Content Warning:

 

If you’ve experienced domestic abuse or sexual assault, the following manuscript may be potentially triggering. This story contains strong themes that may be distressing to some readers and is intended for mature aged audiences to read at their discretion.

While the main focus is on story elements such as toxic relationships and the effects of trauma, this story also contains prominent themes of: kidnapping; physical, mental, sexual abuse; Stockholm syndrome and trauma bonding.

This story is not intended to romanticize or fetishize sexual assault. The author does not promote or endorse the behaviour shown in this story.

Below is a full list of Mature and/or triggering elements (either minor and referenced once in passing, or major plot related elements) that are found in this story:

• Abuse – Physical, Psychological, Emotional, Sexual; Anxiety; Blood; Coarse

• Language; Cheating; Drug Use; Forced Captivity; Gaslighting; Gendered Violence;

• Gun-Related Homicide; Homophobic Language; Kidnapping; Mental Health Issues;

• Murder; Sexual Assault; Sexism and Sexist Language; Statutory Rape;

• Strangulation; Suicidal Ideation and Behaviours; Violence; Vomiting.

The author encourages readers to practice self-care, and take pauses from this story when necessary.

 

chapter one

a long way from home, 2019.

 

Gravel crunched under the tires as they pulled up to the trailer. Case studied the rundown camper through the cloud of dust kicked up around their car. The red-and-white paneling was weathered and discolored, so bad it was noticeable even at night. Easily mistakable for something left abandoned to rot in these West Virginia woodlands, if it weren’t for the shiny, black pickup truck attached to its front. An orange glow lit the square window on the side. Some Wrong Turn vibes, but it wasn’t bad. For a drug deal, anyway.

​

Jay put the car in park and turned off the engine. It was quiet without the low rumble. Not eerie or tense. An emptiness. Like the vacuum of space.

 

“Man, fuck this shit,” said Rose.

 

Case turned in the front passenger seat, an over-the-shoulder smile at the ready. “Come on, it’s not that bad.”

 

Rose shook her head. “That’s some Deliverance shit.”

 

“Reee!” Jay squealed, looking between his two friends for a reaction. When he didn’t get one, he laughed, sounding like an animated donkey voiced by Seth Rogan. “What did you expect, like, an office building?”

 

“I expect a group of hillbilly rednecks are about to jack our car and kill us.”

 

“That’s fine, as long as they don’t make me squeal like a pig! aheh-heh-heh.”

 

Case wasn’t in a laughing mood. He’d spent over six hours in a car, road trip all the way from Fredneck County, Maryland to meet a dealer he’d found online. Sure, 400 miles was a long way to go to buy drugs—but he was after the good shit. Everyone at school was drinking stale beer and smoking dirty weed. Some girls had started snorting raw cacao powder they got from the organic health-food store. Case figured if he was gonna spend money on drugs, then he was gonna do it right. Something worth bragging about; something to help self-medicate after his first break-up; something worth remembering from the summer he was seventeen.

 

“Listen.”

 

Rose stared at him, simmering with I want nothing to do with this stupid-boy bullshit energy, so Case added a smile. A bit of charm to win her over.

 

“Alright, yeah, it looks a bit seedy. But we’re just grabbing what we came for—two minutes tops, I swear—and then an hour from now, picture it: we’ll be camping under the stars, some good tunes, a few drinks, maybe a few early fireworks. We’ll be having such a great time that this shithole or the shit back home …” Case caught himself. He inhaled sharply, forcing his carefree-mask back into place before his friends noticed the lapse in confidence. “None of it’s going to matter. Okay?”

 

Rose sank into her chair, pensively chewing her bottom lip. Her teeth tore a strip of dry skin, and a red pearl of blood seeped through her lipstick. She half-sighed, half-groaned. Good, Case was getting through to her.

 

“C’mon,” Case added with a rousing chuckle and a playful bump of friend’s knee. “We didn’t drive all this way just to bail now, did we? We’re here, we’ll get what we came for, and we’ll leave. It’s fine. It’ll be worth it, alright? Trust me.”

