Turkey Ranch Road Rage (20 page)

Panting as if I’d just run a marathon, I floated down from the sensation, Jerry still holding me, his breathing becoming steady and soft.

The reality of what had just happened fully hit me. I’d never have believed such a thing to be possible, especially without any skin-to-skin contact. But it did, at least for me. Between gasps, I think I tried to say “how did you do that?” and “what about you?” but he kept pressing tiny kisses to my face and whispering really sweet things such as “just enjoy it” so I did.

After my breathing slowed to a reasonable pace, Jerry pulled away a little and looked down at me, smiling. I have to say, he seemed pretty pleased with himself. I was pretty pleased too, of course. Reality was also beginning to seep back in, and it occurred to me to wonder if anyone passing by could have seen inside the car. I preferred to believe they couldn’t, but even if they had, it probably would have just looked like two people hugging. But it had been so much more.

“I just want to keep touching you,” he said, stroking my cheek. “You have no idea what you do to me.”

“I think it’s pretty clear what you just did to me.”

He grinned. “You just keep thinking about that until I get back later.”

I wasn’t likely to ever forget that. I’d be telling that story when I was 83.

He stepped back and adjusted his clothing then slid me out of the seat onto the ground in front of him. He kept hold of me, which was a good thing since my legs were like Jell-O and I would have crumpled to the ground if he hadn’t.

“I wish I could stay,” he said, his voice rumbling through me with real regret. “But I have some things that have to be dealt with today. I don’t know how it will go, but if at all possible, I want to take you to a nice dinner tonight. I don’t want to talk business the whole time either.”

Agreed. And frankly, the nice dinner was optional in my book. A Dr Pepper and a package of crackers from a hotel vending machine would work for me. Actually, just the hotel worked for me, but I refrained from saying so since one might think I would be at least semi-satisfied for a few minutes. I wasn’t, of course. With Jerry, I just wanted more. “Any guess on time?”

He shook his head, gave me another quick kiss and said, “No, but I hope no more than a couple of hours.”

My legs were plenty wobbly, but I managed to make it back to the car with some measure of decorum. I am certain, however, that the look on my face telegraphed exactly what I’d been up to. I smiled as Jerry walked away.

Oh, things were definitely looking up now. And nobody, especially not my mother, was going to ruin it. Not tonight. I took a deep breath and tried to put on a straight face as I climbed back into the car with Lucille.

She didn’t ask any questions, which was odd, but I was grateful for the reprieve. As we drove on to her house, which took all of three minutes, I felt myself deflating like a tire with bullet hole in it and I had no desire to ask my mother any questions about anything. To tell the truth, the only thing I really wanted to think about was having Jerry Don Parker all to myself in a few hours—and what all went with that. I pulled into the garage, parked the car and went inside.

After a visit to the bathroom, I nabbed a bottle of Lucille’s spring water, chugged half of it then stretched myself out on the couch. I put a pillow beneath my head and covered myself with a soft and cozy velour blanket. There was nothing at all that I had to do and I was going to do exactly that until Jerry arrived. It felt so good to just stretch out and relax and not have to think about anything except my fantasies.

My mother, on the other hand, was not in need of relaxation at all. Apparently energized by the day’s events, she was zipping around the house like a crazed bee. She was making me tired just watching her. As my mind wandered, she checked her message machine, changed clothes, re-glazed her hair and re-painted her face. My chicken-fried brain started catching up with what was going on about the time she stopped in front of me with her purse over her arm and mischief sparkling in her eyes.

“Now, Jolene, be sure and lock the door when you leave,” she said, a little breathless. “You have your key? I’m going over to Agnes’ house for a minute, but I plan to meet Fritz later on. At any rate, I’m probably going to be late so don’t wait up.” She was halfway out the door when she poked her head back in and said, “Ethel looked good, didn’t she? I did a good job with her and in such a short time too.” Rapid-fire comments kept coming and I was only catching every other one. “Oh, and I forgive you for all your hatefulness. Are you spending the night here or at Jerry Don’s?”

