A note from the author: Pretty please! Take a moment to send this link to all your friends and have them send it to their friends etc... I figure if a million people see the link, maybe a hundred-thousand will follow it and read it. Maybe ten-thousand of them will like it enough to read more, and maybe a thousand of them will be willing to buy the book when it is published. If so, then I should be able to break even on the money I have invested. Thanks!
Publishing status: (When I get it published, I will include a link here). Editing finished for 12/24 chapters.
I have added a page (here) to track my progress to publishing, and to place links to each of the chapters I will publish on my blog in the meantime.
MissTaken
Ch1
Jessica Hansen was just
starting to awaken. A weird, unnatural grogginess pervaded her mind. It
saturated her limbs, leaving them sluggishly lethargic. Her brain obstinately rebuffed her efforts to
direct her thoughts. Fragmented memories swirled around in her head, slowly coalescing;
her first year at college, her roommates. Spring break in Mexico. Loud music
and dancing and drinking. So much alcohol, but not for her—she didn’t drink. It
kinda made her uncomfortable being around it, but at least her roommates got
back to the hotel safe every night.
Except, not tonight.
She’d gone to dinner with
her roommates, and when they passed a dance club, they’d insisted on going in
for “just a few minutes, to see if anyone famous was there.”
The bouncer eyed her critically
when the three approached the entrance. She didn’t look like she belonged with
the other two. Sarah was positively stunning in a forest green, fit and flair
mini dress and matching stilettos. Meridith’s white halter top and pencil skirt
were not quite as bold, but grabbed attention nonetheless, and highlighted her green
eyes and her thick, red hair, cascading down her back in loose curls.
Jessica was wearing comfortable
jeans, a navy tee shirt, and mid-top hiking shoes.
“You’re in the wrong club
senorita!” the bouncer yelled over the blaring music. “The cowboy bar is
down the street!”
“I’m just here to babysit
my friends!” she quipped, and he let her in.
They met three boys that
night—local guys, kinda cute. They all said they were between nineteen and
twenty years old, though Jessica was suspicious they might be a bit older than
that. They were all on the tall side. The youngest one had friendly eyes, and a
big smile that proudly displayed his perfect teeth. His dark hair was a
carefully styled, messy look. His skin was flawlessly smooth, and his eyes had
a look of perpetual amusement. He was an easy conversationalist and had a
disarming charm. The other two appeared to defer to him, despite his younger
age and smaller build. They were more reserved, their gazes more intense, they
gave off a definite macho vibe with their close-cut hair and dark stubble.
Her roommates were really
into them, but she’d been annoyed. Why?
Her head ached liked
she’d taken a nosedive off a spooked mare. Her mouth was dry.
Oh yeah, the guys really
pressured her to drink. Like, a lot. They badgered her until he was ready to
knock one of them out, then they finally backed off, and got her an orange juice.
It tasted a bit funny, but not like alcohol.
A voice in the back of
her head told her she shouldn’t be awake right now, so she lay very still,
waiting for the grogginess to go away of its own accord.
The persistent rumble of
a roughly running motor, seemingly right behind her head intensified her
headache. Her mind tried to rationalize the presence of the motor noise—She didn’t
remember leaving the club. She strained her ears trying to pick up the incessant
thump-thump of the club’s techno music. A mild wave of nausea
passed over her and her thoughts scattered again.
Voices caught her
attention. Somewhere beyond her feet, the boys from the club spoke in Spanish.
She hung out with the ranch hands a lot and managed to pick up a fair
vocabulary. As her head began to clear, more words were recognizable.
One described in crude terms
stuff he wanted to do to a girl. Was he talking about her? Then there was
another voice–not one of the boys. Older. He was yelling and threatening the
boy. He spoke fast. A lot of words she didn’t understand, but she caught the
word “virgin” and “money”. The implication was that she was a virgin and was
worth a fortune and he better keep his hands off her or he would lose them
along with his head and possibly a few other extremities.
Her head pounded.