 

Rose groaned, “Fiiine,” caving in to this stupid-boy bullshit.

 

Case grinned. The plan was back in motion.

 

Jay killed the lights and they stepped out of the car. They were a long way from civilization, the only sound coming from the cicadas filling the space with an electric hum like a livewire. It was dark, the thin slice of moon hanging overhead like a chewed-off fingernail. Case took a deep breath, steadying the nerves that were beginning to rise. He smelled dry earth and residual sunshine. The air pressed in on him, thick and heavy with heat and the tease of a storm that may or may not break. 

 

The trailer door opened, rattling on its rusty hinges. Case took the lead, walking up to meet the dealer. He’d spoken to the guy a few times online but never seen a face. He had a mental image: someone dirty, a white-turned-brown wife-beater, grizzly beard and neck tattoos.

 

A man stepped out. His large form—towering height, broad shoulders built of muscle—blocked out the light coming from inside the trailer. For a moment, he was nothing but a faceless giant made of shadow.

 

Case got closer. His eyes adjusted. His insides tightened.

 

The man was … different. More put together, less fidgety than Case expected from a drug dealer. He stood in the doorway like some kinda guard or bouncer for a club, rigid posture and leeriness as the three high schoolers approached him.

 

Well. This was Case’s idea, so it was up to him to do the talking. He stared up at the man, hands in his pockets and squaring his shoulders. He smacked his lips. “Razzle Dazzle?” he asked, lowering his voice to make himself sound older, cooler. As cool as anyone could sound saying a ridiculous fucking name like Razzle Dazzle.

 

The man nodded, a single bob of the head.

 

“Case,” he replied, lamely pointing to himself as if it wasn’t obvious.

 

“I wasn’t expecting tagalongs.”

 

Oh, shit. Whatever swagger Case had about him suddenly wavered. This guy’s voice was deep—big, scary grown-up man voice, putting into perspective how far Case was out of his depth.

 

“Oh, it’s cool, man,” Case replied, some wannabe gangster attitude creeping in unexpectedly. “They’re cool. My friend Jay has a car, so he drove us.” He pointed to Jay, who offered a wave. Rose stayed in the back, irrelevant but proving she was no trouble.

 

The man sighed; even the frustrated exhale sounded dark and full of bass. He drummed his fingers on the doorframe, contemplating.

 

Humidity stuck to Case’s skin. He wished for some kind of breeze to cool the sweat on the back of his neck. 

 

With an open palm, the man knocked on the doorframe and stood aside, gesturing for them to enter. Case looked back at his friends, his smile telling them see, I told you it would be fine. Jay seemed to be warming up, giddily smiling back at him; but Rose was still wary. Okay, if Case’s little pep-talk was wearing off then he’d better get this deal sorted.

 

It’s okay. It’s gonna be fine, he thought, the assuring voice in his head bolstering him to step forward.

 

He took the stairs two-at-a-time, shuffling past the man and into the small quarters. The air was different inside the trailer: stale, like a dust box with no ventilation. There was a dingy kitchenette made of paneled wood and yellow linoleum. Stained carpet with dirt trapped into the fibers. He kept walking to the end of the trailer, making himself comfortable on an ugly loveseat.

 

Jay and Rose sat either side of him, their shoulders and thighs pressed against him like a squeezed fist. The three friends were so crammed together that Case didn’t need to lean in to whisper in Rose’s ear, but he did anyway. “Two minutes,” he promised.

 

Rose smoothed her skirt beneath her, knees locked instead of crossed.

 

The man (Case couldn’t bring himself to refer to him as Razzle Dazzle, not after seeing who he was behind the screen) grabbed one of the dining chairs in the kitchenette and carried it over singlehanded. He set the chair in front of the loveseat, the metal frame rattling despite landing on carpet. The man sat with his legs open, his sheer physicality dominating the space.

 

Now that they were up close in semi-decent lighting, Case was able to get a proper look at the man. Truthfully, he looked more cop than he did drug dealer. Somewhere in his 40s, dark hair with a bit of gray in his stubble, the type of old-school Hollywood looks more suited for Bruce Wayne or Don Draper. How did someone like this end up selling drugs out of a trailer in the woods?

