Vengeance Road by Rick Mofina Page A

herself. There was tissue, but her hands remained bound with tape.
    Mercifully the bucket had a lid.
    Then she was forced to swallow capsules.
    Drugs?
    Someone was keeping her alive.
    Like a captured animal.
    Who? Who was doing this and what was he going to do to her?
    Or had he already done something to her while she was unconscious?
    The image made her retch. She swallowed. Please no. Jolene pushed back her tears.
    Please.
    What did he do to Bernice?
    Jolene had no concept of where she was, or how long she’d been here. She was wearing the same clothes she’d worn when she tried to help Bernice.
    She wanted to shower, to cleanse herself of this foul, stinking nightmare.
    She knew by the steady drone that she was still moving. Maybe this was her chance to do something.
    But what?
    She was gagged. Her hands were bound, but not her legs or ankles. She was free to move, but she was blind in the absolute darkness. Maybe her abductor was watching her now with some sort of high-tech equipment? Maybe if he saw that she was awake he’d come to her?
    To do what?
    Jolene’s breathing quickened.
    She was so scared. She whispered a prayer.
    Stay calm.
    Using her fingertips, she felt in her pockets for her cell phone. It was gone.
    Take it easy.
    She steeled herself then probed the soft pad. Feeling its indentations, quilting and seams, she concluded that it was a mattress.
    Single-size.
    Pushed against a wall.
    Jolene drew herself into a sitting position. She was woozy. She waited and breathed slowly. Then she ran her fingers over the walls. They were solid wood with a rough pitted surface. At times, she felt the steel hardware of a hinge-and-bolt assembly. Felt the line of a door frame. Butit was shut up so tight, no light, or hope, leaked through. At times she felt the head of a nail or screw protruding from the wall.
    It was familiar.
    In high school, when she was a part-time supermarket cashier, she’d helped inventory all the departments, even the warehouse. The big storage containers and trailers smelled like this and had the same rough surface.
    They were heavy, insulated, sound-absorbing walls, like those in a cooler. It was not refrigerated but it was cold. Near her were old blankets that smelled as if they’d been used for horses.
    Jolene stood.
    Waves of dizziness rolled over her and she steadied herself against the wall, waiting for them to subside.
    She raised her restrained hands above her head, felt nothing but air.
    Then carefully, starting with the nearest wall, she began inching her way around the boundary of her prison, steadying herself against the to-and-fro motion as she felt for a latch, a light switch, a door, a window, anything.
    As she groped cautiously, her fingers brushed against the chain bearing her locket. A gift from her mother. She stopped, found it in the dark, and while her bound hands made the simple movement awkward, Jolene touched it to her cheek.
    Cody.
    It gave her strength.
    It fueled her determination to get home to her little boy, who needed her, and to her mother, who’d be worried to death.
    What if her mother thought she’d run off? Got stoned, abandoned Cody.
    What if she died here and that was the last thought—the last memory—her mother had?
    No, no, NO !
    Jolene couldn’t bear the heartbreak for her mother. Her mother, who’d stood by her and supported her when everyone else had written her off.
    I love you.
    At that moment, Jolene promised her mom and Cody that she’d find a way out and back to the new life she’d worked so hard, so damn hard, to build for them.
    Jolene Peller’s life would not end in this dark stinking box, or hole, or whatever the hell it was. She’d been through too much, worked too hard to just give up to some crazy motherf—
    Jolene tasted the salt of her tears as she completed moving around the perimeter of her cell. About eight-by-eight, she guessed as she blinked back her fear and braced herself