Page 6 of Claws and Feathers

Wait.Ropes.

Abby tugged at her wrists. A strangled sob escaped her when she realized her hands were bound together behind her back, her shoulder blades pressed up against a cool, metal wall.

Oh, no. No, no, no.

Abby almost choked on the wave of nausea that crept up her chest and burned the back of her throat like acid. She wriggled her legs, only to find that they, too, were constrained. Shackled. Like an animal.

Oh,God.

Where was she? What had happened? Abby tried to recall the events leading up to her dire predicament. She had left the bar alone after a break in the storm, insisting she could walk home. Daphne was on a mission to bed one of the Gleason brothers, and Abby was… well,not. Daphne had tried to protest, but she was far too drunk to put up much of an argument. Abby remembered shooting a final goodbye look towards Cooper McAllister before trotting off into the late evening hours. The temperature had been mild, albeit slightly chilly. Abby had crossed her arms across her chest to contain her warmth, her purse dangling from her fingers.

She had felt something…yes. There had been a presence. A sound. A light kick of gravel. It was just enough to make her arms break out into prickly goosebumps. Was someone following her? Abby had shaken her head at the absurdity of that notion. She was being paranoid. Still, her footsteps picked up their pace and her heart rate seemed to escalate ever so slightly. When she’d turned onto Sullivan Hill, there had been a loud crack, followed by a ringing in her ears. Then everything had gone black.

Had she been struck? The pain pulsating through the back of her head seemed to confirm that theory.

Unsure of what else to do, Abby screamed. “Somebody help me!” Her voice cracked with anguish as she kicked her legs and struggled against the rope cutting into her wrists.

The flicker of a lighter startled her, forcing a gasp from her parched lips. The flame cast an eerie illumination through her darkened quarters – hercage– and lit up an unfamiliar silhouette.

“Hello, Little Bird.”

Little Bird?

There was a man sitting across from her, maybe three or four feet away. Abby could hardly make out his features, but his voice was gruff, and a baseball cap adorned his head. His face was shrouded with a full beard. Her gaze shifted to her ankles, which were chained to the floor of her prison with rusted manacles.

“P – Please. Let me go.” Abby’s panic was evident. Desperation laced every syllable, stampeding through her body like wild horses. Her voice echoed throughout her chambers, causing her heart to beat erratically against her ribcage.

The man only laughed. Cigarette smoke encircled Abby, mingling with her fear. “I can’t do that,” the man said.

Abby screamed again. She bucked her hips against the hard floor, flailing her body with every ounce of fight within her. The man responded by reaching over and slapping her across the face with the back of his hand. She began to sob. “Please don’t hurt me. I don’t want to die.”

The man laughed again, this time with an air of hysteria. “You will die, Little Bird.”

And then he left.

Abby watched as he opened two double doors, the faintest bit of light floating in, and climbed out. Was she in a truck? A van? It was still so dark. Black and desolate.

Hopeless.

No. It wasn’t hopeless. The man hadn’t killed her yet – there was a reason for that. She held some sort of value to him. Butwhat? What could this stranger – thispsychopath– possibly want with her?

It had to be money. Nana Cecily had left Abby with an enormous amount. Had a bitter family member discovered the will and tracked her down, hoping to torture dollar bills out of her? God, it was possible. Anything was possible.

Abby twisted her wrists against the ropes, trying to slither free, but the pain became too much. She cried out. She screamed and wailed until her throat went raw. Tears rolled down her cheeks, reminding her she was still alive. Their warmth gave her solace.

If she was alive, there was hope.

“I need every single goddamn resource we have on this case. Walker, we’re going to need Ashland County on this. Can you make a call to Chief Reynolds?” Cooper ran his hands over his face as he briefed his small department on the missing girl.

On Abby.

“On it,” James nodded, moving swiftly towards his desk.

Cooper turned to Faye. “Faye, I need you to hit social media. Get some fliers out there. Spread this as far as it’ll reach.”

“Yes, sir.” The middle-aged office clerk bobbed her head, inching over to her laptop on a rolling chair. “Cooper, do you think it’s possible she left town? Ran away?”

Cooper chewed on his tongue, his mind scattered. Of course, it was possible. He’d only met Abigail Stone less than twenty-four hours ago. They had hardly spoken. In fact, he’d only discovered her last name when her face ended up on a missing person’s flyer on his desk that day.

---