The Call of the Void

Chapter 2

When I come to, the pinkish hue of my closed eyelids irritates me. I leave them closed and adjust to the light that is streaming into the truck. I can hear the hum of an engine and feel the characteristic bumps of a dirt road. I recognize the melody of Lord Huron's Meet me in the Woods humming from the stereo. It would almost be pleasant if it weren't for the pain radiating from my wrists where you bound them and the itchiness of the seat fabric against my bare skin. I notice that you placed a moving blanket overtop of me so as not to draw suspicion to the truck with a bound naked woman in the back.

We hit a pothole, and it draws a groan from my lips as I squint my eyes open. The back of your head slowly comes into focus when you rip your eyes from the road and fix them to my reflection in the rearview mirror.

"Good morning, little artist." You say, the smirk apparent in your voice.

I try to speak but my mouth is so dry that my lips stick to my teeth. You flick your turn signal on to pull over, even though I know there is no one else on the road. I can feel the truck dip to one side as we come to a stop on the shoulder. I'm still too groggy to have cohesive thought or anything other than a clumsy command of my limbs. What the fuck did you give me? You get out of the truck and pull the lever to push forward your seat, gaining access to the back bench. I slowly push up off the bench into a seated position. Unhappy with my progress, you grab my zip tied wrists and pull me to my feet outside of the truck. I stumble, my bare feet on uneven pebbly ground. You let me fall and I can feel a half a dozen tiny rocks dig under the skin of my knees.

I take in my surroundings, the quiet dirt road that stretches out as far as the eye can see in either direction, the forest that insulates us on all sides. Fuck. I notice the speed sign in miles per hour instead of kilometers and my heart stops. I have no clue how you got my unconscious body over the border. There's a small part of me that is sure I'm going to die while looking up at you from my knees. I quickly push the thought from my brain, knowing in my very soul that you aren't done with me yet, that it won't be that easy. You drop a water bottle onto the ground in front of me, it kicks up a small plume of dust that coats its plastic.

"Drink, go pee, and don't do anything fucking stupid. We have a long drive ahead." You don't even look at me when you say it.

Instead, your eyes are fixed on the Glock 19 in your hands. You pull back the slide and engage the slide lock, engrossed in inspecting the barrel through the ejection port. I notice the magazine is missing and realize that this might be my best shot at escaping while you are distracted. My tongue feels like sandpaper in my mouth, and I realize I'll never get far without quenching this thirst first. My bound hands clamour for the water bottle that sits in the dirt in front of me. I notice the seal of the bottle has already been broken but I don't care. I'm so thirsty I would drink mud. I gulp desperately until the bottle is empty, still not quite quenched. I push myself up from my dusty, bloodied knees, my heart pounding in my chest like it is trying to escape my body. It beats so quickly I could swear it is trying to take wingless flight.

"I'm just going pee." I say as I stumble to the tree line, trying to gather courage with every step that creates distance between us.

You only grumble in response, eyes still fixed on your gun, now being wiped down by a fabric cloth. I don't even know what I'm doing except for commanding my legs to fucking run. I get to the edge of the forest before I find the tenacity to turn around and look at you, half expecting you to be directly on my heels. Instead, you lean against the hood of your truck watching me with a frown spreading across your lips. You cross your arms and just stand there watching me. For a moment I feel a glimmer of hope that you are letting me go, that perhaps I am not worth the trouble, before I realize.... You're just giving me a head start.

Fuck. Fuck, fuck, FUCK. The fear starts to creep in and strangle rational thought. I run as fast as my legs will carry me, weaving wildly between the trees as the underbrush cuts into my feet and shins. There is pure adrenaline pumping through my veins though, so if I am hurt, I don't feel it. My zip tied wrists make balance difficult. I don't have the use of my arms for counterweight as I streak through the forest buck naked. I don't know what I am looking for, but I'll know it when I see it. I keep praying to a God that I don't believe in. Just please God, let me stumble across a cabin of some sort, or a river I can wade into to disappear my footprints. Give me a fucking cave I can hide in, I don't care if I have to share it with a bear. I pick the bear.

I don't know how far I've gotten when I hear the first shot ring out, but it drops me to my knees. I can feel my breathing become difficult, like the beginnings of a panic attack starting to bloom inside my chest. I suck back increasingly larger breaths, but they feel like they contain less and less oxygen. Surely you wouldn't want to maim your newest plaything, I think to myself, trying to console the part of me that is terrified. When I look at my knees with the blood dripping down them and the black specs under my skin that hint at the rocky debris lodged there, I think differently. It's too late by the time I hear your boots crashing into the forest, drawing nearer and nearer. I would stand up if only I could fucking breathe.

In this exact moment, my entire life flashes before my eyes and I prepare to die. I see a father who never loved me well enough, a mother who disappeared into his shadow. I see the sneering faces of my peers contorted in laughter as a child. I see the cock of the first man who ever raped me. These still images put on a slideshow in my mind until I am unsure why exactly I am so afraid to die. Death would be a luxury in comparison to the life I've led, and yet, as your footsteps near, all I can think is, please God don't let me die.

Your hand clamps the back of my neck tightly as I cower on the forest's floor, my back turned to you and my head in my palms. You push me down into the dirt face first, the twigs and spiked bushes of the underbrush press into my skin. My bound wrists are trapped uncomfortably and in an unnatural position under my torso. With your hand forcefully pressing my face into the ground, I black out for a second as my panic attack reaches full swing. I feel the hot tears streaming down my cheeks and squeeze my eyes shut, the sound of your belt coming undone is the only thing I hear over the rustling of the wind through the trees and my own frenzied gasps. I feel you kick my legs apart and kneel between them before you plunge yourself deeply into me with no warning. Not that it matters, because as I soon realize, I am soaking wet. What the fuck is wrong with me? More tears stain my cheeks, but this time I cry of disgust.

Your strokes are fast and forceful, uncaring of my pleasure in the moment. Every thrust of your hips crushes me further into dust, until I don't know where I stop and the forests floor begins. I can feel my eyes fluttering closed and a heaviness taking over my body before I feel you come deep inside me. You let out what can only be described as a primal sound as you do. I can hardly move, sleepiness suddenly filling my veins like cement. I open my eyes briefly to look at you as stand up, now towering over me. You cock your head when you notice the state I'm in, a second passes before you are seemingly jolted by something. You look at your watch.

"Fuck. Time's almost up." You say, it's the first hint of concern I've seen on your face.

I wonder what you mean before I remember the opened bottle of water that I chugged earlier, so thirsty that I thought nothing of the oily residue that coated my tongue afterwards. It dawns on me that you drugged me again. I wouldn't want to drag my unconscious body through woods this thick either. You quickly pull me to my feet, gripping me by my arm and steadily guiding me back to the gravel road from whence we came. I barely make it back to the truck before I pass out again.