Something was definitely wrong, but she couldn’t keep her thoughts straight
long enough to make sense of anything. Someone moaned softly next to her, her
shoulder was jostled as a body next to her shifted.
“One of them is waking
up!” A voice said, “Should I dose her again?”
“No, we are only thirty
minutes more to the ranch.” the older voice said. “Hit her with a shot of the
trainer, we’ll give her an early start.”
There was a sound of
shuffling, and something bumped roughly against the bottom of her shoe. Something
brushed against the outside of her leg, and there was another soft moan, and more
rustling sounds as something next to her was moved. Another bump against her
shoulder was followed by a short, soft little cry. Jess carefully opened one
eye just a bit. She recognized one fuzzy outline as Sarah, with another fuzzy
person holding her up a bit. She risked opening a bit wider, a syringe came
into focus, stuck in Sarah’s arm. Sarah’s eyes rolled back, and she went limp.
The other person set her back down.
Jess fought against the
waves of panic breaking over her, she focused on her breathing, keeping it
slow, quiet, steady. She concentrated on her limbs, willing them to remain still
and relaxed. She diverted her attention away from what happened to Sarah and
focused on making sure it didn’t happen to her.
The vehicle jolted,
throwing her head to the side. She let it happen as smoothly and naturally as she
could. She chanced peeking out of her left eye, which was now concealed from
above by her nose. Her head was clear now, as was her vision, she could make
out the filthy interior of a van. A small backfire drew her focus to the motor
again.
When she was younger her
father would play a game with her and her siblings to pass the time whenever
they were stuck near a road or parking lot, which they called guess the motor.
They would close their eyes, listen for a passing vehicle, and try to guess
what it was by the sound of the motor.
As she listened now, she
easily identified the distinctive, rhythmic sounds unique to the air-cooled
motor used in a Volkswagen Bus. She was
on the floor in the back, on the driver’s side of the van, with her head near the
back. She knew Sarah was directly to the right of her. Was Meredith here as
well? On the other side of Sarah perhaps?
Her wrists were bound
with rope, in front of her. Her forearms rested over the front pockets on her
jeans. A little downward pressure confirmed her pockets were empty—someone had
taken her wallet and phone. Her ankles were tied together as well. She surveyed
the small section of van floor she could see without moving her head. Several
crumpled food wrappers, some dirty rags, lengths of rope, a couple of hypodermic
needles—likely used. Near her left hip rested a stray razor blade. A
fortunately timed bump rocked her whole body, twisting it to the left and
giving her the opportunity to drop her hands to the van floor, directly over
the blade.
She hooked her middle
fingernail under the edge of the blade on one side, while pressing her ring
finger lightly against the top. She eased the blade to vertical and pinched it
between her fingers.
Another jarring jolt
rolled her to her back again. She managed to keep her grip on the blade, and
using the fingers on her other hand, she shifted the blade‘s position to
conceal it better between her index and middle finger.
Jessica remained still as
the minutes passed, jostling on a rough, bumpy road, punctuated by an
occasional moan from Sarah. Jess focused on keeping her eyes closed and
remaining relaxed and ragdoll loose so as not to betray her conscious state.
The vehicle stopped and
the motor cut. Doors creaked in protest as they were opened. The muffled sound
of men talking and laughing became clearer and the sliding door on the
passenger side slid open with a rough, scraping sigh. It was much like the
banter among the men at the ranch as they moved bales of hay from truck to barn.
“Mer.” Sara’s voice was
slurred, “Where’re you going?”
Sarah’s body shifted away
from Jessica. When hands grabbed her ankles and pulled her, twisting her body
on the floor and dragging her toward the open passenger door, she fought the
urge to scream and fight. She forced herself to remain limp as she was hefted
onto someone’s shoulder like a feed sack.
“Not her.” a voice said, “she
goes up to the house, put her in Miguel’s room. Juan, go with him, tie her to
the bed, and stand guard.” He spoke louder. “Anybody goes near that room, you
shoot them. I’ll be up to get her later, and if she isn’t still untouched – If
I find even a tiny bruise when I get there, I’ll take an axe to your cahones.
