Page 59 of Debt of My Soul

They move toward me, and instinctively, I back up running into the cold wall behind me. It’s pointless, but my body reacts anyway when they grip each of my arms, twisting them around my back and gripping my elbows. My whole body stiffens at their rough touches, demanding me forward.

After a couple of days here, I finally emerge from the cell I’ve been hidden behind. But, even though I’m out, I feel more vulnerable than I did tucked neatly away. I’m utterly exposed, with no idea where I am.

Shuffled through a door, I’m pushed up a set of stairs, the climb putting a strain on my weakened muscles. Although it hasn’t been that long, I can already feel the effects of no food impacting my body. Each step is a chore, and by the time I arrive at the top, I’m dizzy and panting.

We arrive in a dimly lit hallway with a flashing neon sign outside one door toward the end of the hallway. Unfortunately, I’m dragged to the opposite end before I can read what it says. A metal door with red letters stenciled on it reads EXIT, and when the door is shoved open, the damp, humid heat hits me. I shiver. The exact opposite reaction to the sweltering summer night I should be having.

An enormous firepit stands proudly off the side of the concrete patio we’ve stepped onto. Curvebacked Adirondackchairs are scattered around the pit, and one or two guys sit around the fire sipping a beer. They make an effort to glance up but go back to their conversation, not paying me any mind. This sort of thing must happen a lot for them to ignore a girl being dragged outside by both of her elbows.

Moving my head around to view as much as possible, I’m shocked that this looks like a teen summer camp the way it’s laid out. Small cabins encircle the building we exited, with slender lamp posts highlighting the larger warehouses and metal buildings far off in the distance. Several motorcycles are parked in a line to the right of where we exited the building, and I’d gamble this was their main meeting point.

However, beyond it all is the thickening of dense forest pine. A foreboding woods doused in twilight with only thin slivers of moonlight breaking through the tops and rustling branches. It spans all around the camp. The only breakthrough is the gravel road leading to a gate I can barely make out in the stretch between.

We’ve stopped moving, and one of the men is on the phone as if waiting for instructions. When he hangs up, I’m pushed through the gravel and into the woods. Light from the cabins and fire slowly fades away until my eyes adjust to more of the dark. Pine needles smash beneath my feet, the condensed carpet muffling our footsteps.

The two men weave me through the trees, and if it weren’t for their nonchalant demeanor, I’d be afraid they’re planning to take me in the middle of the woods for their own pleasure. They’re following someone else’s orders, however, and I catch them counting the pines as if they’re plotting their directions to get to their destination.

The distinct aroma of pine grows stronger the deeper we trudge through the woods. Gnarled branches snag on my legs, and it isn’t long before bright light assaults my vision as streamsintrude through the ink of night. Substantial-sized flood lights, angled in different directions, illuminate a clearing ahead of us.

Dread coils in my belly, squeezing my stomach into a ball of knots. A group of what looks like over fifteen men stand in a semi-circle around something … is that a tripod? I swallow.

The two men at my side march me into the clearing and toss me to the ground. Dirty boots step into the rust-colored dirt beneath my hands, the dust of it kicking up into my face.

When I raise my head, I meet the intense gaze of Blitz, who has a sinister smile spread wide across his face. His head is angled down at me, the speckled night sky fanning out behind him, uninhibited by the gap in the trees.

He crouches down, and I find I can’t look away from the pride in his face. He knows something I don’t.

“Adam was discharged from the hospital this morning,” he says, the words smooth and coaxing. “He was informed of your … predicament and it seems he has vanished.” Blitz clicks his tongue and gestures around us with his hands. “Seems he hasn’t had the proper motivation yet, has he, boys?”

He doesn’t look at me again. Instead, he stands, moving out of my vision. I scan the group of men for Liam, searching for him as if he could offer me any salvation. But I don’t see him. He isn’t here. I land pleading eyes on each of the men, most of them meeting my plea with a snarl or a wicked smirk. A few offer me a slight frown, as if they’re thinking of their sisters in this moment and are worried about what might happen with me.

The sound of damp dirt being sliced through next to me beckons my attention, and I turn to find a shovel pushed into the earth, it standing tall beside me.

“You’re going to dig for him. Dig your own hole six feet deep,” Blitz says from behind me, but I don’t turn to look at him. Tears sting my cracked lips as they fall down my face. I don’t cry out or scream, but inside I’m screeching. “Turn the camera on. Let’sshow Adam what his girl has to do. If he doesn’t pay, she’ll end up digging her own grave.”

For a moment, I wonder what they would do if I sat here and didn’t move. Didn’t placate their twisted ways for money they probably don’t need. What if I didn’t play their game, refused to dig my own grave?

I don’t move.

A few men murmur something I can’t hear, while Blitz moves into my vision again and yanks me up by my hair. I yelp at the prickling on my scalp, and Blitz throws down a handful of my hair to the ground, the blond strands almost looking white against the Mississippi red dirt.

“It would be a shame for Mom and Dad to also pay the price for Adam’s stupidity.” My eyes widen as he rattles off my parents’ address in Michigan and gives me a toothy smile. He shoves the shovel into my hands and pushes me into the middle of the clearing, where all the men leer around me.

I press a hand to my belly, the rolling nausea ruining my resolve. “Please,” I beg. I’m not above it at this point. This is torture.

I haven’t eaten in days, but I swear I can taste the grits I had for breakfast several days prior in the back of my throat. I’m going to be sick. My nails dig into my free hand’s palm, and I claw at myself, stabbing mini half moons in my skin.

Despite the heaviness of the late summer air, a gust of wind brushes past me and I suck in a breath. The humid air dries my parched throat, and I cough.

“Dig!” one of the men yells out, and a few chuckles rise into the quiet night air.

I whimper, and scan over everyone again, seeking Liam out. They land back on Blitz, who curls his lips in disgust, a knowing look indicates he’s aware of who I was searching for.

My heart thumps wildly in my chest. My ribs are caving in, smashing my lungs until I can no longer breathe.

I can no longer breathe, but I lift the shovel and slice into the earth anyway.

The clink of the steel on each rock vibrates the handle and sends a shockwave up each arm. The shirt I’m wearing is drenched in sweat and I’ve made it less than two feet into the ground. Each stab into the body-sized rectangle is met with resistance as the top dirt turns into red clay, hard and gritty.

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