Possess

2. Rue

2

Rue

The first thing I feel is pain.

At first, it’s a vague throbbing, far off across the broad blackness that is my mind. The pain is in the distance, a far-off winking thing that fades into the background often.

Not wanting to feel it, to feel anything at all, I turn my face away from it. Just like that it’s gone, and I sink back down into the dark, soft whispers of oblivion.

The pain comes again, more insistent this time. Sharper, more brutal, like a thousand knives being dug into my skin. The pain brings me into consciousness, dragged unwillingly out of the darkness of my brain. There is light coming through my closed eyelids, stabbing at me, trying to wrest my precious sleep from my hands.

I groan, half awake. I feel throbbing again. Where?

I realize I am lying on something hard, and my wrist is pinned beneath my own body. Desperate for the pain to stop, I manage to shift my body away to the side.

Moving does decrease the hurt, but it doesn’t stop it altogether. Groggily, I open my eyes to find myself covered with a rough length of burlap, on a hardwood floor.

My clothes are missing. Wherever I am in is pitch black. I wince as I try to push myself up off the floor.

One of my wrists doesn’t obey my order, confusing me. Staring at it groggily, I try to make out any bruises or cuts, but I can hardly see. My wrist is broken, maybe.

I try to move it with my other hand, probing it with gentle fingers. I practically scream, tears filling my eyes. It is definitely broken. Clutching my wrist close and pulling the burlap with me, I sit up.

Looking around, I notice that the walls are close. I’m in a box of no more than three feet in any direction, except the ceiling is a little higher. A shack, maybe, made of the same rough wood I’ve been lying on. There are no windows, but I think it’s still night. There is nothing much to see, except for the vague shape of a chair and a rickety table.

Where am I?

I thought… I thought I died.

My hand travels to my hair. I can’t have been unconscious for all that long, because my hair is still damp and snarled from being in the ocean. I am completely naked beneath my burlap sack, which makes my cheeks heat.

Someone took my clothes off. Someone saw me undressed and unaware.

Father Derrik, Dryas, this stranger… I seem to be racking up the numbers of people who have had that privilege.

After sitting still for a moment, I try to get up. I’m not expecting my legs to be so weak that I almost fall, but I do. I stumble a bit, my legs threatening to buckle beneath me. All my leg muscles scream in protest at my insistence on standing.

Clutching the burlap around my waist like a towel, I tread the few steps to the rough plywood door. The wood beneath my feet groans with every step I take, which makes me slow down even more.

What if the person who plucked me from the sea and put me in here is still around? What if they’re just waiting for me to wake?

Holding my breath, I press my palm to the door. It creaks loudly, making me cringe. Heavy footsteps hit the ground outside, driving me back.

My heart thuds in my chest and rings in my ears.

The door opens with a groan, silhouetting a large man against the dark night sky. I squint to look at his face, but most of it is in shadow. He raises his hand and shines a high-powered flashlight on me.

For a split second, I am blind. Shielding my face as much as I can without dropping my meager covering, I cower.

How did I get here, exactly?

He doesn’t move a muscle, just stands there and stares. My eyes mist over again as I flinch away, quaking. My mind races as I try to withdraw, even more, only to find the wall with my back.

Who is he? What does he want?

And where are my clothes?

“So,” he grunts out, his voice low and gruff. “You woke up. I didn’t know whether you would.”

His accent is strange, somewhere between Irish and Norwegian. He’s wearing the high black rubber waders of a fisherman, paired with a light jacket. He’s bald, his head gleaming in the moonlight.

“Do you speak English?” he asks, taking a half step toward me.

Paralyzed by fear, I can only nod. My legs are still shaky, trembling harder even than the fear I feel. I can’t just hope that this man has good intentions; I need to speak up.

My voice comes out breathy and fearful. My gaze slides to the ground. “Where are my clothes?”

When I glance back up at him, he is scowling. “The frock you were wearing, the sea had her way with it.”

I don’t even know what that means. Hitching the length of burlap around myself, I frown. “Who are you?”

He gives a shrug, his burly frame rippling. “I make my living pulling baskets of fish from the ocean.”

I squint. “You were in the tugboat?”

His big head drops in assent. “Aye. Rafi asked me to be ready to transport you up the coast. I didn’t think that you would jump off the cliff.” He smiles lecherously, the expression throwing ice into my bloodstream. “I think you are smarter than Rafi says, no?”

