21. Molly #2
It smelled of old hay, mold, and the remnants of animals, but the concrete ground was clean of debris.
It was a smell which leeched into the structure itself, burrowing into the ancient beams that had seen centuries of farming.
I listened for a moment, hearing nothing but the twitter of birds and the wind escaping through the gaps between the boards.
Turning, I moved toward the main building—a farmhouse that had a faded sign still sitting above the door. I knew it must have once been a cozy place for guests to unwind, but now it simply looked sad. Beaten down. Throwing back my shoulders, I twisted the handle and walked inside.
The first thing I noticed was the cold. I wrapped my arms around myself, as my hoodie did nothing to compensate for the lack of heat.
Walking further into the old farm kitchen, I startled when the door slammed shut behind me.
I spun around to see who it was, but a bag was dragged over my head.
There was a sudden pressure on the side of my neck, then …
Darkness.
The ground was hard beneath my body, and the cold seeped up, causing my bones to ache.
My head hurt, too, but when I reached up to shove the hair from my face, I found I couldn’t move.
My hands were bound behind me, something sharp-edged pulling taut against my skin.
Panic threatened to overtake my senses, but I shoved down the wild feelings and focused on what I could control.
The bag had been removed from my head, but wherever I was being held was dark.
A basement, perhaps. I shifted my legs, hearing dirt and gravel move beneath my feet.
The whole place smelled of earth, but at least it was dry.
I rose to my feet, then using my bound hands, I felt along the wall a few steps when I heard a small sniffle come from about ten feet in front of me.
I froze, my spine and shoulders stiff, I thought I was alone, but maybe I’d been wrong.
“Hello?” I said in a low voice. “Is someone there?”
“Caitria?”
Fuck. “Orla?” Relief made the volume of my voice shoot up. “Orla, is that you?”
“It’s me,” she sobbed. “It’s me.”
“My hands are bound. Are yours?”
“Yes.” It was a whimper, like she was in pain.
“Okay, stay there. I’m coming to you.”
Moving in the direction of her voice, I used the wall to guide me. When I felt the warmth of her body and smelled the frangipani scent of her body lotion, I nearly broke down. Pressing my forehead to hers, I let myself soak in the feeling of relief that I’d found her—no matter how fleeting it was.
“Are you okay? Did they hurt you?”
“I had a headache when I first woke up.”
“Have they given you water?” My nursing training was kicking in. Dehydration was our biggest threat right now, since I had no idea how long we’d be here. With any luck, Orla would be released now they had me.
“A couple of sips from a bottle. That’s all.”
“Did they hurt you in any other way? Touch you? Did they?—”
“ No , Cait,” she said. “They just told me they expected to see you soon.”
Those fuckers. If we had any chance of getting out of here unharmed, we had to be proactive. “Orla, I have a knife strapped to my ankle.”
“Why would you?—”
“Don’t worry about why,” I interrupted in a whisper. “When we get out of here, I’ll tell you everything, but right now, I need you to pull the knife free. Think you can do that?”
“Yes.”
“Good.” I turned to the side, while Orla maneuvered awkwardly to bring her bound hands to my ankle. After what felt like hours of trying, we’d lifted the leg of my borrowed jeans and unclipped the strap on the sheath. All Orla had to do was pull the knife free.
“Can you get it?”
“My fingers keep slipping on the handle,” she said.
“Keep trying.” Breaking our restraints was the first step in getting out of here.
A few minutes later, she pulled the knife free. I turned around. “Can you cut through my bindings?”
Orla sawed at what I thought were cable ties, the pain in my wrists intensifying before they finally snapped free. I could’ve cried with relief, but we weren’t out of here yet.
I took the knife from Orla. “Turn around,” I told her, then used the blade to slice through her plastic restraint. As soon as she was free, my sister threw her arms around me, squeezing me tight.
“I thought nobody would ever find me,” she said into my neck. “I thought…”
Stroking her hair like I used to do when she was younger, I murmured, “I know. But I would never willingly leave you behind, Orla.”
She let out a little sob that shredded my heart, and I pulled her closer. I knew she was thinking about the last time I left.
“Why was I taken?”
“Because of me,” I confessed. “Because I fell in with the wrong people when I had no other choice.”
“What do you mean?”
Pulling back, I searched in the darkness for her face. “I trusted the wrong people and gave them my secrets. They used them against me. Against you .”
She was silent for a beat before she spoke, “Do you think we’ll get out of here?”
Cupping her face, I pressed my forehead to hers. “I swear on my life we will.”