Faint of Heart (4 page)

Stephen had been absolutely furious, especially when he discovered Alan's souvenirs. Alan had taken the verbal beating without protesting or making excuses...after all, it
had
been an uncool thing to do. But now Stephen was getting on his case constantly, and Alan was sick of it. If Stephen had a conniption fit over the complications with Rebecca, the bossy fuckhead might find himself getting sliced up for a hell of a lot longer than twenty minutes.

There was an exceptionally large pothole coming up, but Alan resisted the urge. With his luck, she really
would
impale herself on the tire iron, and then he'd have to--

"Shit!"

Alan jerked the steering wheel to the right, just barely avoiding the white cat in the center of the road. The right tires went off the shoulder of the road, and the car shot out of control as the rear tire burst. He slammed on the brakes and swerved to the left, trying to avoid going into the ditch. The remaining tires let out a horrible squeal as the car came to a stop.

Alan glanced up in the rearview mirror and watched the unharmed feline bound across the road. He chuckled in disbelief. He'd once slowly strangled a young woman to death with a leather belt while her fiancé watched helplessly through the clear plastic bag over his head, but he'd fucked up Stephen's car to avoid hitting a cat.
 

Oh well. It'd be good karma. He needed all the luck he could get.

He shut off the engine and got out of the car. He had to get the tire changed as fast as he could, hopefully before anybody drove by. Stephen's throat was going to be raw by the time he got done yelling tonight.

Alan walked around to the trunk and knocked on it three times with the handle of his pistol. "I'm opening the trunk. If you don't want to get shot, be quiet and don't move."

He inserted the key and braced himself. She did have a tire iron in there, but not enough room to maneuver. If she tried to attack him, he'd just slam the lid back down on her head.

He turned the key and opened the trunk. Rebecca lay in the fetal position, arms wrapped tightly around her legs, eyes squeezed shut. Her face was heavily tear-stained. He poked her with the barrel of the gun. "Scoot."

She didn't move.

"Pretending I'm not here isn't going to make me go away," he informed her. "It's only going to make me angry. I dismember when I get angry." He'd thought of that line a couple of years ago, and used it whenever he could.

She opened her eyes.

"Sit up and get the spare tire out of there for me. And hurry up."

"I can't move my arms," she said.

"Yeah, well, it's your own fault that you had to leave without a coat. I'd suggest that you get your circulation going pretty damn quick."

He kept the gun pointed at her while she moved the sack of garbage out of the way and lifted the spare onto its side.

"Push it out of there," he said. She was obviously too petrified to try anything, but Alan wasn't taking any chances.

She rolled the tire over the rear of the trunk, and let it bounce off the bumper and onto the ground. Alan was surprised that the bumper didn't snap right off of this piece of crap car.

"Now the jack," he said. "Don't throw it."

She picked up the jack and dropped it onto the ground.

"Very good. Now curl up like you were before. That was adorable."

She ducked back down as he slammed the lid shut again.

He got the tire changed without anybody driving past and without the car falling on his foot. See, good karma for not squishing the cat.

* * *

Rebecca had forced herself not to cry (again, at least) for the first few minutes of being a prisoner, but really, what good would that do? She needed the release. The stench of rotten garbage made her want to throw up, but she
did
struggle to avoid that particular release, since she didn't know how long she'd have to remain in the trunk.

She'd sobbed and sobbed until the car went out of control. And when the man had opened the trunk, giving her a potential (if extremely remote) chance to escape, she'd done nothing. Not a thing. She hadn't even opened her eyes until he forced her.

She was dead. And so was Gary.

Not that there was much she could do with a gun pointed at her, but she hadn't tried
anything
. She hadn't even
thought
of a plan. She wasn't just scared. She was a coward.

She deserved to die in this cold, dark trunk.

But Gary didn't deserve to die. She had to be strong for him. Keep herself alive long enough to think of a way out of this.

She gently blew on her fingers, trying to enjoy that tiny bit of warmth.
   

* * *

When the car stopped again, Rebecca had no idea how long she'd been in there, except that she had no tears left and had to go to the bathroom so badly that it was painful.

Somebody knocked on the trunk. "You alive in there?" asked the kidnapper.

"Yes."

"Then close those eyes. If they're open when I lift the lid, you lose 'em."

Rebecca closed her eyes. The trunk lid opened, letting in even more cold air.

A different man with a deep, scratchy voice spoke. "Why is she in there without a coat? And you didn't even empty the garbage first?"

"I forgot about it."

