Chapter 51 Field trip
Chapter 51 Field trip
Chelsea
✦
Morning comes through the window.
Gray at first.
Then pink.
Then harsh white.
I didn't sleep.
I don't think Livia did either.
We sat there all night, shoulder to shoulder, listening to every sound.
The house creaked.
Wind blew.
Somewhere, a dog barked miles away.
Now my stomach is eating itself.
Hollow.
Painful.
My throat is dry again.
The water from yesterday is a memory.
Livia's head rests on my shoulder.
She's trembling.
Cold.
Or scared.
Probably both.
Footsteps upstairs.
Heavy boots on floorboards.
The shorter man appears at the door.
He unlocks it.
Steps in.
"Up," he says.
His voice flat.
"Now."
We don't move fast enough.
He crosses the room in three strides and grabs Livia's arm.
Yanks her up.
She cries out.
"Don't hurt her," I say.
He looks at me.
Smiles.
"Get up."
I struggle to my feet.
My legs are numb.
Pins and needles.
I almost fall.
He laughs.
"Stupid bitch can't even stand."
He pushes Livia toward the door.
She stumbles.
I follow.
We move through the house.
Living room.
Kitchen.
Everything looks normal.
Disgustingly normal.
A coffee mug on the counter.
A newspaper.
Like people live here.
Like this is just a house.
The front door opens.
Sunlight blinds me.
I squint.
It's hot already.
Dry.
We're somewhere desert-like.
Arizona?
Nevada?
New Mexico?
I don't know.
Doesn't matter.
There's a white van parked in the dirt driveway.
No windows in the back.
The tall man stands by the open doors.
He sees us and grins.
"Morning, ladies."
His eyes rake over us.
Dirty.
Sweaty.
Tied up.
Helpless.
"Time for a field trip," he says.
The short man pushes us toward the van.
"Move."
We shuffle.
My bare feet hit hot dirt.
Sharp rocks.
I wince.
Livia whimpers.
"Please," she says.
"Where are we going?"
The tall man laughs.
"Shopping."
He grabs me by the hair.
Not hard enough to pull it out.
Hard enough to hurt.
"You're the merchandise."
He shoves me toward the van.
I hit the metal side.
Pain in my shoulder.
"Get in."
The back is empty.
Metal floor.
No seats.
No windows.
Oven-hot.
"Please," I say.
"It's so hot."
"Get in," the scarred man says.
He has a gun out now.
Pointing at Livia.
"Or I shoot your friend in the stomach and we leave her here to die slow."
I climb in.
The metal burns my knees.
Livia follows.
The doors slam.
Darkness.
Complete.
The engine starts.
We roll forward.
The floor vibrates.
Every bump sends pain through my knees.
We can't sit properly.
Can't brace ourselves.
Just tumble around like cargo.
Like things.
Not people.
The drive takes forever.
Or no time at all.
Hard to tell in the dark.
Sweat pours down my face.
My back.
Between my breasts.
The air is thick.
Hard to breathe.
Livia is crying silently.
I can hear her.
Feel her shaking in the dark.
"Hey," I whisper.
"Hey."
"What?"
Her voice cracked.
Broken.
"Remember the boots?"
Silence.
Then a wet laugh.
"The stupid boots."
"White," I say.
"With the fringe."
"You said I looked like a disco cowgirl."
"You did."
"I loved them."
"I know."
Silence again.
The van hits a big bump.
We slide.
My shoulder hits the wall.
Pain.
"Why are they doing this?" Livia asks.
I don't have an answer.
I think about Alex.
About him looking for me.
Is he still looking?
Does he know about the van?
Does anyone know?
The van slows.
Turns.
Gravel now.
Different sound.
Then stops.
Doors open.
Sunlight again.
Blinding.
I blink.
We're in the middle of nowhere.
That's the only way to describe it.
Red dirt.
Rocks.
Mountains in the distance.
One road.
Dusty.
Empty.
No other cars.
No buildings.
No help.
The tall man reaches in.
Grabs my arm.
Pulls me out.
I fall.
Knees hit dirt.
He drags me up.
"Stand."
He does the same to Livia.
We stand there.
Swaying.
Two men hold our arms.
Keeping us upright.
Or keeping us from running.
Like we could run.
Like we have anywhere to go.
The shorter man walks to the front of the van.