Comprende?”
The man she lay on
shifted, spinning her around. Her body bounced under his footfall. After a
short walk, she heard the click of a latch, followed by the creak of a door
opening, The sounds of footsteps on stone changed to footsteps on wood floors. A
series of upward jolts punctuated by a faintly hollow sound with each footfall informed
Jessica she was being carried upstairs.
Jessica chanced opening
her eyes briefly. Juan was apparently leading the way as nobody was behind.
Jessica realized if they tied her hands, they would likely see the razor blade.
Carefully, but quickly she lifted her hands to her head and gently slipped the
blade into her mouth, biting down gently on the edge of the metal to prevent it
slipping in her mouth and cutting her. She returned her hands to their dangling
posture and closed her eyes just as they reached the top of the stairs. Another
door opened, and then she was lowered onto a bed.
One of the men lifted her
arms, slid a rope between them, and then wrapped and tied it around the ropes
already binding her wrists. He pulled her arms over her head and tied them to what
she assumed was the bedpost.
What if they tie my legs to
the bed as well? Her stomach tightened in panic. How would
she get the razor to her hands if she was trussed up?
A hand skimmed the front
of her shirt, and again she fought the instinctive urge to tense up – to
scream. The man began to apply pressure when the distinct click of a revolver
being cocked reverberated around the room. The hand froze.
“Easy Juan, it’s just you
and me.”
“Yeah, and if he so much
as smells your stink on her clothes, His axe makes me a eunuco.” Walk out of this room now so I don’t have to
get yelled at for splattering your brains all over Miguel’s bed.”
“Okay, Okay man. Chill.”
Jess breathed a quiet
sigh of relief as the two men left and the door closed. A lock clicked into
place, followed by a dragging sound of wood on wood. She guessed Juan had
pulled a chair in front of the door and posted guard.
Cracking her eyes, a bit
at a time to confirm she was alone; she surveyed the room. It was a modest
sized room with a door into a balcony and opulent furnishings. The bed frame
was a heavy, dark-stained hardwood, with intricate carving work. A small bedside
table, a desk and chest of drawers also adorned the room, each of similar
material and workmanship, with intricate gold inlays around the edges. She
guessed from the décor—posters of rock bands, movies, and scantily clad women
in provocative poses, some of which appeared to be autographed—that Miguel was
a younger man in his late teens or early 20’s.
The room started to go
out of focus, and the edges of Jessica’s vision darkened. She realized she was
panting.
“Oh, good one Jess,” she murmured
softly, “first moment you get to yourself and the best idea you can come up
with is hyperventilate and pass out.”
Jessica closed her eyes
and focused on taking slow, deep breaths. In through the nose, hold it, out
through the mouth, she repeated the mantra in her mind, counting six seconds
between each action. She had learned this breathing technique at a workshop the
university had set up as part of freshman orientation. It was presented as a
means of managing anxiety before an exam. She nearly laughed out loud at the
thought of comparing her current predicament to that of taking a test.
Jessica opened her eyes
again. She could only see two options open to her at the moment; wait to see
what happens next or try to escape.
Might as well work on
option two, she thought, it’ll pass the time while
I wait for option one.
She examined the rope
around her wrist. It was braided nylon, about a quarter-inch thick, which was
wrapped around her wrists five or six times and tied in a square knot. There
were no loops between her wrist apart from the thicker rope which tethered her
to the bed post. It was looped once and tied to itself in a slip knot.
She flexed her wrist
experimentally. The rope had a little bit of stretch to it, but she couldn’t
quite wriggle her hand free. Shifting and squirming, Jessica scooted her body toward
the head of the bed until her hands could reach her mouth. She gingerly
extracted the razor blade. She worked it around to where she could bite down on
the back edge, holding it firmly between her teeth with the blade protruding in
front of her lips.
