Chapter 3 – Whitney
WHITNEY
The first thing I noticed was the silence. Then I opened my eyes to complete and total darkness. I tried to move but quickly realized I was in a confined space in an awkward position.
Extending my arm in the only direction I could, behind me, I put my hand down on something that felt like a leg and quickly jerked it back.
No!
It all came back to me at once.
Glenn!
I shifted as much as I could and felt around again, instantly recognizing his chicken legs. His cold, dead chicken legs.
Fuck!
I didn’t know where I was or what was going on, but I knew I had to get out of there if I didn’t want to be the next dead body. Survival first, panic later.
First, I straightened myself so I was lying on top of Glenn. That's when I realized we were partially zipped in a bag inside some kind of box.
I pushed on the lid, but it wouldn't budge. After several attempts, I gave up and tried kicking the lid with both feet. I groaned in pain and frustration. The lid still didn’t move, and my head was pounding so hard I felt sick.
Closing my eyes, I took several deep breaths, hoping the throbbing would ease enough so that I could think. Then I heard a noise followed by footsteps approaching.
I knew it might be my only chance to get away, and I didn’t want to waste it. When the lid opened, I sat up and thrust the palm of my hand into the man’s nose as hard as I could. He fell against the wall behind him as I jumped out of the container and ran like hell.
I had no idea where I was, but the building appeared to be some type of warehouse. There weren’t many doors to choose from, so I went with the one beside a large garage-style door.
The bright midday sun made it hard to see when I pushed through the door.
Quickly scanning the area, I didn’t recognize any of my surroundings, but there were trees to my left, another building on my right, and a road in the distance ahead.
I hauled ass for the trees and kept running until I couldn’t run anymore.
My head was pounding, and I felt like I was going to throw up.
But I didn’t have time to stop and get sick.
I needed to keep moving. I wiped the sweat from my forehead with my hand and rubbed my hand on my pants. That’s when I felt my phone.
My phone!
I fumbled several times before I managed to call Stevie. My fingers wouldn’t touch the right buttons on the screen. When she didn’t answer, I called Hadley and nearly cried when her voicemail answered. I didn’t know what to do, and it was hard to think with my head hurting so badly.
“Fuck. I need a ride,” I mumbled.
INeedARide! Yes!
I clicked the app and checked to see if rides were available wherever the fuck I was.
Six minutes.
When I requested the ride, I selected the mailbox closest to my current location on the map and added a large tip. Then I forced myself to walk to the designated mailbox. I stopped to throw up once, but I made it there right as the driver arrived.
Opening the door, I practically dove into the backseat. “Thank you so much. Ready when you are.”
“Hello, I’m Mack. I’ll be your driver this afternoon. Can I offer you a drink or a snack? Perhaps a moist towelette?”
“No, thanks. I’d like to leave, please,” I said hurriedly.
“Are you okay, ma’am? Do you need some help?”
“I’m not feeling well, and I’d like to get home before I vomit all over your nice car and have to pay a cleaning fee that I really don’t have the extra money for right now. So, if you don’t mind, I’d like to get this show on the road.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he said and hit the gas, throwing me back in the seat.
“Oh sweet fucking hell,” I moaned.
“Listen, Sugar Britches, are you sure a little something to eat or drink won’t help? I’ve got Cheez-Its and zero-sugar ginger ale up here.”
“Did you say Cheez-Its?”
“Sure did. Here you go.” He handed me a bag of crackers, followed by a bottle of ginger ale.
“Fuck,” I groaned. “I really am dead.”
“Say what now, Sugar Bean?”
“You’re a guardian angel, right? Here to take me to heaven.”
He laughed. “Oh, honey, I’m a six-foot-something gay man in the South. People have said a lot of things to me, but no one’s ever accused me of taking people to heaven.”
“How tall are you?”
“Six-seven,” he said and flashed me a smile.
“You have pretty teeth,” I blurted.
“Thank you, Dumpling. They’re veneers, but they’re all mine. Only fifty-seven payments left.”
I covered my face with my hands. “I’m so sorry. Today has been really strange, and I’m not feeling like myself. I don’t know what I’m saying.”
“Did something happen, Sugar?” he asked in a more serious tone. “Should I take you somewhere else besides home?”
His implication came through loud and clear. “No, it was nothing like that.” At least, I didn’t think it was. It didn’t feel like it was, but I made a mental note to check myself when I got home. “I had lunch with an ex, and it didn’t go well.”
“It never does, honey. Never.”
“I know, but he said he found some of my stuff. I wanted it back more than I didn’t want to see him.”
“Yeah, I can understand that. How you doing back there, Sugar Britches?”
“Not great, but I think the Cheez-Its are helping.” Exhaling heavily, I leaned back against the seat and closed my eyes. “I’d be even better if my head would stop hurting.”
“I’ve got ibuprofen. Will that help?”
“Yes, please.”
At the next stop, he handed me an unopened packet with two ibuprofen tablets. I quickly took them with a few sips of ginger ale. “Deny it all you want, but you are a fucking angel.”
“Well, I suppose that’s better than being a non-fucking one. Because let me tell you something, honey, that would suck.”
I laughed and immediately regretted it when my head throbbed. “Oh, fuck, laughing is bad,” I groaned.
“My bad, Sugar. I’ll be quiet so you can relax,” he said. “I’ll wake you when we get there.”