Sara lay there in the dark, motionless. After Veronica took off, their captor had cursed, knowing he'd have to waste valuable seconds locking the truck back up before taking off after Veronica. Otherwise, if he was gone long enough for Sara to regain control of her limbs, she would've been out of there too.
But she wasn't gone, she was still here, and it was quickly becoming her least favorite place on the planet.
She had to commend Veronica's bravery, but her emotions were a pendulum, swinging between feeling gratitude and feeling the aching loneliness that was already settling in. Logically, she knew they were better off this way- assuming that Veronica made it somewhere safely. She'd go to the authorities, and they'd send out a search party to find her. In just a few hours she could be on her way home, sipping water and wrapped in a blanket in the back of a police car.
She could be safe, but right now, she wasn't.
The thought of, "home," was almost foreign, too much of a contrast between the cold metal of the truck, the direness of her situation. She closed her eyes, tried to think of what "home" felt like. She conjured an image of her evening strolls, walking around the block of her neighborhood- the sounds of children playing and cars pulling into garages after a long day at work. That train of thought quickly lead to Michael, his card in her pocket on the stroll she'd taken just a few weeks ago, and the leap she'd taken reaching out to him.
Her heart sank. He had no idea what was happening or where she was. She felt a flicker of panic, an urge to communicate, to tell him; if he texted or called, she wasn't ignoring him. She desperately wanted him to know that.
This would certainly be a lot to explain, "Hey, sorry it took so long to get back to you, I was tasered and kidnapped and stuffed into a truck."
And that was assuming she even made it out alive.
If she did make it, she already dreaded the explaining that she'd have to do. Nothing like a good tragedy to break the ice with a potential lover; she could already feel him slipping away, backing up from the shock of it. It would be too much, too soon. She just hoped he'd understand, even if he wanted nothing to do with her afterwards.
This wasn't her fault and she knew that, but she and Michael had only spent a few hours together and she had to keep a level head about who they were to each other. Expecting him to help shoulder the burden of this might be too much. Right now, she was in the thick of it, running off fear and adrenaline and instinct but she wasn't naïve, and certainly didn't consider herself invincible. People, after experiencing things like this, all dealt with it differently. Some continued one fine, other internalize issues they weren't even aware of at the time. It might scar her, plague her with nightmares. The fear of being alone or walking to her car in the dark again. She intended to face those fears head on, but the mind is a powerful thing, and the subconscious mind never yielded to the conscious- it does what it wants.
The demons may come, and if they did? She'd fight them alone if she had to. That's what she was used to, but she'd be open to and secretly grateful for it if he stuck around. She missed him- the easy conversations, his mysterious ways; she wanted to see him again, to have someone to talk to. Being sucked into her own mind and left alone to stew in this would be the worst. She'd have to keep busy at work-
Work! She realized with a moment of panic; she'd completely forgotten, but could hardly blame herself- she'd been a bit preoccupied with staying alive. What day was it? Saturday. She wasn't scheduled for the weekend. Normally that was a thing to celebrate, but today, she cursed it. If she was a no call-no show, people would be worried. She never did that. They'd try calling her, go to her apartment, and when they realized she was gone, they'd get the authorities involved. Her coworkers were the only people she regularly saw; she lived alone, so in this case, they were her lifeline, but she wasn't scheduled until Monday. Based on the timeline they'd overheard from their captor, she didn't have that long.
She squirmed a bit and realized that despite everything running through her mind, the most disturbing thing right now was that she'd still hadn't had a bathroom break. She had to pee, and she was thirsty- her split lip wasn't getting any better with the dehydration; her mouth was dry, a scratchiness when she swallowed. The alcohol and fries from the night before were a distant memory, and probably the worst thing she could've had before being left without water for so long. But she hadn't known. No one plans their meals based on the possibility of being a prisoner shortly after.
How long had he been gone? Shouldn't he be back by now? Maybe being gone so long was a good thing; if he had caught Veronica, he'd be back by now, right?
She groaned and sat herself up, the function returning to her arms and legs.
Then she remembered what was in the truck.
She sighed with relief and a big grin, feeling her way around and finding the neck of one of the blue bottles. They were stacked sideways, so she grabbed it by the neck and pulled it off the shelf. It was heavy, far too heavy to use as a water bottle. She knew if she tried she'd end up drowning herself- a comically tragic way to die after everything she'd already been through. Instead, she popped the top off and tilted it a bit, collecting water in her cupped hand and started drinking it. It stung her lip, bringing the dried blood to life and fresh blood to the surface. She kept drinking, waiting, for her captor to return.
XXXXX
Veronica sat in the back of the police car, looking out the window. She was exhausted; she couldn't know how far she'd ran but it felt like miles. Now that she was sitting, she could practically feel her legs tensing up, spasming from time to time and quivering. The adrenaline and fatigue mixed together in a dizzying cocktail; she focused her attention on the trees whizzing by, but she couldn't calm her nerves. She was worried about Sara.
