Page 60 of Web of Lies
My fault.
I slowly and silently nod as tears fill my eyes. I can't be the reason anybody else dies tonight, or ever again. I close my eyes against the flood of tears and allow myself to be dragged the rest of the way to the car. I don't make another sound until he tries to put me into the trunk. The idea of being closed in again, trapped again, in the dark, blind to what's happening, and cold, triggers my sense of survival again and I thrash against him. I fight and scream. Scratching, clawing, kicking, shoving, anything to get away. I can't go into the trunk. I can't.
Even in my terrified and frantic state he's stronger than I am and he hauls me around by my shoulders to face him, then he shakes me, hard, forcing my teeth to snap shut with the force of it.
I keep screaming and pushing against him. I'm not going back. I can't.
Then he draws back one fist and hits me and everything goes black before I can fight anymore.
~
When I wake up, everything hurts. Everything. Every single sensation of pain is competing for attention all at once and I groan in overwhelming misery. My tongue wins out. The faint coppery taste and the swollen state of it lets me know that I'm lucky I didn't bite it off when he was shaking me. My eye is swollen, too. Not shut, but swollen enough that it hurts to try to open it. The next big pain that registers is my head, specifically the back of my head and the top where he was pulling it.
I can't take stock of any more injuries. There are too many to sort and the effort is making me even more nauseous than I already am. I have to get it under control because I might actually die if I throw up.
When I do work up the nerve to open my eyes, they open to complete darkness. I can feel air moving around me, and I can tell that I'm not inside a trunk, but I don't know where I am. I slow my breathing so I can try to listen for anything that might give me a clue, but there's nothing to hear. The only sounds I can make out are what sounds like a fan or water running somewhere nearby. What I don't hear is anything that would give the impression that the man who took me from Shaun is sitting in the dark waiting for me to wake up so he can bring me to further torment. Maybe I can sneak away. Maybe I can run. I'm not stupid enough to hope, but I'm desperate enough to try.
Slowly, silently, I get to my hands and knees, ignoring the multitude of injuries that all rush forward for my attention. Once I'm able to maintain that position without feeling like I'm spinning, I try to raise up onto my knees so I can get to the next step, which is my feet. But the top of my head clashes painfully with something hard and unforgiving. I reach up to try to feel what's above me and gasp. It's a metal grate. I reach forward and find another metal grate less than a foot in front of me. Putting my hands out to the side confirms my fear.
I'm in a cage.
He put me in a cage.
I think…it's a dog crate.
He put me into afucking dog crate.
I can break out of a dog crate. The metal spokes aren't that thick and the hinges that keep them together aren't that strong. I can get out of this. I just need to push hard enough. I get my feet underneath me and take a deep breath to bolster my strength and then stand straight up, smashing my upper back and shoulders against the top of the crate.
The crate rattles, shaking around me, but it doesn't come apart. I probably dented the spokes, but that's not enough to free me, and now my heart is racing with the threat of the noise I just made getting that man's attention.
Or Adrian's.
Oh my god. I didn't think of that. What if I'm back home? What if Adrian locked me up in this cage while I was unconscious and now I'm in the cellar. In the dark. In a cage.
I can't breathe.
I stand up again, and again, crashing into the top of the crate. When it doesn't come apart like that, I brace my back against the side of the crate and kick as hard as I can, over and over, against the other side. The crate screeches and rattles violently, but it doesn't come apart. I don't understand. I've seen dog crates. Regan had a dog and that dog had a crate. These things aren't this strong. It should have come apart by now. I keep kicking and kicking, sweating and grunting with the effort it takes. I have to get out.
Suddenly, I'm blinded when the lights come on. The abrupt change from complete darkness to blaring bright overrides my resolve not to vomit and I fall to my elbows and knees, covering my eyes as I retch. My head swims with the pressure and pain of dry heaving and I moan in misery, pressing my forehead into the cold surface underneath me.
“Good morning, sunshine. Glad you've finally decided to join me.” The horrible man's voice is playful, even joyful.
At least it isn't Adrian.
“Let me out,” I croak.
“Not a chance, sweetheart,” he says. “I wouldn't give up this view for the world.”
The view?
It's only now that I remember that I'm only wearing Shaun's tee shirt and a pair of panties. In the larger scheme of things, I can't bring myself to care about how I must look with my barely-clad ass in the air. Shaun is gone. Wyatt is gone. My dad is gone.
I want to be gone.
I don't have any more fight left.
I collapse onto my side and let the tears I've been trying to hold back fall free.
