The following morning . . .
“Have you got all of your travel documents and your visa?” Mum asked as she crossed off each item on the checklist.
Mum was a list maker. Not a single day went by when she didn’t compile a list of things that she needed to do or things she needed to buy. This time, she had put together a list of all the items I needed to take with me to America.
“Yes, Mum, they’re in the travel wallet you bought for me,” I replied, holding it up as evidence.
“See, Arron. Those things come in handy, don’t they? They keep everything together all in one place. Everybody should have one,” Mum suggested as she wagged her index finger at Dad. He had initially scoffed at the idea of owning one, back when she was ordering them from eBay the other week.
Mum began rhyming things off, using her fingers to count on. “Let’s see, you’ve got your money. We packed your suitcases. Do you have a spare charger? Did you get one?” she questioned, her brows almost hitting her hairline as if we had forgotten a vital necessity.
“Yes, I picked one up the other day,” I answered.
“Well, that’s all then. Oh, wait. Here, I bought you some magazines to read on the plane,” she remembered, then fished them out of a carrier bag.
“Thanks, Mum. I forgot to buy those,” I replied with gratitude.
“She thinks of everything. She’s sharp as a whip, this one,” Dad praised, fawning over Mum in adoration.
She gave him a loving peck on the lips before returning to fuss over me.
“I just thought, it’s a twelve-hour flight. You’d get bored to tears otherwise.” Her eyes creased with concern. “You will be okay out there on your own, won’t you?” Tears welled up in her hazel eyes.
“Mum, I’ll be fine. Even if I must communicate via smoke signal, you will hear from me one way or the other,” I comforted her. “There will be loads of things to do when I’m not working. I’m sure that there will be plenty of people for me to make friends with. The university has rented me a car, so I can get from point A to B and not be destitute,” I assured her, seeing her frown lines relax.
“Well, make sure you ring home, or else your father and I will be on the next flight over there,” she warned, in her warm maternal tone.
My parents both accompanied me to Heathrow airport so that they could give me a grand send-off. I promised myself that I wouldn’t cry, but my soft self was barely holding back the tears. I checked my luggage into baggage handling, then turned to bid my parents an emotional farewell.
Reality had kicked in by this point and it took everything I had not to fling my arms around Dad’s neck and beg him to take me home.
“Dad, Mum, I’m going to miss you,” I bawled.
Dad's eyes reddened as he fought back the tears. He was such a gentle giant when it came to us, but to anyone else, he was an intimidating hulk. Mum’s face already had tear tracks running down both cheeks.
“Oh, my baby . . . my only baby,” her shoulders bounced as she wept uncontrollably.
Even at twenty-one years of age, I would always be their little girl. I hugged them as if my life depended on it, and it took all my willpower to detach myself from them and walk away. As I turned around to give a final wave, I noticed them clinging to each other in a tight embrace. The sight almost broke me. Mum placed her fingertips against her lips as if to blow me a kiss and Dad held one outstretched hand up in a somber wave.
Part of me welcomed the adventure, and part of me wanted to remain rooted in London. The moment I stepped foot on the plane, I had an ominous feeling that my life was going to change forever — or maybe that was Mum’s apron strings snapping. It was a daunting feeling, the thought of fending for myself. Not only that, I hated flying. Just the thought of having a vast space between me and the ground made my ass cheeks twitch with trepidation. I resorted to occupying myself with magazines and perusing the duty-free brochure until my eyelids drooped. Not that I could sleep for long. It didn’t help that they screened Final Destination as the in-flight movie. As soon as the landing gear hit the tarmac, my body relaxed, and I sighed with relief.
Then the second we were allowed to leave our seats, I scrambled to retrieve my belongings from the overhead storage compartment. I planned to make a run for the baggage conveyor before anybody else could get there. It was a British thing. We hated queueing. It was no different to a German tourist getting up at the butt crack of dawn to claim dibs on a sun lounger, I was hoping to avoid the stampede of passengers and forego waiting in line.
My plan worked. I was the first to arrive at the baggage conveyor, smug as fuck. I waited and waited . . . and waited, glancing at my watch, and tapping my foot with impatience, huffing, and muttering my thoughts to anyone within earshot like a typical disgruntled Brit — complaining about the shit service and how they better not have lost my luggage or else there would be hell to pay. Then as the cases emerged, my luggage sporadically popped through the flaps as if they’d been to hell and back. I snatched the battered cases, tossed them onto a luggage cart, then made my way to the arrival area — and it was just my luck to have chosen the cart with a wobbly wheel, one that refused to turn the way I wanted it to.
There was barely anyone left in the foyer by the time I got there. It was hard to miss the tall bespectacled guy who was holding up a piece of A4 paper that had my name scribbled on it. I couldn’t tell if he'd slicked his hair flat with gel or whether it was greasy because the light just seemed to bounce off all the moisture. The tweed suit jacket he had teamed with an Oxford shirt, jeans, and Converse made it look as if he couldn’t decide between dressing like a professor or a student. He gave a surprised double-take as he noticed me approaching, blowing the stray hairs from my face, and swearing at the cart. I must have looked like a nutjob.