Their captor could've have been happy about her escape, and she now feared Sara would bear the brunt of that anger.
She shouldn't have left.
The doubt and the guilt washed over her now that she was safe. She'd heard the electric crackle of the taser as she'd bolted out the door. God, why had she left? She felt bile rising in her throat, the bitter taste of regret. She'd left her friend, and she needed to get back to her, to get someone out there to help her.
"Can you call someone?" she asked the man driving- Bellick, she recalled, having seen his name badge. She was confused as to why he hadn't done anything yet, "you need to get units up there now, she's in danger."
"We're almost to the station," he assured, "I'll send someone out once we get back."
She was getting frustrated. How hard was it to pick up his radio and have a unit sent? In a place like this, she doubted the police force was very busy anyways. He was being dismissive, and she was sick of it. The man who threw them in the truck had been the same way, always evading her questions. She wanted answers, dammit, and she wanted people to do their jobs.
Fidgeting, she waited. They were approaching town now, a small, quaint one she'd never seen before. She had no idea where they were or what direction they'd been taken, so she absorbed everything she could.
It was a quiet morning in the downtown area. He drove though without hitting any traffic, the only obstruction to their journey being a couple of kids crossing the street bouncing a basketball. They passed a café with a few people sitting outside but otherwise, it was just a lazy Saturday morning.
Her foot was still hurting pretty good, she realized with a wince as she tried to move it. She'd sliced it on rock, but the endorphins had masked the pain. Now that she had settled down, a pulsing ache was steadily making itself more known. It was wrapped in a towel that he had in his car, but the blood hadn't stopped completely; she bent down and torqued on the towel, grimacing as she pulled it tighter, adding pressure to the wound in an attempt to stop the blood flow.
She looked up from her foot and saw a small, tan building with an American flag hung in front. It had, "Police Department," in block letters on the front. She said a silent prayer of thanks, knowing that they were one step closer to getting a unit sent out for Sara. Then she could go to the hospital or wherever to have her foot looked at.
They approached the driveway, but he didn't slow down. He kept going.
"The police station is back there," she pointed out as he braked at the four way stop beyond the building.
"I know."
Confused, "So go back, we need to send someone to the warehouse. I need to give a statement."
Slowly, "You're not giving a statement."
She paused, her stomach dropping at the tone of his words. More cautious, "I'm still bleeding-"
"-congratulations," he interrupted, his voice gruff and irritated.
Anger rose in her chest. She was having a very bad day, and this guy was quickly and firmly planting himself on her bad side. She was a lawyer, dammit, she knew her rights. Some cops were assholes, she knew that, and had dealt with her share of them. This guy was apparently one of them- he loved the power and authority. He didn't do it to help people, he did it to control them.
"If you don't tell me what the hell is going on-"
"-you'll what?" he baited, a smug grin in the rearview that she wanted to slap off his face.
"I know my rights, Officer Bellick," she emphasized his name as her voice rose, wanting to make sure he knew she wouldn't forget it, "take me back to the station, now."
"Calm down!" he barked, "Just keep quiet until we get to where we're going," he tugged his hat lower, "should've duct taped your mouth shut when I had the chance."
XXXXX
A few miles out of town, they drove down a winding road though green fields before pulling off at a building that looked like both a store and a restaurant. "Beer, bait and booze," graced the sign out front. The outside was wooden, worn down with chipping paint. No other vehicles were there.
It was along a river and obviously the only place nearby to aid the weary traveler with food and gear. No lights were on, she realized, and there was no indication that anyone had occupied the building recently. She heard a train whistle in the background but otherwise, the only sound was the steady flow of the river.
He got out of the car and came around to her door, opening it, "Get out."
"Why?" her green eyes locked his.
A snarl, "You ask too many questions. Do it, or I'll have to make you."
She huffed and stood up, wincing as her foot hit the ground. Was she really better off? She thought back to the warehouse, the truck. Not being alone. Had running away actually helped? She had no idea what this guy's motives were, but they weren't in her favor. She wished Sara was there, wished that she hadn't left.
They headed inside, and she tried a different tactic. When they first met she had been a victim- narrowly escaping a pursuer and coming to him for help. She'd also played the hero, bravely escaping to help herself and her friend. Now, she was the annoying girl demanding answers and telling him what to do. She needed his sympathy again (while maintaining a bit of respect).
"Listen," she started more softly as she hobbled into the building, "I'm a lawyer, I probably know more about the law than you want me to right now."
His eyes flickered, a brief moment of fear.
"But I'm also reasonable. Just tell me what's going on here, maybe I can help."
He shut the door behind her, "Take a seat."
She took in her surroundings; she'd been right, there was a restaurant in there too. The floor was black and white checkered with red booths, a fifties theme. Half of the inside was the restaurant and the other had various camping supplies, fishing gear, snacks and necessities. It smelled like a mix of coffee, bleach, and fryer oil, but it was all stale, abandoned. The place could've been nice-lively and colorful; she imagined what it might have been years ago when it was up and running. Summer crowds would've stopped by from sunup to sundown, drinking coffee and eating burgers, grabbing their fishing gear and heading out behind to the small dock she'd spotted. But today, being here made her sad, like something shiny and bright had been lost. A relic, left to whither.
