Page 137 of Not A Whisper

Idon’twant to be anywhere near that place. With that thought, I scramble to my feet. It’s hard maneuvering on the gravel in the snow wearing strappy heels and a tight dress, but somehow, I make it. I’ll have to pat myself on the back later though.

Turning, I try to take off down the road. I don’t know where I’m going or care how cold it is, nor do I think about how futile this attempt of escape is. All I can think of is putting distance between myself and that barn. I get maybe a few yards before arms wrap around me from behind and lift me up off the ground.

I scream. The sound is loud, full hearted, and utterly pointless given there is no one around for miles. Still, I let out another as I struggle in my kidnapper’s arms.

“Cut it out!”

I don’t cut it out. Instead, I fight harder. I attempt to shove my heel into his shin, my elbow into his side, and whip my head around in the hopes the back of my skull hits his face. None of it matters as he turns and carries me toward the barn.

I scream again and fight with all my might.

I’m carried through the entryway—there’s no door to push open. Snow from outside has made its way in here and lightlycoats the dirt floor. The heavy sounds of shoes crunching through the snow seem loud. As I continue my struggling, I’m carried toward something large and circular that’s sticking up in the middle of the floor. As we draw near, I realize what it is.

“No, no, no! Please don’t do this!” My pleas and thrashing are ignored as I’m lugged toward an old stone well. “PLEASE!”

As a last ditch attempt, I go utterly limp.

This surprises my kidnapper. I lurch forward out of his arms the minute I feel his grip loosen. As I whirl around, my fist comes with me. The young man leans back, out of the way, then jumps forward when he has an opening. He tackles me to the ground, but I put up a fight. As we tussle, his blood stains the crisp white snow. My face lands in a particularly deep stain when he manages to pin me to the ground.

“You’re not getting out of this, do you hear me?” Woody growls through his clenched teeth. “You’re not!”

“Why are you doing this?” I try to fight back the tears of panic and fear but they well up anyway as he yanks me to my feet.

To my surprise, he answers me. “When Garry Gipson tells you to do something, you do it.”

It’s not a great answer, but it’s an answer all the same.

“No, no, you don’t!” I whip my head back and forth while struggling to get out of his grip. “I’ve never done what Garry’s told me to do! You don’t have to listen to him.”

“Oh yeah? How’s that working out for you?”

I ignore his sarcasm as I fight his hold. Tears pool down my face as we get to the well. I lift my feet and brace my heels against it, pushing back, away from it. The young man kicks out with a grunt, trying to knock one of my feet off. He’s almost successful.

“Please, don’t do this!”

“Gotta.”

With a hearty shove forward, my feet slip on the icy stone edge. With a screech, I’m pushed forward, and end up plummeting face first down into the cold, dark well.

By some miracle,I don’t hit my head on any of the jagged stones jutting out from all sides as I plummet downward.

Unfortunately, it’s the only place on my body that makes it down Scot-free. What feels like every inch of me bounces and scrapes off the stone walls. My breath is knocked out of me, my skin is ripped open, and my elbow cracks hard onto a particularly sharp stone. Then, I hit a layer of ice—just thick enough to hurt—before crashing through it, sinking into the frigid water beneath it. The shock of the water causes my lungs to seize up almost instantly. My skin feels like it’s both burning and freezing as my head crests the surface.

Instinctually, I start treading water. The tightness of my dress and the weight of my shoes makes it exceedingly difficult. My arms flail out on either side of me in a panic. The tips of my fingers scrape against rough stone, frozen moss, and dirt, none of which helps as I search for purchase.

I gasp, trying to suck in a steadying breath, but it feels impossible with how tightly my chest is constricted. All I can manage are short pants as I shiver violently.

“See ya!” a voice calls down.

I look up just in time to see my kidnapper, soon-to-be murderer, wave jovially before disappearing. My heart slams in my chest as the rest of my body trembles. I catch myself before I can call out a final plea for help.

If this guy was going to help, he probably wouldn’t have thrown me down here in the first place. No, I won’t beg anymore. I’ll die with what little grace and dignity I have left.

“F-F-FUCK YOU, YOU-U-U STUPID PIECE-E-E OF S-S-S-H-I-T! I HOPE-E-E T-T-O SEE YOU IN H-H-ELL!”

Ok, startingnowI’ll be graceful and dignified.

Time to focus on getting out of here.

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