She rotated her hands and
brought her wrist closer until the nylon ropes about her wrist rested against
the exposed blade. She moved her wrist side to side, dragging the rope across
the razor. She applied a little more pressure and was rewarded with the hiss
and pop of tiny nylon threads being severed. She continued slicing at the coils
of nylon braid while the minutes ticked by.
A noise came from outside
the door, and she froze, holding her breath in dreadful anticipation for the
door to open and for Juan to discover her attempting to escape. The door
remained closed. Relieved, she resumed cutting.
After cutting through the first few coils, she
was able to loosen the bonds sufficiently to pull her hands free. She untied
the rope around her ankles, then coiled it and stuffed it into a back pocket of
her jeans. She crammed the bits that held her wrist into the other back pocket,
and then collected the rope used to tie her to the bed. It was a thicker,
twisted rope, maybe 12 feet in length. She coiled it around her waist and tied
it off like a belt. A knife and rope were the number one and two items on any
survival essentials list. Her family camped a lot, and survival fundamentals
were well ingrained, particularly since her brothers fancied themselves as
mountain men.
You’re alone in enemy
territory Jess, A voice in her mind said. You better
look around and gear up for a long, lonely trek.
She retrieved the razor
blade which she had dropped on the bed once she was free, and she placed it in
the small wastebin standing next to the desk, taking care not to let it drop or
clatter. She quickly explored the room, looking for anything which might help
her. Miguel had a liking for cowboy culture. His closet was full of jeans,
western style shirts and cowboy boots, though many of them looked altogether impractical,
spattered with sequins and rhinestones and other extravagances.
His collection of cowboy
accessories was not limited to clothes. She found a few pairs of garish spurs,
which would be useless for actual horse riding. There were also a couple of gaudy
cowboy hats. A hat would protect her head from the sun during the day, but these
hats were as attention grabbing as a disco ball.
On the corner of the desk
rested a familiar looking knife. Her brother Joseph collected knives. One of
his favorites was the SOG Seal pup. It
was nine inches long with a metal handle and five inches of blade, the two
inches at the hilt serrated. This one was in a durable nylon sheath with a
flexible strap system on the back for attaching comfortably to any variety of
belts, harnesses or backpack straps. A small strap with a snap wrapped over one
finger guard, holding the knife securely in the sheath.
Jessica picked the knife
up to examine it. She tugged at the strap and the snap released with an audible
click, which seemed to echo in the room. Jessica winced. She looked at the
door, then glanced around the room, frantically looking for a hiding place. The
door remained closed.
Stupid!
She silently berated herself. She relaxed slightly, and returned to her
examination of the knife, removing it from the sheath to observe the condition
of the blade.
She would have preferred
a standard pocketknife— something light, easy to carry, and easy to conceal; something
she could use to cut rope, gut small game, or make tinder shavings. This knife
was a bit bulky and not quite as versatile. But any blade was better than no
blade. And the large blade would work for batoning, so there were some pluses.
She returned the blade to
the sheath and fastened the strap, wrapping it in the hem of her shirt first to
muffle the sound of the snap. She fastened the sheath to her belt and continued
her search. How long before they came for her? She needed to hurry.
Jessica crept to the
drawers, grasped the top-drawer handle and inched it open, keeping the rough
rasping of wood against wood as muted as possible. In the drawer she found a pair of socks that
looked like they would fit her.
“Wet feet are bad news on
a long hike.”, she recalled her father saying once as they were packing for a
weekend family outing, “Always make sure you have an extra pair.”
Further rummaging turned
up a deep navy bandana. She wove the socks into the rope around her waist, and
she tied the bandana around her neck.
As she inched the drawer
closed again, she heard the measured thud of footsteps on stairs. Abandoning
the drawer, she tiptoed quickly to the balcony doors. She reached for the
handle, turning it with measured slowness to avoid the slightest noise. Once
the latch retreated into the door, she pulled it open and peeked out.
The balcony was dark and
stretched the length of the house. Several doors led to the balcony—she assumed
from other bedrooms. Crouching, she padded softly to the railing and peered
through the bars. A couple outbuildings lay to her left, all dark except one. Three
or four men with rifles wandered about near the outbuildings, though they
seemed less than alert. Given the drive time, they were likely in the middle of
nowhere, and their job was more a formality than a need.