 

For a moment, the trailer was taut with silence as Case sized up the man, and the man did the same to him. The man’s gaze honed in on Case, occasionally flittering over to Jay; he didn’t give Rose so much as a second glance. 

 

“Do you …” Voice crackling, Case paused to clear his throat. “Do you want the money now?”

 

The man leaned forward, propping his elbows on his knees. He held out his hand.

Case shuffled in his seat, trying to fish the cash out of his back pocket. The loose fabric of his jacket tangled around his arm, prompting Jay to unsurely grab at him in some attempt to help. He pulled out a crumpled handful of cash, a few bills flying into their laps. The boys scrambled to collect the stray bills and handed them to the man.

 

The man sorted the bills into a stack, flipping through them as if he were counting. But his gaze kept lifting up to stare at the boys. “Alright. I’ll go grab the product.” The man made his way to the other end of the trailer, disappearing behind a closed door.

 

“Guys, I don’t like this,” Rose whispered. 

 

Case suppressed a groan. “Relax.” He left a purposeful pause expecting Jay to take up the argument, like a tiny, pushy devil on his other shoulder. 

 

“No …” Jay said, slowly, as if he were still working out his own thoughts. “This is weird, man. We should bail.”

 

“You’re kidding me. We—” Case laughed, a baffled and frustrated sound “—we did not drive all this way for nothing.”

Rose huddled close, her attention fixed on the door at the end of the trailer. “This guy’s legit shady, Case.”

 

“Because he’s a drug dealer, and we’re buying good shit.”

 

“He’s a fucking cop!” Jay’s whisper crescendoed with panic, making Case and Rose shush him back into a strained hiss. “This is a set-up, I’m telling you.”

 

Case scoffed. “Okay, Jay.”

 

“Yeah, well, two minutes is up,” Rose told him, reaching for his hand. Of course, she thought she was gonna drag him outta there.

 

“Stop!” Case snapped, recoiling from his friend. He paused, eyeing the doorway where the man had disappeared. A beat passed, and he cringed at himself, aware he was being a dick. “Stop … telling me what to do. Okay? Please.”

 

Rose sucked her lips against her teeth, and Jay rubbed his hand over his jaw; his friends had spent a long time giving their opinion on what was right and wrong for Case—and all three of them knew this kind of care had waned thin. 

 

“If you’re really not vibing,” he added gently, “do you want to wait in the car?”

 

Rose slumped back into the chair, her weight disturbing a swirl of dust motes. “It’s fine.”

 

The door opened and the man came back towards them, three bottles of beer clanging together in his hand. He held out the beers for each of them to take, the necks of each one held between the fingers in his right hand. In his left, he held up a small plastic baggy.

​

It was only a tiny strip of paper, but it was soaked with the most potent form of synthetic hallucinogen: Pandora, aka Solaris, aka N-BOMe, aka the God-tier of psychedelic party drugs. It would only take six salt crystals worth of this drug to give Case a high that forums called a gateway to wisdom and healing, a purging of the ego and fear, the death and rebirth of the spirit.

 

Beaming, Case took one of the beers on offer. Jay and Rose followed, probably too awkward or nervous to refuse. The bottle was warm and lacked the familiar fizz and crack as Case popped the lid. He’d happily drink flat beer in a shitty trailer, knowing he was so close to getting his euphoric reset. He took a swig, smacking his lips when he was done. From the corners of his eyes, he could see Jay take a small sip whereas Rose nursed her unopened bottle in her lap.

 

The man took his seat, his attention now turning to Jay. “You’re quiet.”

Jay sat up, jumpy like a startled bird. “Uhh—yeah? No. I mean, this is Case’s thing, so I figured you’d wanna talk to him?”

 

“What’s your name?”

 

“Uhh, Jay?” he replied with a nervous chuckle.

 

Case shared a peripheral look with Jay. Something to say yeah, I know, he’s fucking weird, but at the same time play nice, we don’t have what we came for yet.

