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Printed from https://www.writing.com/main/view_item/item_id/763806-Tortured-Soul
Rated: GC · Draft · Thriller/Suspense · #763806
Rachel finds herself a victim of a brutal abductor.
This has recently been edited. It was inspired by a writing prompt. It is a scene from the character's life.

The blood trickled down slowly from the back of her head as Rachel drew her hand to see how bad the wound was. She sat shaking in the closet listening to the footsteps and smelling the strong cigarette smoke outside her prison. I’ve got to escape, she thought to herself. More flashes of confused thoughts tossed around her mind. The footsteps were getting closer to the door as she braced herself and drew closer to the wall. Her tiny cell couldn’t hide her from her captor. As the sound grew louder, she whispered a prayer, “Dear God,” her eyes closed tightly as her hands gripped the coat hanging above her, “please don’t let him hurt me again.”

The footsteps stopped... her eyes slowly opened ... her heart beat louder in her ears ..... With a gasp the door flew open and an enraged man grabbed hold of her long hair as she screamed, dragging her to the bedroom. Once he threw her on the bed he jumped on top of her muffling her screams with a pillow and pointing his .357 calibur pistol at her head.

Rachel stopped screaming. Click. . . click . With each one she jumped, but still nothing. As she lay there she knew there would be four more trigger pulls. Did he load a round in the chamber? She asked herself and then decided she had to do something before she would find out.

As he pulled the trigger again, he began laughing. “What’s the matter little girl? Afraid there might be a bullet in this gun?” He pushed the revolver into the pillow and she felt it brush against her forehead. She held her breath as her hand slowly felt the edge of the mattress. Rachel knew he had another gun loaded under the mattress. She had seen him put his 9 mil. under there the other day.

Click. Number four. She thought. Time was running out. Her fingers felt the bottom of the mattress and slipped underneath until she felt something rough. She knew it was the butt of the gun. She gripped it tightly. Click. Number five. She drew in her breath and her heart cried out to God for help. The monster pinning her down laughed somemore, louder this time as he said, “One more to go. Do you think it’s there? Let’s find out.”

Just then she pulled out the revolver and with the pillow still over her face, she began firing. She felt him fall back and threw the pillow off of her. Her vision was blurry and her head pounded as the bullets flew from the chamber of handgun spilling out on the bed. She didn’t know if she hit her attacker and how many rounds she just fired, but she knew she had to get out of there and at the moment he wasn’t moving. Without hesitation she ran through the mobile home, with the gun still in her hand, and threw open the door. The fresh cool air of the early evening hit her in the face like a rush of water. She took in a deep breath and didn’t stop moving. The trailer was far away by now as she looked behind her.

The sun was setting low and the sky darkening as the trees in the distance were cameod against it. Her thoughts were confused but her goal was clear. She desperately searched in the twilight for any signs of people. . . of vehicles. . .
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Printed from https://www.writing.com/main/view_item/item_id/763806-Tortured-Soul