He had taken her wristwatch, for obvious reasons, though he had left the sapphire ring and earrings. She’d gladly trade the three-thousand-dollar ring for her Timex. She hated not knowing the time. Did she know what day it was? Could it still be Wednesday? No. She remembered it being dark when she was in the car. Yes, there had been oncoming headlights. Which meant she had slept most of Thursday. Suddenly it occurred to her that she really had no idea how long she had been unconscious. It may have been days.

Her breathing became labored again as the fear crawled through her insides. Calm. She needed to stay calm. She needed to figure out what to do for the night. She would take this moment by moment. Despite the instinct to continue running, it was more important that she find someplace to wait out the night. Now she wondered if she should have stayed in the shack. Had she really accomplished anything by leaving it? At least it had been dry, and that lumpy cot now sounded wonderful. Instead, she had no idea where she was. It certainly didn’t feel as if she had gotten any closer to escaping this endless wooded prison, though she must have covered several miles.

She crouched down, her back pressed against the rough bark. Her legs begged to sit, but she needed to stay alert and ready to run. Black crows screeched down at her. They startled her, but she remained still and quiet, too tired, too weak to move out of their way. The crows were settling in the treetops for the night. Hundreds of them flapped overhead, coming from all directions, their rude caws a warning as they claimed their evening roost.

Suddenly it occurred to Tess that these birds wouldn’t settle here if they didn’t perceive it to be somewhat safe. And if there was danger sometime during the night, they would probably react better than an alarm system.

Her eyes began searching the area for a safe resting place. There were plenty of fallen leaves and pine needles, bits and pieces left over from last fall. However, everything was damp from the rain and fog. She shivered just thinking about lying on the cold ground.

The crows’ squawks continued. She looked up and began examining branches. She hadn’t climbed a tree since she was a kid. Back then it had been a survival tactic, one more way to hide from her aunt and uncle. Her aching muscles reminded her how foolish the thought of climbing anything was right now. Foolish or not, it would be the safest place to be. He’d never look for her up above, not to mention other nightly predators. Dear God, she hadn’t even thought of other animals.

The tree beside her had a perfect Y to accommodate her. Immediately, she pushed herself into action and began dragging logs and branches. She stacked them, crisscrossing the larger ones to construct a crude stepladder. If she could reach the lower branches, she might be able to swing her feet up into the Y.

She tried to ignore her fatigue, tried to pretend her feet weren’t already cut and stinging. With every load of branches or lift of a log, her muscles screamed out for her to stop. But she could feel a new surge of energy. Her heart pounded in her ears, only this time with excitement.

Overhead the crows had gone silent, as if watching and interested in her frantic work. Or did they hear something else? She stopped. Her arms were full. Her breathing rasped. She couldn’t hear over the pounding of her heart. She held her breath as best she could and listened. It was as if the entire woods had gone silent, as if the impending dark had swallowed every sound, every movement.

Then she heard it.

At first it sounded like a wounded animal, a muffled cry, a high-pitched hum. Tess turned slowly, her eyes squinting against the fog and into the dark. A sudden breeze created night shadows. Swaying branches became waving arms. Rustling leaves sounded like footsteps.

Tess unloaded her arms while her eyes continued to dart around her. Could she get into the tree without building her makeshift ladder? Her fingers clawed into the bark. Her feet tested the pile’s strength and structure. She pulled herself up and grabbed onto the closest branch. It creaked under her weight, but didn’t break. Her fingers clung to the branch despite loose bark falling into her eyes. She was ready to swing her feet up into the Y when the muffled cry transformed into words.

“Help me. Please, help me.”

The words, drifting with the breeze, were crisp and clear. Tess froze. She hung from the branch, her toes barely reaching the pile. Maybe she was hearing things. Maybe it was simply exhaustion playing tricks on her.

Her arms ached. Her fingers felt numb. If she was going to make it up into the tree, she needed to use this last surge of energy.

The words came again, floating over her as if a part of the fog.

“Please, someone help me.”

It was a woman’s voice, and it was close by.

Tess dropped to the ground. By now she could see only a foot or two into the thickening darkness. She walked slowly, following the path, silently counting her steps with arms stretched out in front of her. Twigs grabbed at her hair and unseen branches reached for her. She moved in the direction of the voice, still afraid to call, afraid to give away her presence. She stepped carefully, continuing her count so she could turn around and hopefully find her tree sanctuary.

Twenty-two, twenty-three. Then suddenly the ground opened beneath her. Tess fell and the earth swallowed her.

CHAPTER 44

Tess lay at the bottom of the pit. Her head roared. Her side burned as if on fire. Her breathing came in gasps and quick bursts as the terror swept through her veins. Mud oozed up around her, sucking at her arms and legs like quicksand. Her right ankle twisted under her. Even without attempting to move it, she knew she would have trouble doing so.

The smell of mud and decay gagged her. The black dark squeezed around her. She couldn’t see in any direction. Above her she could barely make out a few shadows of branches, but the fog and the night had already begun devouring the twilight. What shadows she could see were only enough to reveal how deep her earthly tomb was. It had to be at least fifteen feet to the top. Dear God, she’d never be able to climb out.

She struggled to stand, falling when the ankle refused to hold her up. A fresh wave of panic sent her to her feet again. This time she clawed and scratched at the dirt to hold herself up. She ripped at the wall with fingers digging and searching for a ledge that didn’t exist. Chunks of damp earth came off in her hands. She could feel the worms slithering through her fingers. She flung them off. They reminded her of snakes. And dear God, how she hated snakes. The thought alone unleashed a new terror.

Suddenly her bare feet and hands slashed and pounded, climbed and slid. The wind tunnel in her head continued to roar. Her heart slammed against her rib cage. She couldn’t breathe. That’s when she realized she was screaming. It wasn’t the sound that alarmed her as much as her raw throat and her aching lungs. When she stopped, the screaming continued. Surely she was losing her mind. The scream transformed into a whine, then a low moan that emanated from the black corner of the hole.

A shiver slid down Tess’s mud and sweat-drenched back. She remembered the voice. The voice that had led her to this hellhole. Had it all been a trap?

“Who are you?” she whispered into the dark.

The moans became muffled sobs.

Tess waited. She slid along the wall, ignoring her throbbing ankle and refusing to sit back down. She needed to be alert. She needed to be ready. She glanced up, expecting her captor to be smiling down at her. Instead, there was a flicker of light she recognized as lightning. A low rumble in the distance confirmed it.