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HER
When my eyes open, my surroundings are hazy.
The scent of pine air freshener fills my nostrils, accompanied by the soft whir of an engine. The dull ache in my temple makes it hard to focus, and my vision is blurry. But at least I know I’m alive.
Where am I? How did I get here?I stay still as I attempt to gather my bearings, though I strain to piece together the fragments of memories that dance at the periphery of my mind. My recollection of events gradually trickles back—the park, the bench, and then the sudden prick of a needle in my neck.
I shoot up, adrenaline coursing through my veins. But I’m met with a wave of dizziness that forces me back down into the seat, my head spinning as I groan. Closing my eyes, I suck in a few gulps of air. A gentle hand comes to rest on my shoulder, and a voice breaks through the quiet.
“It’s okay,” he murmurs, his timbre laced with concern. “How are you feeling?”
The dryness in my throat makes it hard for me to speak. “Where am I?” I manage, my voice coming out in a hoarse whisper.
He doesn’t answer, his sight focused on the road. Rubbing my eyes, I blink away the sludge. As my vision clears, I see the figure in the driver’s seat—who is none other than my kidnapper. The unfamiliar surroundings fade into the background as the realization of my predicament sinks in.
I’m trapped in a car with a fucking serial killer.
“Welcome back,” he taunts, his voice dripping with amusement even through the voice changer. Wearing a mask, his expression is unreadable. But I can imagine him smirking as he adds, “Did you have a pleasant nap?”
I try to swallow, but my throat feels like sandpaper. “What the fuck did you do to me?”
Again, he ignores my question and switches on the radio. Radiohead’sCreepis playing. He turns up the volume and begins tapping his foot in time with the beat. The lyrics send a chill down my spine.
“Pretty ironic, don’t you think?” he muses.
Thoughts of escape swirl through my mind. I must think fast. With trembling hands, I reach for the door handle—but he slams on the brakes, bringing the car to a screeching halt. Despite wearing a seatbelt, I nearly pitch forward, almost smashing my head against the dashboard.
“Are you fucking braindead?” he snaps, clutching the steering wheel. “Do you think you can just run away from me?” He puts his foot back on the gas and the car takes off. “Don’t even think about trying to escape again, or things will get a lot worse for you. My hospitality only stretches so far, Gwen.”
Stunned, I sit here, feeling like a mouse in a maze with no way out. I need to think of something—anything—that will get me out of this mess alive. But what?
“If you’re thirsty, there’s a pack of water in the backseat,” he says, his tone shifting on a dime. “There are also some granola bars if you’re hungry.” I stare at him in disbelief, and he has the nerve to chuckle as if everything is perfectly fine. “Don’t worry, Little Finch. Nothing’s poisoned.”
I bite back a scream of frustration at that stupid fucking nickname. But I know that if I try to argue, he’ll probably gut me. So I swallow my trepidation and reach into the backseat, yanking a bottle of water from the plastic rings. Greedily, I suck down the liquid and pray that mychauffeurwon’t suddenly remember that he isn’t a generous person.
We drive in silence, save for the radio. After I gobble up a granola bar to sate my grumbling stomach, he finally breaks the silence.
“We’re almost there,” he states, his gaze still on the road.
I swallow. “Where?”
He turns into a darkened lot and parks in a secluded spot. “You wanted to prove your loyalty to me, didn’t you? Well, this is your chance.” He cuts the engine, unlocks the doors, and makes a shooing gesture. “Time to get out.”
Feeling numb and confused, I climb out of the car, my mind whirling with what might come next. A large warehouse looms in the darkness nearby. Multiple metal bars secure several windows, while others are boarded shut. Distantly, I hear a generator humming.
He grabs my arm and leads me closer, snapping me out of my trance. My eyes, for a moment, drift toward the license plate as he practically drags me to the building.
“Don’t bother remembering the plate number,” he says, jangling the keys in my face. “It’s arental. With no paper trail to be found.”
Trying to snatch the keys from him is pointless, so I glare at him instead. “You stole it?”
He chuckles, deriving pleasure from my irritation. My brow creases deeper, only fueling his laughter. “Let’s just say it was procured for a … special occasion. Now, I thought you wanted to prove your loyalty?” He drags me to the side of the warehouse and points to the broken window. “Get going.”
I grip the pane, hauling myself up and inside, being careful not to slice myself on the remaining glass. An eerie darkness greets me, along with the scent of must and decay, and I squint to see my surroundings. He hops in behind me and clicks on a flashlight, illuminating the area.
I follow him further into the warehouse, stepping cautiously over the debris and rubble in our path. Suddenly, he stops, and I almost run into him. He places a finger to his lips and shushes me.
“Hear that?” he whispers.