What? Me? Hateful? And what about Jerry Don? Where was I sleeping? What kind of question was that for a mother to ask her daughter? I guess I looked shocked, which of course I was, because she didn’t wait for me to answer.

“Oh, good grief, Jolene, grow up, you’re not seventeen anymore. You don’t have to be sneaking around like you did in high school. Just leave me a note on where you’ll be and when you’ll be back so I won’t worry. Sex is just a normal part of life and there’s no sense in getting all prudish about it. I thought maybe you’d learned something from my talk with Ethel this afternoon.” She tsk-tsked and shook her head as she grabbed the door handle. “I swear, you’d think by now you’d know to pay attention when I talk. Why, you were half the reason I was even taking the time to talk about such things, what with you and Jerry getting friendly again and all.”

What the hell? The door slammed behind her before I could either sputter with outrage or perhaps throw something. Who was that woman? She could not possibly be my mother. And what was with all the “sex is normal” talk? She’d had an entirely different view of these matters when I was a teenager, I assure you. Anytime I even thought about stepping a foot out the door I got the lecture on…. Wait a minute. Where was she going? And why? She wasn’t allowed out alone, was she? Wasn’t I supposed to be watching her for some reason?

The synapses in my brain that weren’t percolating on grease and gravy were tied up daydreaming about Jerry Don Parker. The remaining active brain cells were abandoning their posts in record numbers. After a few seconds, I couldn’t remember why letting Lucille run off unattended and uncensored was a bad thing. Or why I should care.

* * *

I jerked awake, instantly alert.

And terrified.

Why? What was going on? I blinked, but I couldn’t see anything in the darkened living room. I could feel something though. Someone?

There were no lights. I’d left a light on, hadn’t I?

What woke me? Why was I scared? What time was it?

A creak of the floor.

Oh, God, someone was in here.

I froze in place on the couch. I didn’t breathe. Couldn’t breathe.

Thump. Something fell on the kitchen floor.

Pure panic flooded me and I shot upright.

Meaty hands grabbed my head and shoved me back down. Sweaty palms covered my eyes. Steel fingers grabbed my legs.

I jerked and twisted, punched and kicked. I grabbed thick hairy arms and dug my fingers into them.

The hairy grip loosened. “Goddammit!” He caught my arms and bent them back over my head.

I screamed and kicked.

Someone caught my feet and slammed them down on the couch.

I twisted and jerked.

Duct tape. I heard the unmistakable sound of duct tape ripping.

I saw a shadowy figure coming toward me. He slapped the tape over my mouth. Then another piece over my eyes.

I couldn’t see.

I couldn’t move.

I couldn’t breathe.

I tried to move, kick and punch, but I couldn’t do anything.

I am going to die. And there’s not a thing I can do about it.

More ripping duct tape.

I screamed behind the tape, the noise coming out of my nose. My panicked lungs wanted to gulp in air from my mouth, but couldn’t. I moved my jaw, trying to loosen the tape, but it only made my panic worse. I was suffocating. I was going to die.

I twisted. I jerked.

“Stop it, bitch,” a gruff male voice yelled.

“Shut up,” a second man hissed.

More tape ripping.

My ankles slammed together. Tape strapped them tight. Someone sat on them. Heavy pressure. Then to my wrists. Crushed and taped.

I couldn’t breathe, I couldn’t see and I couldn’t move the lower half of my body. In seconds, I wouldn’t be able to move my top half. Adrenaline shooting through me, I took everything I had and slammed myself upward.

Bam!

“Goddammit,” the hairy man howled again.

Splintering pain shot through my head and shards of light burst behind my blindfolded eyes. My head had connected with something—someone. I slumped back, thousands of dull needles stabbing my brain, the world swirling around me even though I couldn’t see it.

Sweat popped out from every pore and my stomach lurched up into my throat. I was going to throw up. A wave of darkness swept over me. I was slipping into oblivion. Nausea again. Oh, God, what was happening?