​

The man smiled; something that would be charming in a film, but instead tied a sick knot in Case’s stomach.

 

“Jay and Case,” the man repeated, low and rumbly and dirty. “You two are buddies. Right? And Case, he’s the ringleader?”

 

Case didn’t like this. His unease was making him light-headed and woozy. He took another sip, the bottle unsteady against his lips.

 

“I-it’s not—it’s not like that,” Jay replied. He’d stopped laughing.

 

“You’re quiet. You’re a follower. Do you like doing as you’re told?”

 

“Alright, we’re done.” Rose stood, turning her back to the man and snatching Case by the wrist. “Get up,” she said, tugging to haul him out of his seat. When he didn’t budge, her eyes flared with warning. “Up, Case.”

 

“No—“

 

POW!

 

Case gasped, jolted by the impact of a sonic boom, and something warm and wet splattering across his face. He blinked, dazed, as Jay screamed next to him—“SHIT! FUCK!”—his ears ringing from the gunshot.

 

Rose fell forward, onto Case. He didn’t touch her, but her body rolled and landed faceup on the floor with a thud that was felt instead of heard. The space between her eyes was blown open like a cavernous red star.

 

Blood. Blood. Blood.

 

Broken glass. Spilled beer.

 

Blood.

 

The man waved his gun between Case and Jay. “Get up.”

 

Case couldn’t move. His body locked up, seized with fear. It hurt to breathe—sharp, shutter-speed gasps that weren’t sucking in air. His throat was too tight.

 

Empty. His hands were empty, trembling. He’d dropped his beer.

 

“FUCK, OH, FUCK, SHIT!”

 

“GET UP!”

 

“PLEASE-PLEASE DON’T KILL ME!”

 

Something wet trailed down the side of Case’s face. Tears? Was he crying?

 

He tasted blood. Rose’s blood.

 

A hand grabbed the front of his shirt. The man yanked him forward, bringing their faces centimeters apart. Before, the man’s eyes had been narrow and dark. Up this close, they were large, round orbs. Green. Green like the ocean at night during a raging storm, and Case was drowning.

 

The corner of the man’s mouth quirked into a wolfish grin; Case noticed his upper lip was strangely thin. He chuckled to himself, a rich, primal sound from low in his throat. “Ahh. I see you now.”

 

Metal clanged against linoleum. The chair—Jay had tripped over the kitchenette chair. But he wasn’t slowing down, already at the trailer door.

 

“Shit!” The man threw Case back onto the sofa, pointing the gun to his face. “Stay there.”

 

The man stormed out of the trailer, out into the dark, isolated woods to hunt down Jay.

 

You need to calm down, came the voice in his head, all reason and omnipotence.

 

In a detached way, Case was aware he was hysterical, with a shrill noise ringing in his ears. Was that him crying? Screaming? Or was it still the gunshot?

 

He forced himself to steady his breathing, gripping the overstuffed sofa cushions. But as the panic subsided, he grew more light-headed. His vision turned hazy, losing definition.

It hit him: the silence, the emptiness.

 

He could escape, too. He tried to stand, but his legs were jelly and gave out underneath him. He hit the ground hard, landing next to Rose. The carpet was soaked with blood. The carnal, metallic smell reeked over the dust and mildew. Case gagged, unable to look at the mess. But he’d seen it—even for just a frame of a second, it was enough to sear into his memory like a brand: the red star obliterating his friend’s face; bone and brain matter spattered through her forest-green dyed hair. 

 

You need to move! His mind was urgent and shouting, but his body didn’t respond. His limbs were heavy, his fingertips fuzzy …

Fuzzy … Fizzy …

 

His beer hadn’t been fizzy. He drank the beer.

 

He drank the beer …

 

“Fuck,” he groaned, his tongue thick and lazy in his mouth. Alright—okay. He had a hold of his panic now, regaining some sense.

 

You need to move, before whatever he gave you kicks in.

 

Except it was already doing its job, poisoning its way through his bloodstream from the tips of his fingers all the way down to his toes. He was drowsy, his brain slipping into the dark recesses of unconsciousness.