“Hi, you must be Isobelle?” He greeted me with a strong New York accent.
I caught the way his eyes ping-ponged from my eyes, down to my voluptuous cleavage, and back again as if they were having an involuntary spasm. I zipped up the jacket of my Juicy Couture tracksuit, cramming my ample bosoms inside.
“Yes, sir,” I replied, unsure who I was addressing.
I smoothed down my hair and offered him my hand to shake.
Is he a student or a professor? I can’t tell.
“Call me Peter. I’m a professor at the University of Michigan,” he introduced himself, answering my question. “You’re a real English rose, aren’t you? So pretty.” Peter narrowed his eyes in a cheeky analysis. It didn’t seem seedy, and he certainly didn’t mean to intimidate me. It was a clumsy attempt at making chit-chat, and it made me cringe with embarrassment. I wasn’t used to getting compliments from guys.
“You ought to be careful. The boys will trip over their tongues when they catch an eyeful of you,” he remarked, chortling with amusement.
Instead of rolling my eyes at the cheesy line, I blushed awkwardly at his compliment. I pulled the cart out into the open air and over to where a blacked-out SUV was parked, the fucking wobbly wheel protesting like a dying mouse. Then Peter helped me to load my luggage onto the back seats. He jogged past me to open the passenger-side door, proving that chivalry isn't dead. The polite gesture surprised me, and I flashed a thankful smile as I slid onto the cool leather seat and shut the door.
Apart from the few cringe-worthy comments at the airport, Peter wasn’t the worst person to be stuck in a car with. The conversation maintained a steady flow and we never ran out of things to talk about. I discovered that his age exceeded the mid-twenty benchmark and that he was in his mid-thirties, unmarried, and owned a short-haired Chihuahua called Derrick. He was single and was currently living in his grandmother’s house. I had no room to judge because I still lived with my parents.
“How long is the drive to Lakewell?” I inquired, hoping that it wasn’t that far because I was getting a numb bum from all the sitting down. Not to mention the jetlag. All I wanted was to brush my teeth and collapse into bed.
Peter’s lips twisted as he thought. “Uh . . . three, maybe four hours, tops. Depending on whether the roads are clear. There’s a lot of traveling through woodland, and those roads aren’t well lit,” he explained.
My facial expression sank with fatigue.
Three or four hours. Great.
“Ugh,” I groaned. “Where is Whitehaven, anyway?”
“It’s off the beaten track so to speak. There aren’t any road signs that’ll lead you there, so there’s no way to find it unless you know where to go. The guest house where you’ll be staying is right by the forest. The owners are called Chloe and Lincoln Anderson and they have two little kids. They’re mad tight,” Peter mentioned, trying to put my mind at ease. “They’ll make you feel at home.”
“I’m grateful I don’t have to make my own way there. I could sleep for a week,” I replied, fighting the urge to yawn.
He wasn’t wrong about the drive. It took ages to reach the guest house. It was late into the night by the time we arrived. I could barely keep my eyes open. As Peter pulled the handbrake it jolted me awake.
“Are we here?” I slurred, wiping the drool from my chin.
“This is it,” Peter announced. “I got you here safe and sound, just as I promised I would.”
I flashed an exhausted smile. “I didn’t doubt you for a moment.”
I gazed out through the windscreen and up at the highlighted brickwork. The spotlights on the walls bathed the guesthouse in a pale-yellow hue and a sun canopy stretched around the front of the building like a light and dark striped skirt. The inside was just as modern as the outside. Peter helped to bring my belongings to the reception desk. We had to be quiet so as not to wake the sleeping borders. Chloe and Lincoln were there to greet us, and what a fine-looking couple they were too. Chloe’s summer dress clung to her voluptuous figure like she had been hand-stitched into it, and her blonde hair and tanned skin gave her a healthy glow. Her husband, Lincoln, stood around six-foot-five, rocking the hot mountain man look without really having to try. Either he was well-endowed, or a snake had slithered up the inside leg of his jeans, because fuck me, that was one impressive appendage. I turned my attention elsewhere. Peter and Lincoln carried all my luggage to my room, allowing Chlo
Chloe pulled into a free parking bay along the edge of the town square. Lakewell was a cute little place that had an ample number of shops, despite being in such a small, populated area. I had an excellent view of White Lake from this side of the town. There was a picnic park along the water’s edge with an adventure playground for children. The harbor was bustling with families all out enjoying the sunshine and feeding the ducks clumps of bread. I could imagine this place being great to raise a family. Chloe and Lincoln certainly picked the nicest place to raise Angelica and Cameron. “I’m going to take the kids to choose a gift for Lincoln. We could meet up for lunch later if you don’t want to be dragged from store to store by the kids,” Chloe suggested. “I’ll meet up with you later,” I decided, wanting to go off and explore on my own for a while. “I need to pick up a few essentials.” Chloe nodded, chuckling at the unusual term I used for browsing. “It’s impossible to get lost arou
