Wanted By The Marshal. Ryshia Kennie

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СКАЧАТЬ style="font-size:15px;">      “I know,” Kiera replied. “But I was here so...” The words trailed off as she shrugged. She looked at her watch. It was almost midnight.

      “Are you sure you don’t want to take a cab home?” Beth asked. “It’s late.”

      “I’ll be fine. It’s a warm night and a short walk.”

      “Be careful,” Beth warned with a wave.

      She gave a wave back and headed out the door. It was a beautiful late spring night. She was walking down well-lit streets in an area of the city where she’d always felt safe. The air seemed to caress her skin. She walked by one of the city’s eight-foot-tall, artist-painted, decorative cowboy boots. A streetlight splashed light on the gold-and-brass spur and revealed a cloud-studded, bright blue Wyoming sky above a mountain range. The beautiful scene was painted on the body of the boot. The boots were all unique and were displayed randomly throughout the city. They were one of the many things that made Cheyenne special to her. Tonight, this one marked the halfway point, ten minutes from home.

      She began to hum a little tune. And, as she walked by a local coffee shop, she noticed a man sitting slouched on an outside bench. It wasn’t unusual to see the occasional homeless person in the area, especially during the warmer weather. She thought nothing of it and instead considered jogging the rest of the way home.

      “Miss.”

      The soft male voice came out of nowhere and startled her. But there was no threat in the voice, only a kind of lost hopelessness. She’d heard that tone before. The streetlight pushed the shadows away as another man in a ragged T-shirt and baggy jeans rose from the sidewalk where he’d been sitting cross-legged with cup and a sign asking for help.

      He approached her slowly, with a slight limp.

      “I’m sorry,” he said in a soft voice. “Could you spare some change?”

      “Of course,” she said and reached into her pocket and pulled out some coins. She dropped them into the cup. He looked thin and grubby. She guessed he might be in his late twenties but not much older. It wasn’t a sight that she was unfamiliar with. Occasionally, she volunteered at a nearby soup kitchen. There, she often saw people like him who were homeless or just down on their luck. She sometimes wondered what had brought them to such a desperate state. Whatever the reasons, she couldn’t turn down someone in need.

      “Have a coffee on me.”

      He nodded. But it was as if his interest was elsewhere. She turned in the direction that seemed to have caught his attention. And as she turned, she saw the hooded figure approaching. They were alone; the man on the bench had disappeared as if sensing trouble. There was no time to run. There was no time to scream. It was over before she knew that it had happened.

      When she opened her eyes again, her arms and shoulders ached. The breeze that had lifted her hair earlier, and which she’d taken joy in walking in, was gone. She was no longer on the street but in what seemed to be a house. Everything was dimly lit, and she could see the shadowy shape of the room: large, empty and rather rank smelling. Her wrists and ankles were tied with rope that was so tight it cut into her skin.

       Escape.

      And yet, as much as she knew that she needed to get away, she couldn’t. Even without the ropes that restrained her, her body was weak and didn’t seem to want to respond. Her head spun. She guessed that she might have a concussion. The smell of must and disuse closed around her. Her heart pounded so hard that her chest hurt.

      Stay calm, she told herself as she took deep breaths. That’s the only way you’re going to figure a way out of this. But her head reeled, and she passed out. When she came to, everything was dark. She lay still, trying to figure out where she was, who had done this to her and what they wanted. She had to clear her mind. She had to still her fear so that she could think straight. She was focusing like she’d never done before. Hours of yoga, of meditation, were being used in a way she had never thought possible. As soon as she cleared her mind, she realized that, again, she wasn’t alone. She could smell rank body odor. She cringed and waited for what might come next.

      “I’m going to enjoy every minute with you.”

      The voice came out of nowhere, sliding through the darkness like a stream of venom.

      Kiera thought she might throw up. She held back a shudder.

      She knew that voice. It was the homeless man who had asked her for money. That seemed both forever and only minutes ago. Time was lost to her. Her head spun as he whispered a long litany of sexual pleasures he would demand from her. She could smell something rancid on his breath that made her stomach twist and bile rise in her throat. His finger ran along her arm and she held back a shudder. Instinct told her that fear would entice him. Show no fear was second only to escape.

      “And then,” he said, drawing his words out as if he were about to offer her a unique treasure. “When I am through with you, you will die.”

      She’d never been more terrified. He didn’t need ropes or restraints of any sort—she couldn’t have moved if she’d wanted to. It was as if she were part of a TV program. It was as if everything that happened was part of that program, part of that fantasy. She’d wake up soon and it would all be over. A silent shiver crawled through her. This was real life. A nightmare.

      “Not until I have my turn.”

      Kiera didn’t know who or what they were, or if the voice was male or female. She only knew that the second voice made her skin crawl.

      They moved away from her. Now their voices were low, too low to hear. She passed out again after that. When she awoke, she sensed that she was alone. Time passed. It was broken only by changes in her consciousness. There were moments that she fought with her restraints. There were moments where she drifted back into unconsciousness. In the moments she was conscious, she lived in a state of panic where she feared she would die.

      The next time consciousness returned she was aware of a painful ache in her hands. The pain came from lack of circulation, for not only were her wrists tied, but she’d been partially lying on her hands. She shifted, taking the weight of her body off her hands. Something smelled different, a scent that was heavier, like pine and mold strung together. And there was the sense that she’d been moved. She pushed her hands against what felt like a wooden wall and moved them up as high as she could reach. Then, she rolled away from the wall and pain shot through her legs as her fingers touched another wall. Wherever she was, she was in a place much different from the cavernous room she’d first been in. She guessed the size by feel, determining that she had about a foot of space in either direction. As she rolled over again, she could feel wood against her lower back and against her legs. It felt like it was touching her skin, but she’d been wearing pants and a tunic. The only bare skin was her arms, at least that was the way it had been. Kiera felt with her fingers along her leg and felt skin rather than cloth. Further exploration told her that there were large tears in her pants and in her tunic.

      Her clothes were torn but still there. She felt in the darkness as surprise ran through her. Considering what had happened, what she’d heard, this wasn’t what she’d anticipated. Something had changed, and she didn’t know what. She remembered the threats. She knew where this was going. They were frightening her, dragging things out. It was clear in the things they’d said. They wanted her terrified and they’d accomplished that. That they wanted to rape her wasn’t in doubt. Their words only confirmed that, but for some reason that hadn’t СКАЧАТЬ