Chapter Eleven

Lindsey

Groggy, I came to myself little by little.

My body hurt all over. I recalled the dude in my kitchen, the shock of the moment when he Tased me, the horrible pain. As it appeared my mind had returned to some semblance of coherency, I lifted my head to look around. The movement strained my already sore muscles and I grimaced.

I lay on a narrow, lumpy cot. The room around me appeared dim, a dilapidated structure made of wood. A cast iron stove sat nearby, unlit, cold. Ragged curtains rustled from the breeze entering through a busted window. The place smelled of piss and rot, the ceiling over the room damaged from water and appeared ready to cave in at any minute.

Horrified, I realized my hands were tied over my head. Panic seared through my veins. Tugging, yanking, only served to torment my wrists, tearing my skin, bringing blood. I didn't care. I cried out, fighting the ropes, struggling to get free and escape whatever lay in store for me.

The dude who Tased me popped his head in the doorway. "You're awake," he commented. "Don't fight, you're only hurting yourself. See? You're bleeding."

"What do you want?" I screamed, struggling to rise, to get free. "What do you want from me?"

He lazily scratched his chest, leaning his shoulder against the jamb, which trembled. "Nothing. Yet. Boss says to give your man two days to find his stash." He shrugged, smiling. His expression sent a shiver down my spine. "If he doesn't, then I'm to kill you."

"Just like that?" I cried. "You'll kill me?"

"Not quite. See, boss has to send a message. This is what happens when you steal from him. Girlfriends, like you, die hard. Really hard. Boss gives those tasks to me cuz I like it."

His feral grin widened. "I enjoy it."

"Oh, God," I moaned, closing my eyes. "You'll torture me?"

"That's about right. Fuck your lil twat, your ass. Start cutting things off. Like your tits."

I threw my head back and screamed. A long, raw, and primal shriek of pure terror. I couldn't stop it even when I realized displaying such fear, such panic, only led to his enjoyment. On I screamed, drawing one breath after another, daring to hope someone heard me, came to investigate, freed me.

He laughed. "Keep it up, little Lindsey. No one can hear you. Except me."

Tears I couldn't halt streamed down my temples to my ears. "Please let me go. I won't tell anyone. I swear it."

"If your boyfriend comes through, I'll drive you back to town myself," he replied. "Boss's orders."

"He's not my boyfriend," I shrieked. "I barely know him. He didn't steal any dope. You'll be killing an innocent woman."

"Well, that won't bother me. Innocent or guilty, it's all the same."

He paced toward the cot, peering down at me. "You sure are pretty, little Lindsey. I'm gonna have fun sticking my dick in you."

My voice shook, my body trembled. "Boss said I have two days. You can't touch me, not until two days."

"He said I can't kill you for two days," he answered with a chuckle. "Don't mean I can't still have my fun. As long as you're in one piece when your boyfriend comes through."

A soft moan escaped my mouth. He laughed again and turned away. "You get your rest, honey. You'll need your strength."

He left me alone. No doubt, he deliberately planned for the psychological torment of my imagination running rampant. To let my fear warp my mind, to sink its bitter fangs deep, waiting for him to return. To force himself on me.

Unfortunately, it worked.

I had no idea what time it was. Day time. That's all I knew. I fought my ropes, wept at the pain, the blood that dripped down my arms. I didn't care how much it hurt. I'd happily chew my hands off, like a fox in a trap, if it meant escaping this terrible future. I knew Brody wouldn't find Austin's fentanyl. How could he?

Unless he's up to his neck in a dope scheme.

Shirley's visit to me returned, her words of warning. That Brody was a dope dealing murderer. If that's true, I'll die. Horribly. If Brody was the cold, mean bastard Shirley said he was, he'd not care that his actions cost me everything. Had he already forgotten he'd placed me in this dangerous situation?

Brody! Help me, please! Please, please, get me out of here.

***

The long, tormenting hours passed. Brody didn't come. My kidnapper didn't arrive to inform me Brody found the dope and I was now free. Exhausted from fighting, from the terror, the waiting, I drooped on the cot. My throat raw from crying, from screaming, I craved a long cold drink of water. Nor would I get one. I'd yelled for water for I don't know how long, and he ignored me.

Prick. Mother fucker. I passed the time by calling him names, trying to hold back the fear with some defiance. He didn't bother to respond. I heard the muted voice of a television, or perhaps he watched something on his phone. I doubted this place had any electricity.

Nothing in the room could help me. I saw no tool, no knife, nothing with a sharp edge that I might reach, cut the rope, and escape. Only broken glass and as much as I yearned for a piece, the window was too far away.

