Atlantic Ocean

Waves

Constantina woke to the sound of crashing waves and a swinging sensation. The motion turned her stomach. Nausea filled up her throat and heat ran up from her belly. She leaned over, and her last meal emptied onto the floor.

When her stomach was empty and the heaving subsided, she wiped her mouth and sat up. The room was dark and moist. Her bare feet touched an old wood floor and the air smelled of salt. Her hands felt the lumpy mattress beneath her.

“Where am I?” Her voice sounded foreign to her. The words came out raspy, her throat still tasting stomach acid.

She squeezed her eyes, trying to see into the darkness, but there were no windows or doors or other light source.

The swaying motion became stronger, and she held on to the nearest wall for support. The bed she woke up on was nestled into a corner.

She forced her feet to shuffle across the wooden floor toward the wall across from her. Her legs tingled and hurt at every move.

“There has got to be a way in or out of here somewhere.” She was determined to find it, even if she had to feel her way over every inch of the dark room.

She shivered and wrapped her arms around herself. When she couldn't feel her shirt, she looked down. Someone had stripped her completely naked.

A creaking noise startled her. She turned. A light appeared at the ceiling across the room, and a metal ladder became visible. Her eyes hurt at the sudden brightness flowing down the hole. She squinted.

A shadow descended the rungs, interrupting the light streaming down.

“You make a mess of everything, don't you?” Mark pinched his nose at the smell of her vomit. He remained at the base of the ladder, extending his other hand, his fingers wrapped around a bottle of water. Connie’s vision blurred, and she blinked excessively until the shapes came back into focus.

Her dry mouth watered at the prospect of the refreshing liquid. She shuffled toward him. Her fingers were numb, the bottle felt alien in her hands. “Is there powder in there too? What was that, anyway?” She examined the bottle cap for any signs of tampering.

Mark scoffed. “What are you going to do, not drink it? You'll die of dehydration. Drink up.”

Connie threw the bottle at him. His movement was quick, and he caught it. “You’re going to kill me anyway.” She wanted to yell at him when a thought occurred to her. If all he wanted is to kill you, he’d already done it.

His head jerked back. The wood floor creaked under his weight. Connie immediately recognized his facial expressions for what they were; the sudden widening of his iris, the paleness of his sun-tanned skin, all of it; he's afraid of something.

It lasted only a second, then Mark's fear turned into anger. He came closer, holding the bottle close to her cheek. “Drink; or I will make you.” He whispered.

Constantina gave in. Her throat felt as if it had been sanded down and she took the bottle. She opened it and took a long drink. The cool water rushed into her stomach, and she wanted to weep. I didn't realize how thirsty I was.

She didn't stop drinking until three quarters of the bottle was empty. Mark, arms crossed, leaned against the metal ladder, creating a barrier between her and freedom.

“Where are my clothes? And where are we going?” She asked.

He shook his head. “You and your damn questions. You'll get answers soon enough.” He turned and ascended the steps. Connie ran toward the ladder, but the hatch closed before she could manage halfway up. Alone in the darkness, with more questions than answers, she sat on the ladder and wept.

***

Connie clung to the ladder, crying, resigning herself to a horrible end at the hands of Nena’s rapist. How did I manage to stand up to Duane? The memory of that day felt like a lifetime ago, and she wondered if it even happened. I guess this is Karma.

The commotion and footsteps from above ripped her out of her thoughts. She heard men talking. She crept up the ladder until her head touched the board, leaning against it. The mumbling from above became audible.

“I've got only one dose left of Devils' Breath left, I’ll keep that in case she decides to be a bitch. We striped her and while most women think twice before running naked, she already surprised us once. So, tie her up and throw her into the trunk before we unload her car. Did you fill up the tank?” She heard Mark's voice giving instructions.

There was mumbling and Connie figured the answer was in the affirmative.

Feet shuffled above and she flinched, wondering if they would be coming for her now. Her legs moved a rung further down, but her head remained firmly placed against the hatch.

“Is the crane ready to unload the car?” Mark’s voice came closer to the hatch.

“Yes, everything is ready.” A pause. “Do you want me to get directions to Peto? A map?”

 “If possible; I got the GPS coordinates, but just in case.” Mark laughed. “If I call her for directions, she’ll get hysterical and scream.”

She heard feet moving above the hatch. “Now, help me with her.”

Connie held on to the top bar and hurried down the ladder.

Her bottom barely sat on the small bed when Mark climbed down into the room, followed by someone else. The other voice. The man without a name held flexi-cuffs in his left hand and a white cloth in his right. Connie scooted into the corner of the small bed, her hands desperately reaching out for any object to grab.

Her eyes searched the immediate vicinity for a loose board, a picture hanging from the wall, anything. Her breath shallow, fast.

The other man approached, his smile revealing small teeth covered with too much gum tissue. “You won't get much further into that corner, sweet pea.” His voice was low, and Connie strained to understand him. His hands reached for her legs. She felt his warm, firm, skin on her left leg and heat ran up her legs, her stomach, all the way to her face. Oh, that's disgusting.

Her right leg raised itself, and Connie watched as her foot aimed for him. When it hit, it did so only inches away from his crotch. Damn it, you couldn't have aimed better? But her body was in fight-mode, her leg, attempting to make up for missing the soft spot, pulled back into her body and randomly pushed against him. Like an engine bolt, she nailed into him.

He screamed as she pushed him backward. I don't remember telling my leg to do that.

She focused on his face, the mouth open, screaming without sound, flailing. Connie scooted forward on the bed. Sitting on the edge, she lifted her right leg, ready to kick him again.

Her leg suddenly went limb, and she felt searing pain in her right temple. Constantina turned. Mark stood next to her, his fist flying toward her face and she rushed toward nothingness.