Page 45 of Silent Trail

Sheila's heart raced as she stared into the back of the truck, her breaths coming in short gasps. The dim glow from a nearby streetlight cast eerie shadows across the man's face as he pressed the knife to the throat of the college girl who was bound and gagged beside him.

He looked out of control, his eyes wild, his grip on the blade unsteady. Sheila had no doubt that he would kill the woman if she didn't do what he wanted.

She swallowed hard, fear tightening her chest. Once again, someone might get hurt because of her, just like Natalie had. The memory of her sister's injury weighed heavily on her conscience. She couldn't let it happen again.

"Hey," Sheila said, trying to keep her voice steady. "Let's just all calm down, okay? Why don't you tell me what you want."

The man's bloodshot eyes flicked toward her. His rage was palpable, and beneath it, she could see a deep-rooted pain. "I want some respect for once," he snarled. "I've been pushed around all my life, and I won't allow it anymore. Now I'm in control." He tightened his grip on the knife. "Now, others will do what I want."

"Yes, you're in control," Sheila said, careful not to do or say anything that might provoke him into harming the girl. "You have all the cards right now."

"That's right I do," he said, trying to smile. It was more of a grimace than a smile. "You think that just because you're athletic and know how to throw a punch that I should just surrender to you? You think that's the only kind of strength there is?"

"I know it isn't," she said. "And you're proving that right now."

He shook his head bitterly. "You know what they did to me? You know how they 'initiated' me into high school?"

Sheila waited. The man's voice was raw with emotion, and it was clear that whatever he was going to say was something he'd kept inside for a long time. He looked to be in his early forties, so whatever had happened to him back in high school, he must have been chewing on it for many years.

"So there was this pool party," he began. "All the popular kids were there, drinking and having a good time. I thought it was my chance to fit in, you know? To finally belong to a group." He shook his head, his lip curling in disdain.

"So there was this balcony," he continued. "The other kids thought it was fun to jump off it into the pool. I made the mistake of telling someone I was afraid of heights, and as soon as they heard that, they decided it was time to conquer my fear by jumping into the pool." He shuddered.

"Did you?" Sheila asked softly, aware of the girl's eyes staring at her, tense and silent.

The man nodded. "I did. Caught my foot on the edge, too, and ended up falling just short of the pool. You believe that? I broke my leg, and from then on, nobody wanted to talk to me. It was like I was an embarrassment, a bad memory."

He continued, anger simmering beneath his words. "Three surgeries later, my family went into huge debt. I think the stress is why my father had a heart attack. And all because of some stupid prank those assholes pulled."

Listening to him, Sheila felt a flicker of sympathy deep within her chest. She understood the need for validation, the desire to prove oneself after being knocked down time and time again. And yet, she knew she couldn't let that justify his current actions.

"Listen," she began gently, "I'm sorry that happened to you. No one should be bullied like that. But hurting her" – she glanced at the terrified college girl – "isn't going to make things right."

The man's eyes narrowed suddenly, and he stiffened. "You think I want your pity? You think I told you all that just so you'd feel bad for me?" He laughed. "Look at you, Miss Division One athlete. You think you can relate to me? You think you have any clue what I've been through?"

Sheila thought of mentioning what it was like to live in the shadow of a more successful older sister, but then she realized such a point wouldn't help her case. The truth was, she'd never been bullied the way this man had.

"You're as bad as all the rest," he said. "If you'd been at that party, you would have been one of the ones pushing me to jump. You and your friends, laughing at me for being scared. You don't know what it's like to be the outcast, to be the one everyone picks on."

Sheila took a deep breath, searching for the right words. "I may not know what it's like to be in your shoes, but I do know that hurting others isn't the answer. You have the power to break that cycle of pain and hurt, to rise above it and become something better. Don't let your anger control you."

The man's eyes softened momentarily, but then the anger flared again. He pointed the knife at her. "You're just saying that to get me to give up control. You just want me to lock away and throw the key. Sure, you act like you care now, but as soon as the tables are turned, you'll spit in my face."

Sheila started to protest, but before she could get far, the man said in a harsh voice, "I'm done talking with you. Shut up and start driving."

Sensing the man's volatility, Sheila knew she had no choice but to comply. She slid into the driver's seat of the damaged truck, her muscles tense and coiled like a spring. The keys were already in the ignition, waiting for her trembling hand to turn them.

"Drive," the man commanded, his knife still poised at the college girl's throat.

The engine roared to life, and Sheila shifted the truck into reverse to back away from the wrecked car. With one hand on the steering wheel, she surreptitiously reached into her pocket and pulled out her phone. Her fingers navigated the screen with practiced precision, texting Natalie.

In trouble. Man has a girl hostage. Driving now. Need help ASAP.

"Where am I going?" she asked through gritted teeth, trying to keep her voice steady.

"Take us to the old railroad bridge over the river," the man said.

"And then what?" she asked, a sense of foreboding building inside her.

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