Page 90 of A Voice In Chains
We drive in silence for a while until I murmur, “Not sure we’ll be friends after this.”
For some reason, instead of annoying them like I’d hoped, my words crack them up.
“Trust me,” Ryan says, his voice too fucking cheerful. “You’ll love us after this.”
Now it’s my time to scoff. I’m sweaty beneath the thing on my head, whatever it is.
The minutes pass by painfully slow. Losing track of time, I let my mind wander.
I know they’re up to something, but what? We’ve been friends since primary, maybe even nursery, and never have they kidnapped me before. Ryan threatened to do it a few weeks back when I turned down another party, but he let me wallow in my own misery, with the parting words, “This stops when we move.”
Eventually, the road surface shifts, the car rocking gently on the uneven ground as the guys discuss the satnav’s directions. With my vision impaired, I’m even more acutely aware of the vehicle’s subtle movements.
Now I’m not angry anymore—now I’m intrigued instead. They clearly aren’t sure where to go.
“The directions on the website were vague. It was the correct turn off, right?”
“Yes, it was. What else did it say?”
“Follow this road.”
“It’s barely a road.”
“Tell me about it.”
A few more seconds of silence. Then Ryan pipes up excitedly, “There! I think that’s it.”
“What, here?” Harrison sounds confused.
“Pull over. I bet this is it. We came here for a school trip once, remember?”
“Can’t say I do. When was it?”
“In Year Two, I think. We had that teaching assistant with the hairy chin. What was her name?” Ryan asks.
“Mrs. O’Dell. She reeked of baby powder and had the most rank coffee breath.”
They chuckle as Harrison parks the car. Something rustles again—Ryan turning in his seat, most likely. “We’re here, princess,” he says, his voice amused at my predicament. “Time to wake up.”
“I am awake, you twat.”
“Ooh, the claws are out.” He opens the car door and exits the vehicle, a breeze of cool air drifting into the back where I’m waiting.
Breathing in the distinct scent of pinecones and late evening, I feel my heart beat harder in response to the familiar smell.
“Come on,” Ryan says as he opens the door to let me out of the car.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
My shoes sink into the soft ground, and I stand there, waiting expectantly for them to remove whatever is on my head and untie me, but they don’t. Instead, someone grabs hold of my bicep and pulls me forward.
For brief seconds, the wild thought that perhaps they drove me out here to kill me fleets through my head, but it’s such an absurd idea that I shake it off immediately.
They’re messing with me, is all. This is some stupid hazing they’ve planned to get me out of my year-long funk. It has to be.
This could have been prevented if I’d been more fun these last few months.
It’s not for lack of trying on their end. What can I say in my defense?
