Chapter 4
Blackness slowly gave way to light. Erica blinked a few times and tried to clear the haze from her eyes. She could make out fuzzy images but nothing clear yet. She closed her eyes again and tried to figure out why she couldn't see very well. It all came crashing back to her: the delivery man at her front door, the package he had for her, the violent way that he'd attacked her.
She sucked in a deep breath, noting the soreness in her abdomen as she did so. No one had ever punched her in the stomach like that before. Her hand fluttered to her stomach. That was a good sign – at least her hands weren't tied. She opened her eyes and tried to focus her vision. She thought she was staring at the ceiling, and there was something soft underneath her. She must be lying on a bed.
She slowly pushed herself into a seated position, praying that the room wouldn't spin. Her head ached and she felt drunk, but she knew that wasn't possible. Someone had to have drugged her. She choked back a sob at the thought of being drugged against her will, after everything she'd been through to regain and maintain her sobriety. Who would do something like this to her? And more importantly, how in the world could she get away from him?
She rubbed her eyes and tried to focus. Her vision was slowly coming back and she was still wearing all of her clothes. Those were both good signs.
She shifted on the bed and tried to reassure herself that she was physically okay, minus the drugging. Her stomach and hip were both sore, and she had some pain in her swollen left ankle. She touched it gingerly and winced in pain. She must have twisted it when she attempted to run from her attacker. Damn stilettos. She ran her fingers through her hair, noting that her scalp was still tender where he'd grabbed her by the hair.
She took in a few deep breaths of relief at the realization that whatever had happened after she passed out had at least not involved any more violence against her.
She swung her legs over the side of the bed and looked around the room. Nothing looked remotely familiar to her. The room was small, barely large enough to hold a bed, a chair and a small table. All of the furniture had a rustic feel to it. There was no window in the room, but there were three doors. She assumed one was a closet and one led to the rest of the building. She wasn't sure about the third door, but she guessed it was likely a bathroom or another closet. The walls were bare, and two of them appeared to be constructed of wood logs.
Her heart sank at the rustic appearance of the furniture and the walls. This place had the feel of a cabin in the woods somewhere, and if it was, she couldn't be in Pine Valley. She had no idea how long she'd been unconscious, what time it was, or how far from home she'd been taken.
She wanted desperately to know who had taken her and why, but she was also afraid for him to come back for fear of what he'd do to her next.