Chapter 3
Chapter
Three
To put it with brutal frankness, there never was a cockier boy.
“She’s so old.” A whisper washes over me, its sound soft yet sure, like the ringing of a small bell.
“Not really.” The reply is lower, the voice familiar. “She’s only twenty I think?”
“Old.” The harsh retort. “Too old to be here.”
“Shh, Tink. You’re waking her up.”
My eyes flutter open. A glow flits away from my face as I backpedal away from whoever is sitting beside me. I’m in a bed, and when the back of my head hits a stone wall, I let out a yelp.
“Hey, stop.” Strong hands grip my arms and pull me back down. “What are you doing?”
I scream with everything I have, the end bloodcurdling as it dies away.
The chip guy from the quad stares down at me, his hair falling into his eyes as he gives me a quizzical look, his strong grip on my arms holding me in place. “Are you done with that now?”
“Let me go!” I yank away from him and try to slide back again. I’m in some sort of cave, a candle burning nearby showing me a rough-hewn cabinet with a toy bow on top of it, a few arrows strewn along the hard floor.
The tiny floating light reappears and starts ringing incessantly as it hovers by the man’s ear.
“I know. I know. You’re not helping.” He shrugs it off.
I close my eyes and just try to breathe.
Maybe the frat boys laced the hotdogs with something.
Maybe it was rotten, and this is a fever dream.
I don’t know, but I can’t seem to get a grip on what’s real.
That scares me more than anything else, because I know what happens when you lose touch with reality.
I’ve seen it firsthand, and I can’t let it happen to me. I won’t.
“Moira. You’re safe here, okay? I took really good care of you. I flew you slowly. Me and Tink. Very safe as flying goes. All right?” He says it placatingly, as if his crazy talk is supposed to somehow make me feel better about being kidnapped. And was that a shadow that attacked me? His shadow?
“Moira?”
Then it hits me. Oh, shit. He knows my name. How? My mouth goes dry, and I open my eyes and stare at him.
“Let me go.”
“Okay.” He releases his grip on my arms, and I back up, pull my limbs in tight lest he try to grab me again.
With my back against the stone wall, I finally take in a deep breath and look around again. “Where am I?”
“In the cave.” He smiles, boyish and charming, as if kidnapping isn’t a felony. “The pirates can’t find us here. Don’t worry.”
“The pirates. Riiiight.” I glance around, looking for some sort of a weapon. I refuse to get The Lovely Bones treatment in whatever underground dungeon this psycho has stashed me.
“Are you hungry?” he asks.
I just blink at him. Hungry? I’m fucking terrified. No, I’m not hungry. But then I realize this may be my chance to distract him. If I play along, maybe I can find a way out of this.
Forcing a smile, I say, “Yes, very.”
He smiles again, all charming. “All right. I’ll see if Slightly made supper like I told him.” He stands, his head brushing the top of the cave. “I’m so glad you’re here.”
“Mmm-hmm” is all I can manage to give him in response.
He turns and strides out of the small room, the little firefly following close behind, flitting around his head.
I rise, my legs surprisingly steady. If I was drugged, it seems to have worn off quickly.
Good. I need to have all my wits to get out of this nightmare.
I creep to the open doorway and cringe when I accidentally step on one of the small arrows.
It snaps beneath my foot, but thankfully the guy doesn’t come running.
Holding my breath, I peek out the door. It leads into another room with a few candles, the ceiling higher and the room a little less claustrophobic. I move through it slowly, looking around and spotting two doors leading off into the dark.
One’s as good as the other, so I choose the one closest and ease my way along a narrow hall until I hear the clatter of cookware.
There’s a series of small, misshapen windows ahead, none of them bigger than a fist, and I peek into one.
On the other side is a kitchen filled with several men, including my kidnapper.
They’re arguing and grumbling, each of them grabbing plates or pots, one of them rattling mismatched silverware in a drawer.
“Where’s the soup?” It’s the guy from earlier. “I thought I said I wanted soup for Moira.”
“I made soup. Look!” One of the men points to a pot on a rough table in the center of the kitchen.
My kidnapper leans over it and inhales. “Ah, it’s the carrot soup?”
“Obviously.” The other one scoffs then grabs some bowls—many of them chipped and cracked—from a sideboard. Another man, who must be the silverware guy’s twin given their matching red hair and freckles, grabs bowls and places them haphazardly on the table.