 

Wake up!

 

His eyelids flew open, and Case forced them to stay that way, too scared to even blink. The trailer door was open, swaying on its hinges. He pushed himself up, stabilizing himself on his elbows. He spied a pair of car keys that had fallen on the floor. Jay’s keys. Of course, Jay wouldn’t have left without him. If he was quick, Case could grab the keys, run out and find Jay. They’d hightail out of this nightmare— 

 

POP!

 

A second gunshot. Distant, like a clap from the Blair Witch lurking in the woods. But Case knew what it meant, the realization settling in him as hopelessness.

Footsteps thumped up the stairs. Heavy. Heavy.

 

This is it. Case let himself collapse onto the carpet. Whatever fight that’d been in him was gone. Gone, because both his friends were dead, and he was next, and it was all his fault.

 

Blurry, black shoes came into his line of vision. The last thing he saw, before the drug fully took hold, was one of the shoes flattening the tiny plastic baggy.

 

chapter two.

 

Movement. The familiar bump and sway of being a passenger in his parents’ car. His brain swirled in his skull like the die inside a Magic 8 Ball. Case jerked awake (or into some semblance of consciousness) as the car went off-road, bouncing over the terrain and slowing to a stop.

 

His insides churned. Case groaned involuntarily, the swirl of hangover and motion-sickness creating a wave of nausea.

 

A large hand pressed against the back of his neck. The contact made Case dry-retch. He hadn’t mustered the strength to open his eyes but he reached out to grab some kind of support. His hand found something plastic. He gripped hard, bracing. His breathing came out hard and deep, as it always did when he was about to vomit.

 

“Head down.”

 

The deep-toned voice cut through Case’s mental fog. The man, he was here. His hand on Case’s neck, a nudge guiding him to face down.

 

A small whimper escaped Case’s lips.

 

An electric whir happened either side of him, followed by a cool breeze caressing the side of his cheek. He could smell fresh air, feel sunshine; his skin was hot and sticky with sweat. With those small realizations, more details came to him: he was sitting up. Seatbelt strapped across his chest, digging into the exposed skin on his neck. The thing he was holding for support must have been an armrest to a car door.

 

Why wasn’t he tied up in the trunk? Wasn’t that where kidnappers put their victims?

 

“Afternoon, Officer.”

 

“Just a standard drug and alcohol test.”

 

Case’s heart leaped. A person—their voice faraway and slightly dim through his confusion, but a person nonetheless. A police officer.

 

“Have you had anything to drink today?”

 

“No, sir.”

 

“Taken any illicit substances in the last 72 hours?”

 

The man chuckled, affable. “No, Officer. Certainly no.”

 

He’s lying! Case thought, his mind desperate and shouting. But he couldn’t get the words to form in his mouth. Test me! Fucking test me, see what he did to me!

​

“Blow into this until I say stop.”

​

A monotone beep, counting the beats as the man blew into the breathalyzer.

 

Snap out of it, Case told himself, his mind clear and firm but trapped in a nonresponsive body. You need to say something. Do something! Quick!

 

He raised his head. Too heavy, it lolled back and hit the headrest. Moaning, panting, he cracked open his eyes. Daylight glared back. He squinted, a reflex. 

 

“Nnng …” Breathe, breathe. It came out a long, slow moan but he managed one syllable: “No.”

​

“You alright back there, son?” the policeman asked.

 

“Hh-hlp.” Breathe. Swallow. His mouth was sandpaper dry. He gasped, “Help.”

 

“Here,” the man soothed. “Have this.”

 

An open bottle pressed against Case’s lips. He tried to jerk away, but the bottle followed him, pushing its way in. Water poured into his mouth, flowing until it spilled down his chin and he was forced to swallow. Suddenly, Case was aware how badly his dehydrated body craved water. He swallowed more, guzzling it down until his belly swelled like a water balloon.

 

Too much. It didn’t want to stay down.

