I’m linkin’ up with Ms Megan Eccles, once more, for 1000 words of fiction! Hope you enjoy! 😀
Word Count: 900
The sound of the waves crashing on the shore brought her awake with a start. She couldn’t remember how she’d gotten here, last she remembered was the rustling sounds of footsteps behind her, just before things went black. She’d been in her garden, kneeling next to her roses, when the shadow fell across her, the sounds of the footfall alerting her. But too late.
Scare to move, or breath, not sure of what she’d find, she slowly moved her eyes to the left and right, trying to figure out where she was. Home was hours away from the shoreline. It had to be at least near evening…she’d been outside this morning. Time enough to get to the nearest shore. Yet where was it? Where was she?
The distinct sounds of those footsteps even heard in the soft sand, told her whomever had taken her was coming back. Closing her eyes, and willing her body to relax, she stayed as still as she could. Desperate to gather whatever information she could about the ‘Who’ and ‘Where’.
“Still out, well’n ‘at’s good. Be easier to move ya, though ya ain’t weighin much.” The country rolled off of him, and into her ears, reminding her of her beginnings. Cold sweat broke out on her lower back. Hearing the sounds of grunt and then shifting of the sand next to her, she knew he’d sat down. Waiting. But for what!?
Suddenly the sharp scent of fresh tobacco lit the air. The smell nearly suffocating her, in her effort to remain still and breath evenly. Wanting to turn her head, but daring not too. Then the low purr of a motorboat in the distance became louder and louder, drawing near to their position on the beach.
“Shite, he’s early. Welp, time to be gettin’ this over wit.” The sand shifting a little as the man stood, and then she was air born. Carried in strong arms and quick feet. The exchange happened without a single word, but the feel of the cold metal of the boat cut into her back. She struggled keeping it together, the fear rising in her until it threaten to over take her sanity. The water!
Always the water. When she was young, a near-drowning accident caused her to be extremely fearful of bodies of water since. Now here she was, on the water, the ocean for pete’s sake! I can’t do this, I can’t! I can’t…I can’t breathe, my throat is closing. They’ll kill me before doing anything!
The subtle shift of her breathing and the rigid way she held her body, gave her away. Her ribs were painfully poked and a gruff male voice said, “I know you’re awake. You can open your eyes.” The voice sounded like sandpaper on a chalkboard.
Shaking her head, barely able to speak, she stuttered, “N-n-n-no.”
Mistaking her unwillingness, he chuckled. “Suit yourself.”
Glad he wasn’t understanding, she tried to do her breathing exercises which Todd had taught her. Todd! He’ll be frantic for her! Her grief over his own at this moment took her mind off of her immediate predicament. Wondering, hoping and praying he’d have the police looking for her right this moment, gave her something to hold onto.
Time seemed immeasurable to her. The light was fading though, so it was nearing 8pm. The constant drone of the on-board motor, lulled her into a half awake, half asleep mode. Though always under it, was the fear, which threatened to overtake her once more.
The boat slowed down, until the motor shut off. Sudden and sharp sounds hit near her head, sending her fear near the edge. Keep your wits, Merry! The sandpaper man shifted in the boat, until they were drifting, and with purpose. Cracking her eye open a little, she notice grappling hooks not 5 inches from her head. They were being hauled in. Turning her head just a little, she noticed a luxury yacht. Bigger than anything she’d seen in person, she still recognized it as top of the line. Closing her eyes, and praying for help to come. Not certain they’d find her now.
The boat bumped into the side of the yacht, and then she was air born once more. This time, there was no care with her person, her head hit the side of the boat and her body dropped to the floor of the loading ramp on the yacht.
“Delivered, alive and well. As promised.” Mr. Sandpaper again.
“Good job. Here’s your money. Mr. Track will take you to your rooms until we dock.” Cultured. Rich. Her first thoughts were, this is the owner of this boat.
No more words were exchanged, but for the third, or was it forth time, she was air born. The arms strong and the gait was steady and measured. The smell. This man wore strong, expensive cologne. They’d gone up at least one flight of stairs, before he spoke to her.
“Merry, I know you’re awake.” The laughter in his voice. Under it though was a menace, barely discernible.
Knowing her game was at it’s end, she slowly opened her eyes. What met her gaze was a deep mean green set of eyes. Staring down at her past his regal nose, with a perfectly groomed brow, arched. He’d noticed her, noticing him.