Off in the distance to
her right she could make out another man, also armed with a rifle. He wasn’t a
concern, but the dog at his side was. That could complicate things
considerably. It was difficult to tell from a distance, but the size and shape reminded
her of a pit bull.
On the bright side, it’s
not a hound, she thought. He’d be trouble if he heard
or saw her, but once she was clear of the property and in the trees, he’d be
fairly easy to elude. Terriers were fast, ferocious beasts. They were great for
protection, and they had been popular among early settlers and pioneers for
that reason. They’d rip small varmints to shreds, and they would even face down
a cougar or a bear to protect their family. But, while they could be decent
trackers, she hadn’t known anyone to train them for that job.
She skulked left along
the balcony, until it wrapped around the house. Carefully she peered around the
corner. The van they arrived in—an old Volkswagen bus—and an old pickup truck
were parked in an open area, just past a walk, which went around a large
fountain and up to the house. Beyond, a narrow road disappeared in the darkness
among the trees.
This must be the front of
the house, she concluded.
She continued along the
front of the house to the other corner. Looking out, she could see only empty,
open space for maybe twenty yards, then trees. Peering over the side, she
couldn’t see or hear anyone below.
If she could get down
here, the house would be between her and the dog—at least for now. She assumed
they were probably patrolling, so that might change.
She quickly swung a leg
over the railing. Grabbing hold to the corner post, she lowered herself down, until
she was hanging from the post. Her heart was threatening to break out of her
chest.
It’s just a game of fugitive,
she
told herself. She had played fugitive in the dark with her brothers and friends
often during the summer. She talked her college roommates and a number of
people from other dorms into playing a round last fall as well. It was a cross
between tag and hide and seek. A few people were selected to be the fugitives
and the rest would be cops. A starting point and a destination were selected.
The fugitives got a two-minute head start and raced on foot to the destination.
The cops got to use cars—or bikes when she was too young to drive, and their
objective was to chase, find and tag the fugitives before they got to the
destination.
Her brothers added a twist
to the game by giving the cops nerf guns, so they could shoot you from a
distance.
“Yeah,” Jessica
whispered, “you’re just playing fugitive.” She tried not to think about the
real guns the men were holding. She glanced around quickly to be sure she was
alone, then released her grip on the post.
She crouched as her feet
touched the ground, to absorb the impact and minimize the noise her landing
made. She froze briefly, listening for any sound of alarm.
Nothing.
Staying crouched she half
walked, half ran across the open ground to the tree line. She picked out the north
star, low on the horizon in front of her. There was something soothing about
finding it. Anytime she was outside with her dad after dark, he would always
point out the north star. She habitually looked for it anytime she could see
stars in the sky. It was an anchor in the night. She chose north as her
direction of travel because America was north. Home was north. It was a fairly
stupid reason to pick north, but, she had nothing else to work with.
She picked her way
through the vegetation as quickly as was safely possible, constantly checking
her bearing against several overhead constellations, to ensure she didn’t
accidently circle back. The half-moon
gave her just enough light to pick out the trees and large bushes, but not
enough for her to be easily seen.
After several minutes the
terrain in front of her sloped upward. It wasn’t terribly steep, but she had to
force herself to keep moving, each step becoming harder as the adrenaline
coursing through her body diminished. Before long she found herself cresting
the ridge of a modest hill, panting and struggling to bring moisture back to
her dry throat.
Turning back, she could see the ranch below.
There appeared to be a fair amount of activity on the grounds, beams of
flashlights flitted about. They must have discovered she was missing. She
looked at the small outbuilding and thought of her roommates. She had left them
behind.
“It wasn’t a choice” She
reminded herself. Trying to get to them, and then get them out in their drugged
state would have only caused her to get caught.
“I’ll come back for you…”
She promised. Then dropped down the other side of the hill.
