Part 1 (1/2)

Split.

Tara Moss.

PROLOGUE.

Rough hands startled her.

Instinctively, Susan Walker opened her eyes. She saw a dizzying flash of the room around her, a vision of her own flesh showing in patches through torn pantyhose, an unwanted hand on her leg-and quickly she locked her eyes shut again.

She could not bear to look.

The young woman felt the hands move over her body and she recoiled, but her binds were unforgiving. Even the slightest movement brought a sobering bite of pain to her bruised wrists and ankles. So she froze, absorbing the hurt once more, a moan of protest escaping her lips. She had long since accepted that she couldn't get away.

Susan could hear movement to her left-shuffling, sc.r.a.ping-but she did not open her eyes to see what it was. After what she had seen, she never wanted to open her eyes again.

Then the hands were on her once more and the odour of male-of deviance-filled her nostrils. She contracted, shrunk back, straining against the metal around her ankles and wrists, her flesh crying out in agony. She wanted desperately to disappear, to escape her body, to escape his touch. She didn't want to feel or hear or smell or taste or see-ever again. Somehow, by blocking out her senses, she prayed to be transported to another place.

G.o.d help me...

There was a twinge of relief. Her captor's hands moved over her torn pantyhose, and with a series of metallic clicks released the cuffs around her ankles.

The suggestion of freedom taunted her. Will I be freed? Finally? Her wrists were still tightly secured to the back of the chair, but mercifully, she could now bend her knees. She ached to stretch her legs-to stand, to kick, to ma.s.sage away the pain-but reflexively she crossed her thighs.

What time is it?

What day?

How long had she been bound to that metal chair? Several days? Forty-eight hours? Or only a day and night? Her brain felt foggy and slow. No matter how she urged her mind to focus, she couldn't remember how she'd got there-or why.

Again...relief. Her arms were freed. But before she had a chance to move, she was shoved forward, her chest driven onto the tops of her knees. She hugged herself, closing into a tight ball. And still she kept her eyes shut. Her whole being ached from her confinement, and she felt her back stretch, her sore muscles welcoming the release.

But not for long.

Her arms were pulled behind her back-in her weakened state she only had the strength to resist momentarily-and her wrists were handcuffed together again, just as sharply as before.

She was ordered to stand.

Susan didn't move.

”I won't tell anyone, I promise. Please let me go,” she begged, mumbling the words into her knees and holding herself protectively. She had lost count of how many times she had pleaded, and in how many ways. She didn't want to look up. She didn't want to stand. Susan didn't even know if she could stand.

”Up.” Something cold and hard was jabbed between her shoulderblades. A gun. ”Now.”

Hesitantly, she unfolded herself and stood up. Her body cried out as she rose, her knees threatening to buckle. A warm liquid trickled down through her pinched thighs, adding to her humiliation. She felt a fresh wave of revulsion at the sensation.

Oh G.o.d, he's never going to let me go... ”Walk,” came the voice.

She wanted nothing more than to crawl into the corner and collapse, but she obeyed the command.

”Please, let me go-” she said, stepping forward. No blindfold. No masks. She had seen too much and she knew it. ”Please...”

She was marched several paces to a door. Floorboards creaked under her feet. She heard the door open and felt the slap of a freezing wind from outside. Only then did she open her eyes. They stung-they were dry and swollen, with salty sleep and the remnants of tears gluing her lashes together. For a moment her vision was blurry.

The sky was black as pitch. It was night. She had no sense of time. Her thoughts scrambled. What would her family think of her absence? They would be panicking by now. Her fiance, Jason? How could she tell him what she had endured, what she had done? Would he forgive her? What would he do? How could she ever tell her mother?

Oh, Mom...

Her s.h.i.+rt, which had been ripped open, flapped against her chest in the wind, the collar whipping her neck. Goose b.u.mps stood up on her legs beneath the torn nylon. Trembling, cold and scared, Susan stood in the doorway with death aimed at her back. She sobbed with dry eyes, muttering incoherencies.

Was someone out there searching for her right now under that huge night sky?

Thick woods surrounded her in every direction, stretching out into the blackness. Wind blew her hair across her face, leaving strands in her chapped mouth.

She squinted and tried to make out where she was, but all she could see was the vague silhouette of trees in the night. There were no lights in the distance, no search helicopters-not one sign of life-only a forest forming an earthy labyrinth for which she had no map.

”I won't tell anyone,” she said in a raspy voice she barely recognised. ”I can keep quiet. I can keep secrets.” She tried to sound strong, but instead sounded desperate.

The gun stayed pressed to her back as she was pushed down a path. She resisted the urge to look down. She didn't want to see herself that way-clothes torn, bruised and cut, utterly vulnerable with her wrists cuffed behind her back.

She could barely see a few feet ahead of her, but the gun barrel edged her forward. As the path narrowed, she stumbled on gnarled roots and rocks made slippery with recent rain. She slowed, but the gun just kept nudging her forward. ”Walk,” came the voice from behind her, and she did as she was told.

Eventually the path ended. The gun was pulled away from her back. She was in the middle of nowhere, faced with the cold, moist darkness of the forest. She prayed that the worst was over.

She felt a tug at her wrists, and again heard the click of the handcuffs. They were off. Her arms were free. She crossed them tightly over her chest and hugged herself, rubbing her sore wrists against her shoulders and neck.

”Run.” The voice was emotionless. ”Now.”

Run? Her body felt heavy and weak. She had no shoes, and the forest floor was sharp and uneven, strewn with rocks and fallen branches. Run where? There was no path, no light to guide her way. She hesitated.

A gunshot rang out.

The blast startled her, the bullet driving into the ground only centimetres from her bare feet. She felt the air move from the blast and pieces of earth hit her legs. She jumped, her ears ringing.

”Run, now!” came the voice again.

She ran blind, stumbling and crying, the trees reaching out to grab at her with scraggy claws. Branches leapt out of the darkness, snapping and tearing, snagging at her legs, catching on her s.h.i.+rt, scratching and biting her skin. There was no path, but she scrambled as fast as she could, knocking into trees and tripping over slippery roots and sliding on moss.

Susan Walker ran like doomed prey through the woods, knowing that to slow was to die.