Back in the saddle for #NaNoWriMo. Hope you're enjoying the story so far.

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Hemophiliac

Chapter Four

Source

I don't know how long I was in the back of that van. The mattress was filthy, but it was the only place to sit. It smelled like wet dog. There were no windows, and there was a solid partition to the front seats blocking my view. All I could do was sit there and shiver as Deadhead drove around for what seemed like the better part of an hour.

At least he can't see me either.

My kidnapper creeped me out. More than, you know, a regular kidnapper would, with rope and duct tape and use of physical force. Instead this guy just... told me to do things and I did them. Unflinchingly, without hesitation. Irresistible compulsion. I would have been less frightened if he had pressed a knife to my throat or a gun against my head. At least then I would have had some context for what was going on. All I knew is that this guy had been trying to kill me just moments ago, and now he was taking me somewhere. Probably to finish the job.

The van came to a stop. My heart leaped into my throat. I pressed myself up against the side of the van, where the open door would shield me from his sight for a moment. If I could get to him before he opened his mouth, keep him from telling me what to do, maybe I could get away.

The front door slammed, and I heard Deadhead's footsteps on what sounded like gravel. I tensed.

"Stand in the center of the van," he said, his voice muffled.

Fuck.

I did as I was told. Tried my best not to, but it was like I wasn't in control of my body. The door opened, and there was Deadhead. "Let's go," he said. "Step down."

I walked to the open door and obediently climbed out of the van. We were in a large parking lot next to what looked like a long-haul trucking depot. There were hundreds of corrugated shipping containers set in neat rows, waiting to be put on the backs of 18-wheelers.

I shifted. The gravel cut into my feet. "This really hurts," I said.

"No talking."

My mouth shut on its own. The harder I tried to part my lips, the more I pressed them together. I couldn't even move my jaw. Instead I just glared at him.

He smirked. "Just be glad I didn't tell you to stop breathing," he said. My blood ran cold. "Now, follow me. Six steps behind. Don't stop until I do. And don't take your eyes off the back of my head."

Again, I had no choice. My eyes locked on the back of my kidnapper's head, I followed him through the parking lot. It seemed like he went out of his way to find the most painful route for me to walk, with the gravel grinding into my feet with every step. I couldn't stop or even beg him to slow down; as soon as he took a step, I had no choice.

After taking the most circuitous route through the parking lot, we stepped out into the shipping depot. The solid asphalt under my feet was blissfully smooth, though they throbbed painfully with every step. Shivering in the early autumn wind, I followed Deadhead through a warren of shipping containers.

We walked to what seemed like a disused corner of the depot. Here, the containers were beaten and scarred, tinged with rust and faded with disuse. He walked through the open doors of one and I followed. Dead leaves crunched under my feet.

"Stop following me," he said. I did as I was told.

"Turn around and sit down on the floor." Again, I did so, curling my abused feet beneath me. The meager protection of my torn hospital gown did little to keep the chill from sinking right into my skin.

I heard Deadhead step around me. Soon he was standing in front of me, his back to the open shipping container, backlit from the now midday sunlight. I glared up at him.

"Sounds like you've got something to say." He chuckled. "Go ahead. Scream your little head off if you like - there's no one around to hear you. But you're not going anywhere."

I tried to open my mouth. Finding I could, it just hung open for a moment. "Who the... what the fuck is going on here? Please, I don't understand - what do you want?"

Deadhead shook his head. "I don't want anything. This is just another job. You're gonna have to take that up with my client."

"Your client? Someone hired you to try to kill me?"

"You weren't in any danger. Not someone like you anyway." Deadhead pulled out a mobile phone and started scrolling through it. "Now, Simon Says be quiet for a second, I've got a phone call to make." My mouth slammed shut.

My kidnapper tapped his screen. A familiar ringing sound filled the shipping container.

What the - Is my kidnapper FaceTiming someone right now?

The call picked up, and suddenly Deadhead - or was it Simon, now? - was bathed in light from his screen. "I've got her," he said."

"Is she unharmed?" The voice that answered him was distorted, like something you would hear in one of those stupid police procedural shows. I always hated them. Thought they were just a few steps away from torture porn. Now I was stuck in one.

"She's fine. Awake, aware, and angry. Hold on, I'll turn my back camera on." Simon fiddled with his phone. His flash lit up, bathing me in harsh LED light. I squinted, throwing a hand up.

The distorted voice of Simon's boss rumbled through the open connection. "Hmm. Funny, you don't look like an Erin."

I dropped my hand and glared defiantly at the light. "What, you've never heard of the Black Irish? Fuck outta my face, asshole."

Simon barked at me. "Don't talk. Don't even breathe." My throat closed on its own. I tried to breathe, sent into a panic at the sudden loss of control, and fell to the floor. I clawed at my throat and gasped as my world began to recede to the small halo of artificial light coming from Simon's phone.

Finally, Simon's client spoke up. "I've seen enough," he said mildly. "I think she's learned her lesson. Proceed as planned." He ended the call, and the light went out.

"All right, you can breathe again," Simon said. My throat opened back up. I gulped at the air painfully.

Don't cry, don't let this asshole see you cry.

"What does-" I coughed, spitting up a wad of phlegm. My own voice surprised me. "What does 'proceed as planned' mean?" I sat up, glaring at Simon.

"Nothing I'm gonna tell you about," he said. He turned his back to me. "I'll be back later. Simon Says stay put."

"Wait," I said. "Wait, you can't just leave me here." Simon strode out of the shipping container. "Please, wait. This is nuts, could you just stop for a minute?" He pulled one of the doors shut and fastened it. "Come on, please, don't leave me here-"

The other door slammed shut. I was plunged into darkness.

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