Code Name: Aries by Janie Crouch

18

Wavy

I woke up slowly, my eyes gritty. They didn’t seem to want to open. They hurt. Why did they hurt?

Actually, everything hurt. And it was hard to breathe. Did I have the flu? It had been going around a few weeks ago. Had I gotten it? No, I’d been at work yesterday. And then I—

Oh, God.

The art dealer, Louis. No, that wasn’t his real name. Erick Huen. The man who hated Ian. He’d drugged me.

Now, I really tried to open my eyes. They were puffy, and everything still hurt. My shoulders especially, but that was because my arms were tied behind my back.

Once my eyes were finally open, I still couldn’t see much. It was too dark.

Where was I? How long had I been gone? When would Ian and my family start searching for me?

I’d been so stupid to meet with someone alone at his office. Leeann had seen him and known I was going, but how long would it be before anyone knew there was a problem?

I didn’t know where I was. Was I still in Wyoming? Was I still in the country?

Panic pooled throughout my body, blanketing me, slimy and slick. I started to shake, and breathing became more difficult.

Focus, Wavy.

The voice in my head wasn’t just one person. I could hear Finn, Ian, my parents, Baby. And they all wanted me to do the same thing: survive.

I forced myself to slow my breathing. It was hard with a gag in my mouth. But if I breathed through my nose, I could get enough air.

The panic receded a bit.

I tested my hands. They were tied tight at the wrists, but in my fingers I could feel the tiny painting that had been in my pocket. I rubbed my thumb against it.

It calmed me more. Enough that I could think.

If they had me gagged, maybe that meant that I was somewhere close enough that someone could hear me. I felt something cool against my legs. I realized I was in a van once I scooted my body over to the side and touched the cold metal walls.

We weren’t moving, but maybe we were somewhere close enough that somebody could hear me. Nausea rippled through me as I shifted my body. I couldn’t throw up. If I did with this gag in place, I’d choke and die.

I positioned myself so I could bang on the walls with my feet. I didn’t have anything else that could make any noise unless I wanted to use my head, which probably wasn’t smart. I slammed the side with my feet, the heels of my shoes breaking after only a couple kicks.

But without the heels I could kick harder. And I kicked as hard as I could, the exertion making it hard to breathe through my gag.

But I couldn’t keep it up for long. Couldn’t get in enough air for the energy I was exerting. One shoe fell off, but I still tried to kick with my bare foot until it was bruised and sore.

It was no use. I fell to the side, just sucking in enough air to stay alive.

The last thing I felt was the tiny painting in my fingers as the darkness overtook me again.