 

Convulsion ran up through his body. Choking, he sputtered until the man pulled the bottle away. The man’s hand returned to the back of Case’s head, angling him forward just in time as he vomited. Case panted, knowing more was going to come up. His head fucking pounded.

 

“He gets terrible carsickness,” the man explained. A hint of southern pleasantry.

More vomit. Case realized his head was in a bucket. He realized the bucket had been in his lap the entire time.

 

“He lives in Columbus with his mother, but I’m bringing him down to stay with me for the summer. And every year, I tell you, it’s the same thing. Routine, almost.”

The man chortled, ruffling Case’s hair.

 

Case sobbed into the bucket.

 

“I understand,” the policeman replied, sympathy veiling his disgust. “I have a daughter who’s the same. We give her a packet of those Gingersnaps, and she's right as rain.”

 

“You don't say?”

 

“There’s a convenience store a few more miles ahead. You can try your luck there,” the policeman said. “You’ve tested negative so you’re free to go. You drive safe, maybe pullover to take a breather every now and then.”

 

No.

 

“Will do, officer.”

 

No, please, don’t go—Case lifted his head, slurring, “Wait,” as the policeman walked away and the man closed his window.

​

The man turned the ignition, his car rumbling back to life. He eased out onto the road, and they were back in motion. The energy in the truck cab grew dark, like the addition of some sinister presence. The man continued to drive in silence for half-a-minute before he turned off onto the side of the highway. They rolled to a stop.

 

Case heard the man shift in his seat. He couldn’t move much, but he managed to turn his head enough to face his captor. In the sunlight, the man’s eyes were an incredible turquoise.

 

“Now,” the man started, talking slowly as if to make sure Case could follow. “Because we still have a long way to go–“

 

“Fffuck you.”

 

The man continued, undeterred, “I’m going to let you have a moment here to breathe. Wait for what’s in your system to work its way through. Because I have no intention of overdosing you, just as I don’t intend on keeping you awake for our whole journey.”

 

Case could feel himself regaining control of his body. At the very least, he was less incoherent as he slurred, “’mgonna kill you.”

 

“Ha,” the man laughed, as if caught by surprise and impressed by it. “Boy, if I had a dime.”

 

Case inhaled deeply through his nose. He sat up straight, angling himself towards the man. “F’you don’t wan me seeing wherewe’re going …” He paused to swallow, smacking his lips together to get them to work. “Then why didn’t you just put me in the trunk?”

 

“Because all it takes is one ounce of probable cause or suspicion for a nosey state-trooper to take a look and catch me with a body in my boot.” The man grinned. “See, you don’t prevent a fire when you already see smoke.”

 

“Then why didn’t you just kill me back at the trailer?” Case asked, his tone hitching with desperation. There’d been zero hesitation in killing Rose and Jay, so why not him? Why the prolonged suffering? Why? “What do you want from me?”

 

“Right now,” the man reached into the back of the truck cab then handed Case another bottle of water, “I want you to drink this.”

 

His fingers were stiff but they managed to curl around the bottle. 

 

“Stay hydrated. Flush out your system.” The man settled back in his chair, turning on the radio. A moody, indie-rock cover of Goodbye Horses played through the static. “Enjoy the sun.”

 

Case watched as the man lay back, a bead of sweat trailing down his temple as he closed his eyes to bask in the rays shining through the windshield. A breeze came through the open window, tickling the hairs at the nape of Case’s neck. He turned to check their surroundings, looking for a road sign or building, any kind of landmark. The highway bordered alongside a forest. Nothing but lush trees, emerald leaves, and an empty stretch of asphalt that shimmered in the heat.

 

His head still pounding, Case opened the water bottle—this time noticing the crack of the seal on the cap as he twisted it—and tentatively took a few sips. At least this was giving him time to think of a plan to escape.

 

He noticed the lock on the handle wasn’t flipped to the orange. The door was unlocked.

This is it, said the voice in his head. Do it, open the door and run!

 

He couldn’t move. He sat, frozen, nerves fluttering in his chest like a disturbed butterfly. What if he got caught? His mind flashed to the image of Rose, dead on the floor with her skull blown open. A failed escape meant death.

