Then silence again.
It was
Even the trees weren’t rustling.
She relaxed, switched on the TV.
It’d reached the part where Norman Bates was talking to his dead mother in the attic.
The movie was almost finished…
What then?
The doorbell’s gonna ring any minute.
Maybe I should call. Something could’ve have gone wrong…
She heard movement, a faint rustle behind her.
She stiffened. Froze. Her mouth dried up again.
“Hey. Sugar. How ’bout a cuppa coffee for your uncle Mace?”
His voice was soft, warm, familiar.
She jerked around.
“You,” she gasped.
“Who else, darlin’?”
Mace grinned, friendly like. He opened his arms, palms held out. As if to say,
She’d handled him then. But she wasn’t too sure she could do it now.
Knowing what she did.
Remembering what Mom had told her.
Her legs felt shaky. Her breath jerked out in quick, shallow gulps. Trembling, trying to play it cool, she steadied herself.
“Coffee? Sure. Take a seat, Mace. I’ll go see to it right away.”
She got up, made a move to the kitchen, thinking, If I’m quick I could use the extension in there. Call Mom, the police, Mattie. Warren.
Mace watched her go, chewing on seeds, a loose smile playing on his lips.
Deana clattered around in the kitchen. Fixing coffee. Setting mugs on a tray. An eye on the phone all the time.
What if he’s watching?
Fuck that.
Just do it. She did it.
Lifted the phone.
Dead as dirt.
“Well now, sweetheart.” He was behind her, making a snipping motion with his fingers. “Them li’l ol’ wires are all cut. Uncle Mace couldn’t take no chances. Not with a smart young gal like you around.”
He moved forward, catlike. Grabbing her hand. Twisting it behind her back. Holding it there. Tight.
She was hurting, but no way would she let him see it.
He pulled her close, their bodies touching.
She winced, catching a whiff of mulchy breath.
He grinned.
Slammed his free hand across her mouth.
Kept it there.
She struggled, trying to come up for air. Beneath his hand, she tore open her mouth, trying to say, “Warren’ll be here any minute.”
Only it came out like some weird mumbo-jumbo.
“Really. You do surprise me,” he said with a curt, amused laugh.
He frog-marched her into the living room. Flung her facedown onto the sofa. Rammed a knee hard into her spine. Grabbing a handful of hair, he jerked her up and back, and wound a black silk scarf tight around her head. It cut into her eyes, across the bridge of her nose.
Leaving only a slight airway.
She panicked. Struggled. Barely able to breathe.
Pausing, he stepped back, watching her mumbling, kicking, gasping for air. Then, dragging a coil of twine from his jacket pocket, he began to wind it around her arms.
She still wore her blue top.
The tie had worked loose; the soft cloth slipped from her shoulders.
He gaped at her for a moment, seeing the rise of her soft round breasts, a glimpse of dark nipples, feeling himself rise, jerk, and grow hard.
She looked so… good and sweet. Scared. Vulnerable.
He smiled tersely.
Later, he promised himself.
Plenty of time…
He spoke softly. “Take it easy, sweetheart. You should know better than to fight with Uncle Mace.”
Deana lay quiet. Wondering what in hell he planned to do next. Straining hard to hear his movements. Trying to guess what was happening.
A blanket dropped over her head. She struggled, feeling the twine bite into her arms, sweat break out and stream down her body. She gagged against the coarse, prickly cloth as he bound it around her.
More twine. Then he was hoisting her onto his shoulder.
Bumping along, she felt his biceps, flexed and hard, beneath her, the jolts and sickening thuds to her stomach and breasts… Heard the click of his cowboy boots on the tiled hallway… Felt a draft of air on her legs and feet. Her mules had gotten lost in the struggle.
They were outside now, the cool night air flowing fresh around them.
She found herself swooping as he swung her down, setting her upright on the gravel.
Jagged stones jabbed and bit the soles of her feet…
She heard the click of the trunk opening. Felt herself lifted, tossed into it.
She gave a sharp gasp of pain.
The lid slammed down, cutting off whatever air there’d been. She found herself inhaling coarse, prickly fibers. They caught in her throat. She began coughing.
Suddenly, she was panicking, spluttering.
She swallowed hard.
Again. And again.
Soon, her throat muscles were under control…
“I’m gonna suffocate in here. I’m gonna DIE. Nobody’ll find me till it’s too late…”
She felt vibrating throbs as the engine turned over. Heard it slip into gear, move up the driveway. Mace made a left and she slid a little, her foot tensing against metal… Jesus, she thought,