Leans against it.
Waits.
For what?
Then I see it.
Dust on the road.
A vehicle approaching.
Black.
Long.
Growing larger.
A limousine.
It pulls up beside the van.
Stops.
The driver doesn't get out.
The back door opens.
A man steps out.
Fat.
White.
Old.
Sixties maybe.
Bald head shining in the sun.
White beard neatly trimmed.
Small spectacles on his nose.
Dark suit.
Despite the heat.
Holding a cane.
Ivory handle.
He looks at us.
Smiles.
It's the worst smile I've ever seen.
No warmth.
All hunger.
"Oh my," he says.
His voice high.
Pleasant.
Terrifying.
"Look at these two."
He walks closer.
Circles us.
Like a shark.
Like a buyer inspecting merchandise.
Which is exactly what he is.
"Turn around," he says.
"Slowly. Three-sixty. I want to see everything."
The tall man spins me.
Rough.
I stumble.
Catch myself.
Livia does the same.
The old man's eyes crawl over us.
My legs.
My chest.
My face.
Livia's body.
Her hair.
Everything.
"Exquisite," he says.
"Simply exquisite."
He stops in front of us.
Taps his cane against his leg.
"I want them both," he says.
"Package deal."
The tall man and the shorter man exchange looks.
Surprised?
Pleased?
They speak to the old man in their language.
Harsh sounds.
Negotiating?
The old man nods.
Pulls out a phone.
Types something.
Then snaps his fingers.
The limousine's front door opens.
The driver steps out.
Tall.
Silent.
Wearing a uniform.
He walks to the trunk.
Opens it.
Pulls out a suitcase.
Black.
Large.
He carries it to the old man.
Sets it on the ground.
Opens it.
Cash.
Stacks and stacks.
Millions probably.
The sun hits the green bills.
Blinding.
The tall man's eyes go wide.
He steps forward.
Counts some of it.
Nods.
Laughs.
He and the shorter man shake hands with the old man.
Business done.
We're sold.
Bought.
Owned.
The tall man looks at us one last time.
"Be good now," he says.
"Mr. Bagly here paid good money for you."
Bagly.
The name hits like a stone.
Mr. Bagly.
Our new owner.
The tall man and shorty take the suitcase.
Load it into the van.
Drive away.
Dust rises.
Coats us.
They're gone.
We're alone with him.
With Bagly.
He turns to us.
That smile again.
"Welcome," he says.
"Welcome to your new lives."
His huge driver grabs us.
Drags us to the limousine.
Pushes us into the back.
It's cool inside.
Air conditioning.
Leather seats.
Dark.
The door closes.
Locks.
Bagly climbs in beside us.
The driver gets in front.
Starts the engine.
We're moving.
Bagly looks at us.
Really looks.
His eyes behind those spectacles.
Watery.
Old.
Evil.
"I'm Mr. Bagly," he says.
"As you heard."
He adjusts his suit jacket.
"And we're all going to have a great time."
He leans forward.
"Do you know what I love?"
Neither of us speaks.
Can't.
"I love threesomes," he says.
His voice conversational.
Like he's discussing the weather.
"And anal. And everything, really. I'm not picky. I like it all."
Livia makes a sound.
Gagging.
"Oh," Bagly says.
"Don't worry. We'll get to everything. Eventually."
He looks at the carpet.
Stained.
Dark spots.
"Don't mind the mess," he says.
"Plenty of things have been on this carpet. Cum. Blood. Spit. Squirting."
He winks.
"I like it messy."
I gag.
The smell hits me now.
Under the leather.
Under the cologne.
Sex and sweat and copper.
Blood.
Livia leans forward.
Vomits.
Right on the floor.
He doesn't flinch.
"That's okay," he says.
"We'll get it cleaned up."
He slides across the seat.
Toward Livia.
She tries to pull away.
Can't.
Ropes still on her wrists.
Her ankles.
He leans in.
Smells her hair.
"Strawberry," he says.
"Delicious."
He kisses her neck.
She squeezes her eyes shut.
Shaking.
His hand slides up her shirt.
Under her bra.
He squeezes.
Caresses.
"Soft," he whispers.
"So soft."
"Get off her," I say.
The words tear out of me.
He stops.
Looks at me.
His hand still on Livia's breast.