 

He’s going to kill you, either way, the voice reminded him. Run. You might have a chance…

 

“Are you going to kill me?” Case asked, his hand inching towards the handle.

 

“Hmm,” the man sighed, enjoying the summer sun. “If you give me a reason to–“

 

Case pulled the handle—thump. The door didn’t open.

 

The man bolted upright.

 

Case tried again—thump, thump—child lock. Goddamn child lock!

The man lunged.

​

“No!” Case flipped the bucket, vomit spilling everywhere.

 

The man recoiled. “Fuck!” He shook his hands, flinging cold chunks of digested fries and burger meat.

 

Case threw himself against the car door. He reached out the open window, feeling the hot metal for the exterior handle. He grabbed the latch and pulled.

 

The door swung ajar.

 

Case went to run, but something yanked him back into his seat in a chokehold. Seatbelt. He forgot the seatbelt.

 

The man was on him now, legs pinning Case down in his seat.

 

“No!” Finally, he started screaming. “Help! Help me!”

 

The man tried to grab his arms, but Case kept fighting. He slapped and scratched and shoved at the man. Everything he could manage without the strength or coordination to punch.

 

The man wrestled against him, trapping Case’s wrists in one hand.

Case kicked at the door, keeping it open with his foot. Cars whizzed by along the highway. No-one slowed down.

 

“Someone help me!”

 

The man clamped his spare hand over Case’s mouth, muffling his screams. His incredible green-blue eyes had turned black. “Do you want me to hurt you?”

 

Case screamed against the man’s large hand.

​

The chair dropped backwards. The overhead interior car light glowed a dull-yellow until the door slammed closed. He had the full weight of the man flat on top of him now. The man forced his head to the side, exposing his neck. Case felt a pinch, recognizing the sensation of a needle sinking into his skin. Case was scared of needles, but a different breed of fear overrode his senses.

 

Cold slithered through his vein. It spread, branching off through his circulatory system. Case continued to wriggle and scream but the fight in him was dwindling. Within seconds, he’d lost power over his body. Again.

 

The man removed his hand. Case didn’t make a sound. 

 

“I really didn’t want to do that,” the man huffed, shaking his head in disappointment.

“I’ve given you a moderate dose of Diazepam. Do you know what that is?”

 

Case moaned. No, of course, he didn’t know.

 

“Benzos? Now, I’m sure you’ve heard of those, you little hophead,” the man replied, his voice tender and taunting. His fingers curled around Case’s jawline, angling his head to the side.

 

So you won’t choke, came the voice of reason from the back of his mind.

 

“Don’t worry. It’s just another name for Valium. Like Pepsi-Cola. It’ll keep you sedated for a few hours. All you can really do now is embrace your situation.”

 

“No,” he tried to say, stretching the word over a garbled mumble.

 

“Shhh,” the man hushed, caressing a knuckle against Case’s cheekbone. “Don’t fight it. Let yourself succumb to sleep.”

 

Case blinked, his eyelids fluttering closed. Maybe it was the drugs in his system, or maybe it was his adrenaline wearing off. But Case was so exhausted, so fucking defeated.

Why couldn’t this be over already? At least then, he could meet Rose and Jay on the other side, apologize and beg for their forgiveness. This so-called adventure had all been his idea … and now their deaths were his fault.

 

“That’s it,” the man shushed. He stroked Case’s face, pushing back the hair stuck to his forehead. “This will go so much better if you make it easy for yourself …”

 

This is it, came the voice in his head. You’re falling asleep, and you’re never waking up again. 

 

Case’s eyes flew open, the anticipation of death buoying him from unconsciousness. No, he couldn’t die. Not here, not like this.

 

“Please,” Case said, summoning a coherent voice. He stared up into the stormy sea, pleading. “Please don’t kill me.”

​

The man’s face softened with a closed-mouth smile. “Please, don’t make me have to.”

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Thank you for reading the first two chapters of Bamboo Doesn't Grow in Dark Spaces. Your support means the world to us! This is a works in progress set to release in 2025. If you liked it, RSVP above for updates!