I try to cover more of myself, though I have no more burlap or hands to do it with. “Your friend ripped at my dress. I tried to defend myself. I didn’t jump.”

He smiles crookedly at me, showing uneven teeth. He looks like an angler fish when he looks at me like that. Taking a couple of steps toward me, he backs me into a corner.

Every single nerve I have is on high alert. Thinking that he might have good intentions has been left behind, replaced by fear and anxiety.

Think, Rue. How can you escape? Where is he vulnerable?

My thoughts are so chaotic, overlapping each other, that it’s hard to figure out what to say.

Say something, say anything that will make him go away. My voice is stuck in my throat, as paralyzed as the rest of me. Each breath comes out of my throat, loud and panicked.

“Rafi says you are a princess.” His eyes slide away from my face, down to my body. He bites his lip for a moment before he continues. “I’ve never f****d royalty before.”

My eyes widen a bit. I scramble for something to say. “They won’t pay for me if I’m damaged.”

“Damaged? I’ve no plans to damage ye if ye are a good girl.”

“I’ll tell Father Derrik if you so much as touch me,” I threaten, squeezing the burlap more tightly around the chest. My damaged wrist throbs painfully in time with my heartbeat.

“I think ye will be quiet about it if ye don’t want the Father to think his princess spreads her legs for every man she meets.” He reaches for me, chuckling as I dodge away.

“Don’t touch me!” I scream, but my words don’t have any power. He knows that. He grins.

“I’ll like to hear ye scream my name, I think.”

He laughs softly and lunges toward me. My lungs seize, my heart rate shooting through the roof. He grabs my injured hand, making me scream. The pain is intense as he pulls me closer.

“Why don’t ye come here, let me get a better look at ye? You’re a pretty lass.”

We tussle for several seconds. I yelp as he yanks on my wrist, but that doesn’t seem to bother him at all. I get the feeling that he could easily overpower me, but he just likes watching me struggle.

“I hope this is worth every penny that you’ve been promised,” I grit out. Then I grimace. “And your life, too. The prince is sure to see you killed for this.”

I’m not sure of that even in the slightest, but the lie slips from my lips anyway. The man pauses, raising my wrist a little. I cry out again, and he releases me, looking disgusted.

“Stop,” he commands.

But if there is one thing I’ve learned during the past month of captivity, it’s that I don’t have to take commands when I hold even the tiniest bit of power. Lifting my chin, I pretend defiance, even though I am shaking inside.

“Bring me my dress,” I order. “And something to wrap my wrist in. Otherwise, I tell the prince that you mistreated me.”

He snorts, his disdain is evident. “Don’t push your luck, lass. When Rafi gets here, I’ll ask him about the prince. We’ll see whether or not you’re full of s**t or not.” He puts his grubby finger in my face, leaning in close enough that I get a strong whiff of his stale breath. “I will tell ye now if you’re lying to me, I will make you regret it.”

Before I can ask when Rafi is supposed to get here, the stranger thunders out of the shack, slamming the door shut behind him. The moonlight goes with him, winking out like a candle. I’m left in the dark, listening to the sounds of the door being chained closed.

I rush to the door, pushing on it, but it only gives a few inches. Looking out of the gap, I see that he’s locked a thick steel chain on the door.

I must get out of this shack before Rafi comes. Desperate to escape, I try the door again. The rickety plywood bends back at the very bottom. Half an inch, an inch, then more.

Biting my lip, I work at widening the narrow opening. If I can make it big enough, I might be able to slide my whole body through and escape.

I make it as wide as I can. With the length of burlap thrown over my shoulder, I hold the makeshift flap up. I lie down and shimmy through, making pained sounds when my injured wrist is forced to touch the door.

At the last moment, I drop the door on my ankle by accident. I try not to scream as the door’s sharp edge gouges a chunk of flesh out of my calf and my ankle. Blood wells immediately, beginning to trail down my leg.

To make matters worse, the burlap gets caught on the door, pulling insistently. I bite my lip and slide through the opening naked as a jaybird, scrambling out onto the gravel and dirt. My ankle is bleeding everywhere, making it unbelievably easy to track me. Grasping the length of fabric, I free it with one hard yank.

Wrapping it around myself, I look around.

I’m in a wooded area, though I can distantly hear the sea. There is enough moonlight to see that I’m in a clearing of sorts, and there’s no one in sight. Wherever the man is, he isn’t here.

I don’t know where I’m going, but I have to escape.

Fleeing barefoot, I take off toward the sound of the ocean.