Prologue

I listen as the crunch of the car’s tires on gravel fades away before lifting my head. I can see eyes gleaming in the faint moonlight and I smile brokenly. “Not as bad as I expected,” I lie to Tiffany, softly gasping, as shock and pain keep me reeling. It was actually much worse. My new special friend had discovered the internet, so it would seem, and taught the rest of the cool kids. “I think it’s time for you and me to get out of here,” I tell her wisely and rock forward to get to my feet awkwardly.

She frisks a little at seeing me moving and I wonder if she’s been watching the whole time. “Ah, if only you understood what I was saying,” I tell her wistfully. “I could just ask you to nibble on these ropes and we could be on our way. But that’s okay. Don’t feel bad. Sometimes I’m difficult to understand,” I confide to her. “Things that first week back to school confused me a lot, if I’m being honest.”

The chair seems a little more rickety tonight, probably from them hitting me hard enough to knock me over a few times. I’ll have to thank them for that if there’s time.

I bend my knees as we talk, me telling Tiffany all about my life and what led me here. She dutifully squeaks at all the right places, when I pause. I’m hoping that they’ve wrecked the chair enough that I can pop one of the front legs out, but they don’t seem to want to budge. I don’t remember if there’s a stretcher connecting them to the back legs or not. That worries me. I normally remember everything. I hope it’s just the concussion making me hazy, but who knows. They could have injected me with something while I was distracted.

The evening had certainly been distracting. I flexed my chest muscles, feeling the burn marks. If I had hopes of salvaging this shirt before, they’re gone now. I’m also certain that they have a plan to make sure my body is never found. Otherwise, branding their names into my chest with a soldering iron would be the dumbest confession ever written. I know one of them is stupid in the extreme, but that’s only one out of three. I know the others can’t be that mentally impaired.

“That means fire or acid,” I tell Tiffany. “They need some way to break down the body when they’re done. I’m guessing acid. They’ve probably seen Breaking Bad. They know it’ll do the job.”

I don’t seem to be getting anywhere with the chair legs this way, so I try the other direction, bending over and straightening my knees to try to pull the legs that way. I think I feel a little give, but not enough to be sure. I frown and try bending my knees again to flex the legs the other way. I think I can feel that give again and I start working it back and forth until I’m sure the leg is starting to wiggle for me. I pull it forward some and then I shift so all my weight is on that leg and try to put the chair leg down on an angle.

Chapter 1 »