"Tourism ain't what it used to be around here," he seemed to read her mind, "this place used to be busy year-round, 'specially in the summer."
"Mmm," she hummed her agreement, waiting for him to continue.
"I'm gonna need you to stay here," he paused, leaning his back against the counter, "your escape… complicates everything. The timeline especially."
Slowly, "You're working with him? The truck driver?"
His eyes told her, "yes."
She couldn't believe her bad luck. Of all the people she could've ran into, she managed to get snagged by a crocked cop, one who happened to be aiding the man who'd captured her in the first place.
She swallowed her anger, "Why?"
"Nothing personal," he offered, as if that was any help to her, "just found a better, more efficient way of making a living. I'm tired of working hard and getting pennies for it, so I found a better way," he said proudly, "working the system."
"By catching and selling woman?"
He looked amused, "Don't pretend you've never done a bad thing in your life."
Eyes wide, incredulous, "Excuse me?"
His tone was taunting, arrogant, "All you girls make it sound like you're perfect, never done a bad thing. Like you're better than everyone else. We're all sinners, honey, don't say you're not-"
"-so because a few woman hurt your fragile ego, you're taking it out on all of us?"
His expression hardened, "You're not making this any easier on yourself," he moved towards her and took the handcuffs out, grabbing her wrist roughly and clicking the cuff shut.
"You're gonna stay here," he explained as he dragged her to her feet, yanking her other arm behind her back and cuffing it to the other, "while I make a run back to get your friend and my worthless partner."
"Wait you're," she stuttered, "you're going to get them? To bring them here?"
He grunted, "Like my daddy always said, gotta keep your shit together."
"Sounds like yours is hitting the fan," she retorted.
He ignored her, "I can't trust any of you so I need you under one roof."
"Why not take me with you?" she wondered aloud.
He gestured to the building around her, "I own this joint now. The bank took it years ago, but it meant something to me so I snatched it up- I've got a lot of good memories here. No one ever comes by anymore," he smirked, clearly implying that "No one will hear your cries for help."
"Besides, I don't want you getting in my way or trying to escape again while I'm handling the other two."
But, he's your partner, she thought, wondering why he made it sound like their captor wasn't on his side.
"How long will you be gone?" she asked.
His eyes narrowed, "If you're thinking about trying something, if you even think about escaping-"
"-no," she interrupted, "I just…I could really use some water. And food."
And time to escape, she added in her mind.
He pointed to the store behind him, "Knock yourself out."
"I'm handcuffed," she replied, her hands joined behind her back, "how am I supposed to eat anything?"
"Guess you're outta luck then."
She fumed silently.
"Don't try to bust out," he repeated as he grabbed her arm and guided her towards the back room, "there's nowhere to go."
It was an office that he brought her to, in the back of the store portion of the building. It had a heavy wooden door and short, navy blue carpet inside. There was a desk with an ancient computer and it smelled of old paper. There was one window, but it was up pretty high; the flicker of hope it had caused was quickly squashed by the reality of being handcuffed. She couldn't imagine a way she'd be able to climb up and get out without using her hands.
She leaned back against the desk as he made his way to the door, "I'll be back with your friend," he promised, and then the two of you will be on your way again."
"To where?"
He smirked, and shut the door behind him, locking it with a click.
XXXXX
Lincoln took that walk after all, heading down the winding train tracks, allowing his mind to clear. The gray rocks crunched beneath his feet with every step, interrupting the otherwise silent surroundings. It was humid and overcast, but not too hot yet. The still air meant that mosquitoes and flies bothered him from time to time, but he did his best to ignore them, swatting them away.
Upon waking that morning, his thoughts had seemed to duel between the idea of taking a walk and the idea of talking to Michael. Now, he realized the ridiculousness of that notion, reasoning that he could simply do both, perhaps even at the same time. He knew that Michael was often busy, and that dropping everything for a chat wasn't always an option. They usually scheduled these things-giving a courtesy heads up before a lengthy phone call, but how long had it been? Months? He tried to remember the last time they talked – really talked.
He pulled out his phone and sent a text, not feeling particularly hopeful, but knew he couldn't get this monkey off his back until he reached out. A reply came quicker than expected, and Michael suggested an in-person meeting.
Huh, he thought, eyebrows raising as he kept walking along. He did have tomorrow off. They lived three hours apart, but they could easily split the distance, finding somewhere along the way to grab coffee or a bite to eat.
He replied, "Sure. Lunch tomorrow? Tell me where."
Before he knew it, Michael sent him a restaurant name and asked to meet at noon. A tingle of excitement stirred in him; he missed Michael, maybe more than he admitted or allowed himself to think about. It would be good to catch up and to harass him a little (as older brothers do).
He felt a weight lift, a rock on his chest he hadn't known was there, and continued his walk with more peace than he'd started with.