“It sounds perfect. Too good to be true.”
“But true,” Rick said.
The ride became a torture as the heat in the trunk grew worse and the car climbed and dropped and made sharp turns, sliding Gillian over the newspapers, trying to throw her forward and back, the rope squeezing her throat each time she flinched at the sudden movements.
It can’t go on much longer, she thought.
We’re in the mountains. We’ll stop soon and he’ll let me out.
Let me out. No! God, what am I going to do!
The car slowed abruptly, throwing Gillian onto her back. Her knees flew up. Her left knee bumped the lid of the trunk before she could straighten her legs.
She felt the car make a sharp turn. Then it began moving forward. It was no longer on pavement. On a dirt road? The floor of the trunk shuddered under her back, shaking her, sometimes bouncing her roughly.
It won’t be long now.
I’m sorry, Jerry, she thought. I shouldn’t have left without you. But then he might’ve gotten you, too, so maybe it’s better this way.
Knowing that she would never see Jerry again, Gillian felt a twist of sorrow and loss.
It’s not over yet, she told herself.
Then the car stopped and the engine went silent.
Gillian felt a change inside herself as if a switch had been thrown. She no longer felt the stifling heat, or the pains of her bound and battered body, the awful fear. Her heartbeat thundered. She shivered. She felt
The trunk lid swung up. Daylight poured down on Gillian, blinding her. Cool air lapped her burning wet body. The air smelled of pine and damp earth. Squinting, she peered out. The opening was about three feet high. Beyond it, she saw the green of trees and a few pale patches of sky. Fredrick Holden wasn’t there.
He must’ve used a trunk release on his dashboard.
Gillian heard the soft sound of a breeze whispering through the woods. There were birds singing, chirping, squawking. She even heard the flutter of wings. The whiny buzz of a mosquito.
Where is he?
She heard a footstep. It made a quiet crunching sound on the ground. Then there were more footsteps.
He’s coming!
He stood over the trunk and stared down at her.
Didn’t do anything, just stared as if entranced by the look of Gillian stretched out in his trunk, naked and gleaming with sweat, tied up and helpless.
His eyes seemed to bulge. His mouth hung open. Gillian could see his chest move as he breathed rapidly. He closed his mouth, licked his lips and swallowed. Then he rubbed a forearm across his mouth.
“All mine,” he muttered as if to himself. “Allll mine.”
He bent over the trunk. His hands swirled over Gillian’s slick skin as if he were fingerpainting.
The hands slid on her shoulders, circled and kneaded her breasts, swarmed over her belly and down her thighs, slipped between her thighs and slithered there, delving around the rope. Then they roamed up her body again and lingered on her breasts as if he couldn’t get enough of the slippery way they felt, especially when he squeezed them.
“Untie me,” Gillian said. Her voice came out in a dry, raspy whisper. “I’ll do wonderful things to you.”
He slapped her face hard.
Then he rubbed his hands on his shirt. They left dark stains on the pale fabric. His right hand dropped out of sight below the edge of the trunk. It came back with a knife.
It was a huge knife with a long, broad blade. A bowie knife?
Leaning over the trunk, he cut through the rope around Gillian’s ankles. The edge of the blade scraped lightly along the side of her calf and kept moving higher. Goosebumps crawled over her skin. She tried not to shiver. She couldn’t help it. She wanted to damp her legs together, but that would push the blade into her thigh.
No, he won’t, she thought. He can’t have blood in his trunk. Even the newspapers wouldn’t hold it all. He’s smart enough to know that.
The knife turned. The point lightly traced its way up the hollow where her leg joined her groin, followed it to her hip.
The knife rose above her. Holden kept it in his hand while he wiped his mouth again with his forearm. Then it came down slowly and Gillian thought he was going to free her hands. The blade pressed, instead, against her pubic mound. She saw his arm make a sawing motion, but she felt no pain. He’s cutting the rope, she realized. That’s all.
That’s all?
She felt the rope part. Her hands were still bound together, but now she would be able to raise them without choking herself.
And my feet are loose, she thought.
Holden pressed the blade to her throat. With his other hand, he reached behind her neck. He grabbed the rope and yanked it. Gillian felt as if she were being scorched by the streaking rope, but then it was out from under her.
Holden clutched the end of it with his left hand. “Up,” he said, and tugged it like a leash. Gillian sat up. Sweat streamed down her body, dripped off her chin and breasts. Sodden newspapers clung to her back.
With his rope hand, Holden peeled the papers off. “Out,” he said. His command was followed by another tug. Gillian winced.
Bracing herself with forearms on the edge of the trunk, she turned and got to her knees. She had papers on her rump. They stayed stuck to her while she swung a leg out of the trunk. Her knee found the bumper. It slipped off when she put her weight on it. She squirmed on the edge. The rope at her throat was yanked, and she tumbled out, rolling. The bumper hit her side. She bounced off it and slammed the ground ... and reached up and caught the rope and jerked it. Holden yelped. His arm snapped forward. The end of the rope flew from his hand.
Gillian flipped over. She rammed the fists of her tied hands against the ground and thrust herself up, and was almost to her feet when Holden’s kick caught her hip and sent her hurling sideways. She crashed against the rear of the car. It knocked her away. She fell and rolled and tried to keep rolling but Holden pinned her down with a shoe on her belly.
He stared down at her. He was breathing hard. He rubbed his lips again with his forearm.
Then he stomped.
Pain blasted through Gillian.
Wheezing and dazed, she was only vaguely aware of Holden picking up the rope, of how he pulled it and how she crawled, and how he picked her up and braced her against a tree trunk. By the time her mind cleared, it was too late.
Holden no longer held the rope. She couldn’t see where it was, but she felt it around her neck, against her right ear, against the side of her head. Its other end, she knew, must be tied to a branch above her.
She tried to grab for it.
Something stopped her.
She looked down. She was wearing a black leather belt. It was cinched tight around her waist. Her bound hands were lashed to it with rope—probably some of the rope that Holden had cut off her feet.
When did he do that? she wondered.
I must’ve been out for a while.
She looked around. The car was a few yards away, its trunk and driver’s door still open. But she didn’t see Holden anywhere.