There was no time for an answer because I was jerked off the couch by one of them and slung over his thick shoulder. The stench of stale cigarette smoke and ripe onions seared my nose, and my duct-taped mouth gagged for all it was worth. My world was spinning and diving, and I tried to focus on anything to try to stop it. My tied hands flopped against his back, which felt spongy and damp beneath his shirt. My cheek rubbed against a rough strap, probably denim, so I figured he was wearing overalls.

Mother’s garage door grumbled and growled as it opened, and a car engine revved up somewhere outside. Yes, a car, not a truck, or at least not a big one or diesel variety. I caught a whiff of gasoline and choking thick exhaust. Older. Ten years or more. Maybe. Geez, in truth it could be a brand new Mercedes for all I knew, but the thoughts kept my mind distracted from hysteria.

The car pulled into the garage and the big man carried me toward it. I heard footsteps and then a car door creaked open. He flopped me off his shoulder and tossed me in the seat. My nose buried into a smelly semi-plush cushion. Had to be a car. With rotted velour seats and god-knows-what imbedded in them.

The door at my feet closed and two other doors creaked open. The seat jiggled beside my head as one of the men sat down. It wasn’t the overalls guy because I couldn’t smell him. He turned me over on my side and put my head on what had to be his leg. I felt him lean over me, rustling with something in the floorboard. A ringing clang told me it was something metal, heavy thick metal, banging up against another similar metal object. More jiggling, another clank of metal and an audible hiss.

His hand grabbed the back of my head and something covered my nose.

Oh, God. It was some kind of gas. And I was not laughing.

Chapter
Thirteen

The first thing I noticed when I started coming around was the pounding behind my eyes. The second was the throbbing that shot out from there in every direction. The third thing I realized was that I couldn’t be dead because dead people didn’t have headaches. Indeed dead people didn’t have bodies at all and therefore no heads to ache, and from the way mine was thumping I was fairly sure it was still right where I’d left it. I might still be alive, but there was no guarantee I would stay that way.

I did a quick physical inventory. In addition to my exploding head, my body ached in more places than I could count, much of it due to being slung around and trussed up with tape, which I still was. I also realized that I wasn’t in the car. Not the right smell or feel or sound. The place was quiet except for the hum of a machine with a fan, maybe a window air conditioning unit, running off to my right. I was probably in a house on a couch, but I was definitely not back at Mother’s. The rough and scratchy material of the sofa stunk of age and cigarette smoke. Oh, God, I was going to throw up.

Highly unpleasant noises gurgled up into my throat, and this time, there was no stopping it. I swung my tied hands to the side, feeling for the edge of the couch. I had to get off my back and somehow rip the tape off my mouth before the contents of my stomach came up and choked me to death. Clutching the couch, I tried to swing my ankles to the floor. As I did, my whole body rolled instead and my hands slammed against the floor, snapping my wrists back in unison. I slumped against the couch as razor-sharp pains spiked up both arms. Another flush of intense nausea roiled through me, and at that moment I sincerely wished they’d just shot me. My death wish was followed immediately by gut-wrenching contractions, the no-stopping-it-now-you’re-gonna-puke spasms.

Just as the inevitable lurched up, an arm reached under my belly and jerked me up off the floor while another hand ripped the tape off my mouth.

The man tossed me back to the floor and I went about the business of emptying my stomach.

Although I was fairly preoccupied, I was still coherent enough to hear the men cursing. Several voices, all jumbled, and apparently none pleased with the unhappy turn of events, which was a shame since I was having such a great time myself.

When I finished, someone, yanked me to my feet, which I now realized were bare and standing on what felt like old shag carpeting. The man wiped a rag over my face and then down my shirt, huffing and snorting his distaste for the task. He then grabbed me around the waist and carried me across the room, presumably away from the mess. He set me down and, still woozy and trussed, I couldn’t keep my balance and started to fall. He caught me again and I heard more grumbling. I felt hands on my ankles then a jerk. Tape and skin ripped away from my legs. I screamed. And cursed. After a string of pain-induced comments, I managed to ask, “What in the hell do you want with me?”