"Fuck," I groaned, sweating from the heat and terror. "Fuck. Brody, please, please help me."

The sun passed the window by. Dusk crawled into its place. Full darkness soon settled not just in the window but also the house, the room I lay in. My kidnapper didn't turn on any lights, reinforcing there wasn't any electricity to turn the lights on.

Sweat sprang fresh from my pores when I heard his tread approaching. His shadow appeared between me and the window. "I'm horny," he rumbled. "Don't fight, little Lindsey, and it won't hurt so bad."

Panic roared through me. I screamed, kicking at him as he leaned over me, his strength far outpacing mine. He grunted as my foot connected to his gut, then his strong hand gripped my ankle. Kneeling on the cot beside me, he used his weight to pin me down.

I shrieked.

Blackness tried to creep into my mind, perhaps protect me from what was about to happen.

Suddenly, something did.

The house exploded.

My attacker, shrieking nearly as loudly as I had, was thrown upward and outwards away from me.

Boards, bricks, roof tiles, flooring, ragged carpeting, flew in a shower around me. The night air blew cool, welcoming air against my hot body. Panting, gasping, unable to think, I looked around, panic thudding my heart, for the rapist. Surely he'd come back, knock me down, hurt me.

The remains of the house fell to the ground in clattering heaps around me.

What the fuck?

My eyes, my face, my head, were at least three stories above the ground. I saw as well in the dark as I did in daylight, something I knew to be impossible. I – I was different . In those flashing seconds as I tried to gain my senses, my perspectives, I realized I stood on four legs.

Not two.

"Oh, God," I moaned, "what's happening? What happened to me?"

I wasn't human anymore. My feet and hands ended in long, deadly sharp talons. My skin had become what looked like shiny black scales. I took a step forward, stumbling awkwardly, and found my balance restored when my long tail whipped around.

Tail?

I turned to look. Yep, I had a very long, thick tail that ended in a spade shape. I also discovered I owned a set of wings. More frightened than ever, I tried to spread them. They worked, sort of, twitching a bit before flopping like spent sails to either side of my body.

"This is impossible," I muttered.

My voice was mine – and yet it wasn't. I spoke from a long muzzle filled with ranks of curving teeth. "What am I?"

Stepping carefully amid the rubble of the ruined house, I soon found walking on four legs as natural as two. That still didn't answer the question of what I was. And how to get back to being human again. Maybe I can't. Maybe this is how I'll be forever.

The body of my kidnapper lay under a pile of bricks and boards. I stared down at him from a long way up. I didn't know if he was dead or just unconscious, but I didn't care either way. What had happened to my body, changing into this thing , literally brought the house down on him.

"How trite," I muttered, looking around for anything that seemed familiar or could tell me where I was.

Vehicle lights in the distance informed me of the highway not far away. Okay, that's a start. I didn't know the area at all, but could I possibly find my way home. The kidnapper's truck sat parked, and seemingly undamaged from falling rubble. Of course, this thing I'd become couldn't possibly fit into it, much less drive it.

I sucked in a deep breath. "Calm down," I told myself. "Think. This didn't happen by accident. Whatever you are, it's a part of you. Don't question how or why or think it's impossible. Obviously, it's possible."

I looked again at my kidnapper, observing blood seeping from his skull. He's dead, I suspected, and didn't bother to feel guilty. What he'd planned for me surpassed all possible remorse for what I did to him. I glanced around again, seeing thickets of trees, weedy fields, broken fences. Away from the city where no one would hear me scream.

The sudden urge to step on the asshole's body came and went. I had to think of how to return to two legs, hands, regular feet. Calming my anger, my fear, I focused my thoughts on being human – two legs, hands, regular feet –

Instantly, it happened.

I nearly stumbled, catching my balance before I fell. I stared at my hands, my torn wrists, hardly able to see them in the dark. Not until my eyes adjusted, anyway.

"I'm back," I muttered. "How'd I do it? And can I go back to being – that thing ?"

I didn't know, and now wasn't the time to experiment. I dodged the rubble to get to the truck and yank the door open. The keys weren't in it. "Fuck."

They had to be in his pocket. I stepped on loose boards, tripped over bricks, and knelt beside him. Fear seized my throat as I expected him to rise up, grin, and attack me. He didn't move. I set my hands to his shoulder and heaved, rolling him onto his back.

His glazed eyes gazed up at the stars. He was dead all right.

I searched his body for the keys and found them in his right front jeans pocket. For a moment, I considered searching further for his wallet, his ID, to put a name to his face, his evil. Deciding that wasn't important, I recrossed the remains of the house to the truck.

It started with a roar. I popped on the headlights and put it in drive.

"I hope I can find my way home."