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I swallow hard and tell them, “My friend Alana and I were on a motorcycle ride. We stopped by the lake, and when we went to leave, we passed a car. The car swerved at us and almost made us wreck, then turned around and chased us. I drove off into the grass to keep it from hitting us, and I must have hit my head because I blacked out. When I woke up, the car and my friend were gone.”
The officer takes down all the details before turning to Gertie and asking if she’s seen anything suspicious in the area.
Gertie shakes her head sadly. “No, I ain’t seen nothing out of the ordinary.” She turns to me with a sympathetic look on her face and says, “I’m so sorry this happened to you and your friend.”
The cops thank Gertie and turn to me.
“Sir, what’s your name, and what’s your friend’s full name? We’ll need as much information as you can give us. Are you well enough to take us back to the scene of the crash?”
I nod and stand, and the officers lead me to the backseat of their cruiser. I navigate the drive back to the scene of the accident, and my head hurts more with every passing second. The road is bumpy, and I’m thinking I might have a concussion. Soon enough, we’re standing over my motorcycle, the acrid smell of burnt rubber lingering heavily in the air.
“Can you give us a physical description of your girlfriend?” one cop asks me.
I swallow hard and try to concentrate, “Maybe five foot four inches tall, gray eyes. Her hair is purple, and she’s wearing a shirt that says Hometown Wings and Beer. I picked her up from work earlier before we drove out here, so she’s still wearing her uniform.”
“So, you said you stopped at the lake, and once you left, had a run-in with the car. Did you get a physical description? Make, model, color?” the cop asks me.
I shake my head. “No, it all happened so fast. The headlights were too bright for me to make anything out. I was too busy trying to keep us from getting hit.”
The officers exchange glances, and it seems like they don’t believe what I’m telling them.
“An ambulance will be here soon to check you out. Once you’re cleared, we’ll need you to come back to the station with us to go over your statement,” one of them says. “We have more officers on their way to search the area. If Alana’s in these woods, we’ll find her.”
Why did his statement sound like a threat? Did they think I did something to her? Why would I have called the cops if I’d done something to her and stashed her in the woods?
43
Chapter Forty Three
Alana
Drip, drip, drip…
My body jerks awake to the sensation of rope cutting into my wrists and ankles and the sound of a sink dribbling in the distance. Panic ripples through me as I realize my eyes are open, but I can’t see. A thick cloth bag, damp with sweat and tied around my head, obscures my vision. Confused and shivering, I try desperately to remember what happened and how I ended up here.
I remember being at work and leaving with Andreas, the motorcycle ride, the sex by the lake… Shit, the wreck. Someone chased us off the road. The memory of Andreas flying from the bike and hitting the ground, his head bouncing off of a rock, comes running back to me. And then, nothing. Everything that happened after that is blank.
The effort it takes to tug at the ropes binding my wrists behind my back tires me, and the coarse material scratches against my skin. Desperation makes me continue trying despite the pain, but the knots only seem to tighten when I pull.
My only reward from attempting to free myself is raw and bloody skin. I have no other choice but to wait for help. My only option is to control my breathing, despite the crippling fear that rattles around in my head. Every inhale is a battle; I take slow, deliberate sips of air to remain calm.
I hear a door open nearby, and I call out, “Hello! Is somebody there?”
A heavy and purposeful footfall echoes against the walls of the room as someone approaches me. I flinch, feeling the touch of an unfamiliar hand on my shoulder. My eyes squeeze shut as I brace myself for whatever horror is coming next. The bag lifts slightly, and relief washes over me when I feel a water bottle press against my lips. The drink is refreshingly cold on my dry tongue. After the second sip, a sickening thought strikes me:what if it’s drugged?
I spit out what remains inside my mouth in alarm and shift away from the person with a sudden surge of adrenaline.
“Please, tell me what’s going on. I’m scared,” I plead as tears fill my eyes and my emotions overtake me.
The person doesn’t respond to my words. Instead, they gently raise their hand and run their fingertips across my skin. Their touch seems intentionally soft, but I don’t fall for the false sense of security they’re trying to create. I tense my entire body, trying to anticipate what’s coming. Before I can resist, I feel soft lips press against mine. I jerk my head away, revulsion coursing through my body.
The person pulls away and chuckles, a deep and throaty sound that resonates through the room. “You’re even prettier when you’re scared,” they say.
The voice is male, and I don’t recognize it. He speaks with a hint of nonchalance and amusement that sends shivers down my spine.
“Who are you?” I ask, my voice quivering.
“You’ll find out soon enough,” he says, resting his hand on my cheek again. “I’m the one who saved you from that nasty little accident. You and your friend are lucky to be alive.”
