THE COTTAGE
Chapter 13
a fictional suspense thriller
by Elaine Troisi
Caroline wakened slowly, still groggy. Her mouth was desert parched, coated with a bitter chemical taste. She tried to move her body but couldn’t.
She became frantic, trying to remember. Panic mounted into a storm. Her heart hammered against her ribs. Still, she struggled against her restraints.
Calm yourself. Go back to the cottage. Try to breathe. In and out. Think. You can figure this out.
She began to notice things, very slowly. At first she heard nothing, felt nothing. Then a violent cough seized her. She tried to suppress it.
“Shut up back there!”
She couldn't. The duct tape gagged her, and for a terrifying moment, she felt as though she might vomit.
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| Caroline is kidnapped and driven away in the trunk of a car Illustration by Elaine Troisi |
She heard a door open. She realized then that she had been stuffed in the trunk of a parked car.
No wonder I can't move, she thought.
Then another car door opened. Men’s voices. Angry. Loud.
Oh, God, they are coming for me.
Words broke through the muffled silence.
“Why are we stopping here, you idiot! I need medical care before I bleed to death.”
“And you are a fool … letting yourself .. get shot.”
Scuffling, then the voices moved away.
“What the hell, Ramon! Please don't!” A scream of anguish. “Please, don't!”
Gunshot. Footsteps coming toward her.
A second gunshot.
Then the voice. Cold and matter-of- fact, “Sorry, man. Orders. No liabilities allowed.”
Caroline squeezed her eyes shut.
I'm next.
The sounds of grunting. Dragging. Pausing.
Then nothing.
A disturbed flock of birds exploded into flight above her.
Caroline’s heart pounded.
Ramon, she thought, he’s getting rid of the body.
She shivered convulsively. And waited.
It seemed an eternity until Ramon returned. He was alone. He opened the passenger door. He stayed there for a long time. She wondered if he was looking for something.
Then it struck her that he was cleaning up the blood. The vision made her feel sick as fear gripped her.
Get hold of yourself, Caroline thought. You have to stay alive!
Suddenly she remembered her father. Bleeding. Shot by Ramon.
Was he alive? Was Tim? Tears brimmed at the thought.
Hot tears as anger flared.
She had never felt hate before.
Until now.
Ramon!
She struggled to loosen her restraints.
His fist banged on the trunk. He yelled. A warning.
But it wasn't in English. He was screaming at her in Russian.
He was rummaging in the backseat now. Then the trunk was opening. The bright light stabbed her eyes.
How she yearned to fight him!! But her body refused to obey.
He spoke. “I need you alive, so eat, drink.” He ripped off the tape and yanked the gag from her mouth. No mercy, with violence.
He unscrewed the bottle and put it to her lips. She wanted to spit the water in his face. But she didn't.
Caroline gulped until the bottle was empty. The water soothed the burning in her throat at first, but the relief was brief.
Her thoughts still drifted in and out. It was like trying to grasp fog in your hand. Whatever Ramon injected her with hadn't worn off completely yet. She could feel herself drifting She blinked hard, forcing herself to re-focus.
His stare burned with heat, drying the tears clinging to her lashes.
She fought hard not to lose consciousness.
Then he put an apple in her hands. “Eat!”
She struggled to bring her hands to her face. She took a bite, then another.
“If you make a sound, I will kill you!”
Then it was dark inside the trunk. He banged on the lid. She flinched.
“No, you won’t,” she whispered. “You said you need me alive.”
So I still have value.
But why? she wondered as she bit into the apple again.
The engine turned over, idling while Ramon spun the radio knob, searching for a station. He found one. He turned the volume all the way up, assaulting her ears.
Oh, no. He’s going to kill me with heavy metal!
She tried to raise her arms over her head to block out some of the noise, but the space was too confined. She gave up.
Then she remembered what her dad had taught her about escape tactics. She had been about fourteen, much leaner and far more flexible.
It had been a wonderful day. He’d taken her to work with him. They had lunch in the Attorney General’s private dining room. She had known enough to be impressed. Oddly, what she remembered most vividly wasn’t the important people there. It was the cherry pie à la mode. The crust had been perfectly flaky.
After lunch, they had gone to the gym, where her father was teaching the fourth stage of SERE—Survival, Evasion, Resistance, and Escape. He had encouraged her to join in. For her, it had been fun. The recruits were impossibly handsome, after all, one in particular.
Before the recruits began their exercises, her father had gathered them around. “Remember this,” he had said, “if you remember nothing else from this class.” He paused until he had claimed everyone’s attention. “Panic is your first enemy. Every prison has a weakness. Your job is to find it before time runs out. Stay calm. Think. Observe. Then act.”
At fourteen, Caroline had smiled, convinced it was all part of an exciting game. Now, trapped in the darkness of a car trunk, she finally understood what he had really been teaching.
Caroline’s reverie ended when Ramon revved the engine twice. Gravel crunched beneath the tires as the car lurched onto the road.
She had to stay awake, figure out where they were going.
Think.
Observe.
She listened carefully. Nothing at first, except the rhythmic music.
About ten minutes later, she felt the car climbing a long incline.Then a sharp left curve. Her body slid, shifted
A sharp right. An S-curve.
Several minutes later they crossed a steel plank bridge. The tires rumbled loudly beneath her.
The washboard bridge!
I know where we are! Mom always called it the washboard bridge. Dad called it the singing bridge. And every time we crossed it, we laughed!
She began counting silently, measuring time between every turn. Straight road. Climb. S-curve. Bridge. In her mind she traced the familiar road her family had driven so many summers. She clung to each landmark as though it were a lifeline leading back to her father.
Caroline tried to sit up, banging her head against the trunk lid.
They were about five miles outside Sherbrooke, heading toward Sheet Harbour.
A plan began to form.
She would use one of her dad’s escape tactics.
Act!
Rolling onto her side, she worked her fingers beneath the edge of the thick trunk carpeting, peeling it back. The carpet scraped the skin from her knuckles. Cramped muscles protested every movement. Sweat trickled into her eyes despite the cool air inside the trunk.
It took forever, but she finally reached the taillight housing and repositioned herself, bracing her back against the rear of the trunk.
The reverberating rhythm of the music would act as her cover.
She drove her bound feet into the plastic, gritting her teeth against the pain. But her determination was renewed.
The music shook the car.
Now.
She drove both feet into the housing.
Nothing.
Another chorus.
Harder.
A dull crack.
She froze. Waiting.
The car didn't slow and Ramon kept driving, drumming. She imagined his fingers drumming on the steering wheel.
He hadn’t heard.
She kicked again.
She realized in about five minutes they would reach Sherbrooke. She had to hurry. She twisted into a better position and drove her feet into the taillight housing, hard.
Ignoring the pain shooting through her spine and legs, Caroline shoved with all the strength she had left. The red lens popped loose and hung by a thread.
She collapsed against the trunk floor, breathing hard.
Wait until we get to Sherbrooke, Ramon, she thought. Someone will see.
Dad would be proud of me, she thought.
Dad … Tim …
Were they waiting for her?
Were they searching for her?
Worse …
Did they think she was dead?
Tears welled again.
Her bravado vanished.
She clung to one last thought.
I'm leaving a trail, Daddy.
Find me.
Dear reader,
I hope you are enjoying this suspense/thriller novel and the accompanying original watercolors! Look for chapter 14 next Friday, August 14!
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