest heaving, mouth parted, chunks of hair plastered to my face.
A range of emotions spirals through my system, a tornado filled with relief, fury, and shock. It wreaks havoc on my organs, rendering me completely paralyzed.
Clenching his jaw, Dread straightens, swiping a few strands of black hair from his eyes.
And I… I burst into tears.