“So that’s it? They just returned unscathed?” I asked disappointedly. Call me wicked, but I hoped there would be a raunchy tale to tell. Something to fantasize about when I go to sleep at night. “I can only repeat what I know.” Teresa shrugged. “The girls weren’t harmed in any way; they came back with the same excuses. That the men were searching for the ideal woman, but they never found the right one,” she finished. “Personally, I think that most of them went looking for trouble. Most seemed disheartened when they came back unfulfilled.” She scrunched her face in revulsion. Chloe giggled and even Teresa relaxed and saw the funny side. The scientist in me was rolling my eyes, calling this out for the bullshit that it was, but after the night I had, something Teresa had just said resonated with me. Like an itch I just had to scratch or else it would bug me. “I thought I heard wolves howling outside the guest house last night,” I told them. Chloe frowned. “Kids love to pull prank
All was quiet in the guesthouse as I returned. I wondered if any other guests had checked in since my arrival. There wasn’t any sign of Chloe and the children. They must have gone into their living quarters to relax. I returned to my room, noticing the maids had made the bed, and left clean towels on the comforter.They hadn’t touched my recording equipment. It was stacked in the corner of the room where Peter said it was. A large brown envelope caught my eye. Someone had propped it up on my pillow. It looked important. I emptied the contents onto the crisp white sheets, finding the keys to the car, Peter’s email address on a piece of folded notepaper, and the log-in information I needed. As if the universe thought I needed a break, my phone rang. It was my mother. I swiped my finger across the touchscreen to answer the call. “Hi, Mum. How are things at home?”“Great,” Mum replied. “I’m just checking in with you to see how you’re settling in.”“Everything’s fine. I went into Lakewell
I bucked and thrashed to break free of my kidnapper’s iron grip, but it was useless. Whoever he was, his strength exceeded my own and all I could do was scream bloody murder as he dragged me deep into the forest. No one would know where I was. I dropped my backpack on the lawn. My camera was still dangling from the cord around my neck, weighing me down and biting into my nape. My terrified screams turned to desperate sobs. At one point, a hand pressed down so hard over my mouth that I thought I might pass out. I could scarcely see a thing as he pulled me through the thicket. All I could hear was ragged breathing and the sound of heavy footsteps beating on the ground — until the bickering started.“What part of ‘let me handle it’ did not sink into your thick skull?” an angry voice roared. “Can we not discuss this now? I'm kind of busy here, in case you haven’t noticed,” the guy holding me answered him.“Go easy on her, she still needs to breathe,” a raspy voice snapped.There are thr
He turned me around and pulled me to the couch, the soles of my sneakers squeaking against the varnished floor. The men darted back from the adjoining room wearing shorts and nothing else. One guy flung a pair through the air and my captor caught it with one hand, then whirled me into the arms of a blond guy. He wasn’t as rough, but he showed no signs of letting me go, pulling me back on the couch and onto his lap. The guy who dragged me from the door put on his shorts and then went to join the others. They huddled together and muttered between them, “Why don’t you say something? You’re the eldest.” Two of them shoved the nominee forward — a strapping guy with dark hair, a cropped beard, and silvery grey eyes. He seemed like such a bad-tempered bastard, turning to snap at them like a rabid dog. But then he dragged his gaze to me and held it there as if he was contemplating what to say. “I’m Alex Bennett,” he introduced himself; his tone remained firm. “On behalf of me and my brothe
They wanted to wait until Alex came back from the kitchen, which was fair enough. This concerned him too. He carried a red mug by the handle, treading carefully so as not to spill a drop onto the floor.So, he’s houseproud — noted. I could tell a lot from someone by their actions. The way they respected their living space and the people around them.“Here, I hope I’ve made it right,” Alex handed me a mug of steaming hot tea then put a coaster onto the coffee table in front of me.I took in every detail, making a mental note of their behavior patterns. It would help me to figure out what made them tick. After inspecting the tea, I risked a sip. It wasn’t too milky, and it wasn’t too strong . . . it won my seal of approval. We were off to an impressive start.Alex watched me, cringing to see whether the drink was to my liking. He wanted to impress me, but why would he care? Kidnappers were supposed to be wretched, horrid, despicable human beings with agendas. They don’t offer their hos
“Isobelle, stop!” Alex’s commanding voice sent a jolt through my heart.My startled scream rang through my ears before a rough hand covered my mouth.“You’re bleeding,” Lucas’s raspy voice accompanied a hot gust against my ear.He was behind me. Alex was in front of me. My fingers attempted to peel away Lucas’s grip as I wrestled against him. Then two wet snouts nudged against my elbows, causing me to whimper helplessly.“Are you trying to get yourself killed?” Alex berated. “The forest isn’t safe during the day, let alone at night.”“Hey!” Lucas barked back, “Lay off her. Can’t you see that she’s scared?”Lucas curled his arm around my waist, pulling me against him. The heat from his skin seeped through the thin cotton of my nightdress, permeating through to my heart. Warmth. Protection. Safety. Those feelings surfaced, instilling somewhere within my inner core, enabling me to relax. There was no way they would let me get ripped apart by wolves. Alex stepped forward and brought his h