“Perfect.” The kidnapper takes one more inhale of the soup then stands straight again, and I glance down into the pot he just sniffed.
That’s when I realize just how utterly screwed I am. Because there’s nothing in the pot. There’s no soup, much less carrot soup.
These people are insane.
The kidnapper turns toward the windows, and I duck beneath them, creeping down the hallway. I need to get as far away from them as possible, so I keep going, the kitchen clatter fading as the hallway begins to open more.
When I enter a room that soars away above me, I stop.
“What the hell?” I whisper. There seems to be huge furniture ahead of me, like enormous wardrobes that reach impossibly high.
It’s dark in here, so dark that I hesitate to move farther.
But I hear something smash behind me, then a loud curse from one of the men. They must’ve broken a plate.
The sound spurs me onward, though the ground beneath me is precarious now. No longer smooth, it seems to be littered with ropes. My eyes slowly adjust until I realize the huge shapes aren’t wardrobes, they’re tree trunks, seven of them it looks like. The floor is made of twisting, twining roots.
I don’t know what I’m doing, but I have to keep going.
So I circle the first tree I come to, then stop when I realize it’s hollowed out.
When I step in and look up, I only see more darkness.
Maybe I could somehow wedge myself inside it and climb up?
No, that’s dumb. Then I’d just be stuck inside a tree.
I step out, then move around to the next tree, its lighter trunk veined in dark shades of black and brown. I pause when I see something dangling inside it. Leaning forward, I realize it’s a rope ladder. Huh. I look up inside the hollow tree, but it’s just as dark as the one before.
Gripping the ladder, I pull on it, testing its strength. Then I step back. This is nuts. I have no idea where the ladder even goes.
Another round of yells echoes down the stone walls. “No, we have to have bread! Slightly, weren’t you supposed to make a loaf of bread?”
“No, it was Tootles. He didn’t do his job.”
A deeply offended “What?” follows that accusation.
An argument ensues.
I peer at the other trees and try to see if there’s a way out beyond them, but the rest of the room is bathed in shadow.
With a gulp, I grab the ladder and start to hoist myself up the tree.
It smells of camphor and mulch, not a bad scent at all, but definitely not something I’m used to.
Diligently, I climb. Despite the wobbling of the ropes.
Despite the fear of someone overtaking me from beneath.
Despite the worry about what I’ll find above me.
One foot after another, I keep going until I feel like I must be in the very tip top of the tree. I get woozy at the thought of it, then wonder what the hell those frat boys laced the hot dogs with. Ketamine? LSD?
I keep climbing, the tree trunk closing in as I rise. My breaths start to get shallower, and I can feel panic tiptoeing through my brain like a cartoon villain. This has to end. If it’s a dream, I need to wake up, because I don’t know how much more of this I can take.
My elbows hit the trunk with each move I make, and now my knees start to do the same. I’m sweating from the effort. Who knew rope ladders were the most difficult of all ladders? My shoulders ache as I pull myself higher, my feet wobbling on the rungs.
I have to be almost there, though I don’t know where ‘there’ even is. When I feel extra movement on the ladder, I freeze.
“Moira?” My name wraps around me like a suffocating fog. It’s my kidnapper.
I move faster, but now I feel the ladder swaying steadily beneath me. He’s climbing. At least it sturdies my steps to have his weight below me. I climb faster, sweat rolling into my eyes as I push myself as quickly as I can go.
When the slightest hint of a breeze rustles through my hair, I gasp.
If there’s air, then there’s an opening.
I look up, scanning the darkness for some hint of a way out.
Nothing’s there. I can’t give up now, not when I can feel the ladder vibrating with quick steps.
He’s faster than me. No, no, no! I’m climbing with frenzy now, my muscles aching as my back scratches against the smooth wood as I continue my ascent.
Right when my panic begins to overtake me, a scream lofting from my lungs, I catch sight of something overhead. Light. Not bright. By no means blinding. But it’s something different.
“Thank god.” I struggle upward toward it, using the narrowing trunk to brace myself as I push higher and higher until I can see a rounded hole, just enough room for someone to pass through.
When I grip the side of the tree, my hands slip on the dark wood.
I quickly wipe them on my shoulders then try again.