"I beg your pardon?"
"Get off her," I repeat.
My voice shaking.
"Now."
He removes his hand from Livia.
Turns to me.
Reaches out.
Grabs my face.
His fingers dig into my cheeks.
Squeeze.
Hard.
Harder.
"You need to shut the fuck up," he says.
Still pleasant.
Still smiling.
He pulls me closer.
Kisses me.
His lips wet.
Sloppy.
Tongue forcing its way in.
I gag.
Bite down.
He pulls back.
Laughs.
"Feisty."
I headbut him.
Forehead to nose.
Crack.
He yelps.
Holds his nose.
Blood drips.
"Oh," he says.
"Oh, you little bitch."
He hits me.
Backhand.
My head snaps sideways.
Pain explodes.
Then his hands are on my throat.
Squeezing.
I can't breathe.
Can't think.
Black spots.
His other hand goes down.
Down my pants.
Underwear.
Inside me.
Fingers rough.
Forcing.
"You'll listen," he says.
Choking me.
Fingering me.
"You'll learn."
I can't breathe.
Can't fight.
Everything going dark.
He stops choking.
I gasp.
Air.
Sweet air.
He's taking off his pants.
Belt.
Zipper.
His penis out.
Old.
Veined.
Disgusting.
He reaches for my pants.
Pulls them down.
My underwear.
"I'm going to fuck you," he says.
"Whether you like it or not."
He positions himself.
"I own you."
The sudden sound is loud.
Explosive.
The limousine swerves.
Hard.
We hit something.
Stop suddenly.
Bagly looks up.
"What the—"
The driver's door opens.
A gunshot.
Loud.
Deafening in the small space.
Blood sprays the partition.
The driver's body slumps.
Dead.
Bagly stares.
Confused.
Angry.
The side door opens.
Sunlight.
A figure.
Tall.
Buff.
All black.
Full face mask.
Only eyes visible.
Blue.
Ice blue.
He reaches in.
Grabs Bagly by his suit.
Pulls him out.
Throws him on the ground.
I see dirt.
Rocks.
The sky.
Bagly is screaming.
The man in black punches him.
Once.
Twice.
Three times.
Blood.
Then a knife.
Flash of silver.
Across Bagly's throat.
Blood.
So much blood.
Bagly gurgles.
Dies.
Right there.
In the dirt.
The man in black turns to us.
"Come on now," he says.
Voice muffled by the mask.
"Get out."
We try.
Scramble.
But the ropes.
Can't get leverage.
Can't move fast enough.
He's impatient.
Reaches in.
Lifts me out.
Sets me on the ground.
Does the same for Livia.
We're standing there.
Shaking.
Underwear exposed from the waist down.
Pants around my ankles.
The man in black helps me pull them up.
The man puts his hands on our backs.
Pushes us.
"Go," he says.
"Black truck. Fifty yards. Move."
We run.
Stumble.
Fall.
Get up.
Run.
There's a black truck.
Huge.
Lifted.
Tinted windows.
He opens the back.
"Get in."
We climb in.
It's dark.
Safe-smelling.
Leather.
He closes the door.
Gets in the driver's seat.
Locks the doors.
Looks around.
Mirrors.
Road.
Clear.
He drives.
Fast.
Dust behind us.
Livia and I huddle together.
Shaking.
Crying.
Alive.
We're alive.
I look at the back of his head.
His masked face in the rearview mirror.
"Who are you?" I ask.
He doesn't answer.
Just drives.
Faster.
Away from the body.
Away from the limousine.
Away from hell.
I hold Livia.
She holds me.
We're sobbing.
But we're free.
Or something like it.
The truck eats miles.
The sun moves across the sky.
We're going somewhere.
Anywhere.
Not there.
Never there again.
I close my eyes.
And for the first time in days, I let myself hope.
Really hope.
That this isn't another trap.
That this man is real.
That we're going home.
The engine hums.
Livia's breathing evens out.
She's asleep against my shoulder.
Exhausted.
Traumatized.
Alive.
I watch the masked man drive.
His hands on the wheel.
Strong.
Capable.
"Thank you," I whisper.
He doesn't respond.
Maybe he doesn't hear.
Maybe he doesn't care.
But I say it again anyway.
"Thank you."
The truck keeps moving.
Forward.
Into whatever comes next.