"It's good to know that I'm paying somebody who's so attentive to the small details," said the second man, with a snort of contempt. "Get her out of there and bring her inside before she freezes to death."

"Yessah, massah."

"Don't be racist. It's not cute."

"Whatever."

Rebecca felt a cloth sack drop over her head. "I've got a gun pointed at your skull," said the man who'd kidnapped her, tapping her hard on the forehead with it. "So be nice, Becky."

He took her hand, and helped her as she climbed out of the trunk. She lost her balance on her frozen feet, but he steadied her before she fell.

"Whoa, Jesus, is she rank!" said the second man. "Even in the cold that stuff reeks. See what happens if you forget the small details? You see?"

"I'm serious, man, I'll shoot you. I'll do it."

The second man's voice turned deadly serious. "Don't threaten me. Not even if you're kidding."

"Yeah, yeah, whatever."

The first man led her inside, where it was much warmer. In fact, it felt like they had the furnace on full blast. He led her across a wooden floor, and then gently eased her down onto a sofa. The first man sat down next to her and pressed his gun against her side.

"Welcome, Rebecca," said the second man. "I hope this idiot didn't make things too uncomfortable for you."

She remained motionless and silent.

"Would you like to see where you are?"

After a moment, the man next to her pressed his gun more tightly against her side, hard enough that she let out a gasp. "He asked a question."

"Be careful," said the second man. "Don't damage her. Rebecca, would you like to see? You'll have to promise to behave yourself, but if you do, we'll let you see. Do you want that?"

She nodded. The sack was pulled from her head, and she immediately closed her eyes against the blinding light.

"Would you like anything? A drink, maybe? I could nuke some pizza if you want."

"Bathroom," she whispered.

"Sure. Alan, take her to the outhouse."

"No problem,
Stephen
. I guess if
Stephen
wants me to take her to the outhouse, then I'll do what
Stephen
wants."

"Good. Then do it."

Alan tapped Rebecca on the shoulder. "Uh, Becky, you kind of need your eyes for this part."

Slowly, she opened her eyes. The light still stung from spending so much time in complete darkness, but she could see that she was in a small cabin, virtually unfurnished except for the sofa and a wooden chair upon which the second man sat.
      
     
  

He was a large man, heavily muscled, with brown hair and acne scars. He wore a black leather jacket and thick glasses that were almost comical in appearance.

Almost.

Then she had a sudden realization that nearly brought her to her knees. She'd now seen both of the kidnappers. She'd seen inside their cabin. They'd used each other's names. No way were they going to let her live.

"Where's Gary?" she asked, voice trembling.

"Bathroom first," said Stephen. "Then everything will be explained."

CHAPTER FIVE

Alan led her back outside and around the rear of the cabin. They were somewhere in the forest, but that did absolutely nothing to help pinpoint her location.

"There you go," he said, gesturing toward a rickety outhouse as if he were a maitre d' in a five-star restaurant showing her to her table. "I hope you'll find the accommodations to your liking. You could make an escape attempt through the hole, but I must warn madam that it doesn't get my highest recommendation. Be quick."

Rebecca opened the door and shut herself in. The door didn't have a lock, so she held it with one hand while she untied the string on her pajama bottoms with the other.

She hated outhouses, even under happier circumstances. Whereas the fear that bugs might crawl up onto you while you were using the toilet at home was a completely irrational fear, here it was very much a possibility. Spiders, ants, beetles, any of them could be crawling on the underside of the seat right now. Except that there wasn't a seat, just a hole in the wood.

In the rare instances when she'd used outhouses in the past, she always felt the need to hover over the seat. That wasn't going to be easy while holding the door shut.

She mentally cursed herself for worrying about that kind of thing when her husband was in serious danger.

Maybe even dead.

No, not dead, he couldn't be, but he certainly had more substantial problems than stressing about a kidnapper catching a glimpse of him peeing.

To distract herself, she thought of a story that she'd found absolutely hilarious as a child. She didn't know if they'd actually done this or not, but some friends had claimed to have set up a speaker underneath an outhouse. They'd hide with the microphone, wait for somebody to enter, give them a chance to get started then shout "Hey, people are working down here!" and wait for the victim to burst out of the outhouse, pants around the ankles.

She'd gotten in trouble at school several times over the years thinking of that story at improper moments, but it didn't make her feel any better now.

Rebecca managed the best she could, pulled up her pajama bottoms, and left the outhouse. Alan was waiting for her. "Everything come out okay?"