Chapter 27 Roni
Roni
The trailer jolts to a stop, metal creaking.
Through the narrow wooden slats, all I can make out is a weathered brick wall with dark moss creeping up one corner, and a single bare bulb casting crisp white light which makes the shadows stretch long across a dirt-dusted floor.
The air smells like hay and motor oil and something else.
Something damp and chemical. I don't know how long it's been when I finally hear voices. Hours, maybe.
“What do you got for us today there, Jimmy?” The voice is deep, scratchy, like someone who's spent decades smoking cheap cigarettes.
“Just the one. I managed to get her cell phone,” the rancher answers.
I recognize his slight drawl which seemed so charming before.
My stomach twists into a cold knot. “But she had her car today,” Jimmy continues, “one of those little sedans young girls always seem to drive.
Someone's going to notice she's missing. Not sure how he'll feel about that.”
“We'll be sure to let him know.” The smoker’s voice drops even lower. “Hopefully he'll be able to take care of it. Payment's already in the car. Same as last time. Feel free to get out of here.”
“Appreciate it fellas.” Jimmy's boots scuff against what sounds like gritty concrete.
Then silence falls, heavy as a wool blanket. I strain to hear anything. A cough. A whisper. But there's only the sound of footsteps growing fainter, then the slam of a car door and an engine starting up somewhere in the distance.
Metal screeches as the trailer pins pop free.
Through the slats, I glimpse something bobbing above the tailgate.
A head with black and grey hair, and some sort of strap around the back of it.
The gate drops with a thunderous clang, vibrating through the wooden floor beneath me.
My heart slams against my ribs, each beat sending ice water through my veins.
A man stands there, bare-chested, muscles rippling beneath skin gleaming with sweat in the harsh light.
Faded jeans cling to thick thighs, tucked into scuffed leather boots caked with reddish mud.
But his mask is what freezes my breath. Bright white, fastened around his head, with perfectly molded voids for his eyes and mouth.
“Come on out, miss.” His voice emerges muffled yet commanding, his calloused hand extending toward me, fingers curling in a beckoning motion.
My legs feel weighted, my throat so dry I can hear it click when I swallow.
“I can assure you,” he continues, each word precise and deliberate, “if you make us come in there and get you, it will go a whole lot worse for you.” His finger snaps like a cracking whip in the silence, then jab downward.
“Now, get your fucking ass out of the trailer.” The last words emerge as a growl, vibrating with promised violence.
My steps are slow and unstable, carrying me toward him.
His fingers dig into my elbow, yanking me against his side.
My feet leave the ground as he hoists me up with one arm, my hip bone grinding against his ribs.
The leather mask turns toward me, those tiny eye holes boring into me.
Against my bare arm, his torso feels unnaturally smooth.
A corridor stretches ahead, lined with stalls.
The floor is hard stone or concrete, covered in a thin layer of dirt.
A distant sound, something between a whimper and a moan, escapes from behind one of the closed doors.
My breath catches. The last stall stands open, spilling yellow light across the dirty floor.
A second masked figure emerges with a knitted black mask pulled over his head. His gloved hands rub together, the leather squeaking.
“She's finally here.” He jerks his chin toward the open stall. The man carrying me pivots, and they march me through the doorway, my shoulder scraping against the rough wooden frame.
A wooden contraption dominates the center of the room.
Polished oak beams worn smooth at the edges.
One thick horizontal beam stretches waist-high, supported by four sturdy legs.
Its surface is stained dark with what must be years of use.
It’s slightly curved in the middle, as though designed to cradle a human form.
At the far end sits a box, black-painted wood with a collar-shaped hole, lined with some kind of padding shimmering dully in the yellow light.
Before my mind can process what I'm seeing, rough hands clamp onto my shoulders, fingertips digging into my collarbone as they force me forward toward the waiting darkness.
“There, there,” whispers a voice close to my ear, breath hot and smelling of mint gum and coffee, “this will all be easier if you don't fight.”
My throat constricts around a scream that comes out as a strangled sob.
“Oh my god, no. No. I'm sorry. I'm sorry.
Please don't.” My body twists and bucks against their grip, muscles straining until they burn.
The leather-masked man forces my head down toward the padded hole, my hair catching painfully in his fingers.
The wooden beam presses cold and unyielding against my stomach, knocking the breath from my lungs.
My left foot connects with something, a shin, a knee, and I hear a satisfying grunt of pain.
“Ah fuck, god damn it,” comes a snarl from behind me, “get her feet! Get her feet!”
A second later, I feel hands grasping my ankles with an iron grip, holding them firmly in place until it seems like some kind of rough binding is securing them still.
Another pair of hands presses down on my arms beneath my chest, yet I can distinctly feel the coarse texture of the big wood beams wedged between my breasts and fingertips.
I sense more wrapping and binding around my limbs, and moments later, a chilling realization dawns upon me.
I can't move my legs or feet. My hands are immobilized, unable to part from each other.
I manage to slide them up and down together a few inches, but that's the extent of my freedom. I’m trapped.
My face. My head. My eyes. Everything is engulfed in darkness. I’m blind. They’ve strapped me to this rough, unyielding wooden trunk, this formidable wooden post, and condemned me to a world devoid of light.
“Why are you doing this? Please don’t. Don’t!”
“If I were you,” a voice hisses menacingly from my left, “I would shut the fuck up and do exactly as you're told. Do not speak unless spoken to. Do not say no. Do not object. You belong to him now. He will do with you as he pleases. Your right to choose ended the moment you climbed into that trailer.”