With a heave, I pull myself up and use my legs to kick against the back of the trunk.
Not graceful, not athletic, nothing but brute effort by an uncoordinated nerd—but it works.
I tumble from the trunk, land on my shoulder, then flop flat on my back.
Overhead, leafy branches sway in the breeze, and I swear I can see the shape of some sort of structure, but I can’t quite tell. A sliver of a moon lights the landscape around me, and millions of stars twinkle, winking gently as I rub my aching shoulder.
I glance at the tree and see the rope ladder still swaying.
It spurs me into motion. I have to get away from here before my kidnapper shows up.
With a groan, I sit up, then clamber to my feet.
I have absolutely no clue where I am. A grove of trees in the middle of a wood I’ve never seen before—where do I go from here?
There’s no good answer, but I know staying in this spot is the best way for me to get caught. So, I take off, running toward an opening between the trees.
Now, I’m not a runner. I’m not an athlete in any sense of the word.
I’m a book person. I can fantasize all day and create elaborate adventures, but those are for my characters.
Me? I’m a fan of sitting by a window with a book in my hand.
So, as I sprint through these unknown woods, it doesn’t take long for me to get winded.
I have to stop and take in deep breaths as I peer around at the foliage.
Plants with fanning leaves surround me, some of them almost as tall as the trees.
Large flowers bloom at intervals, their thick vines twining this way and that, layering the ground and stacking on each other in waves of green.
Up ahead, the largest mushroom I’ve ever seen seems to smoke slightly.
I cock my head at it, but I don’t have time to investigate. Not when I hear a low growl coming from somewhere off to my right.
“Shit.” I take off away from the sound and splash through a stream, then up the slippery bank on the other side.
Branches tear at my sweatshirt as I run, my shoes covered in muck and my body soaked with sweat. But I can’t stop.
I took a self-defense class when I was a freshman.
After weeks of practice, the instructor pulled me aside and told me that, for me, my best bet is to run away.
“Don’t fight.” His eyes were soft, apologetic.
“You aren’t cut out for fighting. Just run.
” I was offended at the time. But now? Now I see the sense in his words, because I stood no chance against my kidnapper when he snuck up on me in the dorm.
My only chance is to get far away and hide until I can figure this out.
The woods never seem to end, the plants and flowers seeming to block me in on every side as I push ahead, running blindly under the glittering stars.
When I climb another small rise, I stop at the top, then gasp when I look out onto a wide, black sea.
Far offshore, I see a ship. Like one from forever ago, one you’d see at a theme park with polished wood and portholes for cannons.
It flies the pirate flag, the skull and crossbones one favored by bikers and cosplayers the world over.
“Where the hell am I?” I take another step forward, but the ground beneath me crumbles, and I tumble down a slope dotted with small, twisted trees and bushes. They scratch as I roll and finally flounder on the sand, my entire body aching as I lie still.
“Shhh, did you hear something?” A man’s voice carries to me over the sound of the surf, his accent hinting of somewhere sunny and warm.
I don’t move. Too scared to breathe too loud but still winded from running, I exhale into the sand, the grains coating my lips. Crap, that’s going to lead to random crunches between my teeth for days.
“I heard that if we don’t get back to the ship the captain will have us walking the plank all the way to Davy Jones’s locker,” someone retorts. “Or worse, he’ll hand you over to the mermaids.”
“Ugh.” I swear I can feel the disgust in the other man’s voice. “No, thank you. The last time we ran into them, I lost a chunk from my back.”
“Now, Cecco, if I remember correctly, you didn’t lose that in a fight.” The other one chuckles. “You lost that after a night with Marinda.”
“Ahhh.” Cecco sighs. “And what a night that was. A beauty. The sea. Magnifico.”
“You barely made it out alive,” the other says dryly.
“True, but for a night with a mermaid, I suppose it was worth it.”
“Leave it to an Italian to put love over life. Now, come on. We need to get back to the ship. We’ve enough coconuts to have a proper snack for the crew.”
I lift my head a bit, peering into the moonlit dark, and see two shapes moving away from me down the beach, a large sling—presumably full of coconuts—lifted between them.
When I push up farther, a heavy weight lands on my back, and a hand claps over my mouth. “Not a sound, Moira. Not a single fucking sound.”