Death Daydreams Read online

  Death Daydreams

  Copyright © 2018 Amanda Ward

  All rights reserve.

  ISBN: 9781791717384

  No parts of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the copyright owner.

  This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, resold, hired out, or otherwise circulated without the publisher’s prior consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser. Under no circumstances may any part of this book be photocopied for resale.

  This is a work of fiction. Any similarity between the characters and situations within its pages and places or persons, living or dead, is unintentional and coincidental.

  Kidnapped by a serial killer, Rowena smiles.

  Rowena is tired.

  Tired of taking care of her mentally fragile mother.

  Exhausted by battling against her fantasies of killing others.

  Rowena is ready for it all to end.

  On a typical errand to the pharmacy, an encounter with a handsome stranger ends with her drugged and shoved into the trunk of his car. It seems like the answer to her dreams; a swift death to avoid following through on her own dark desires.

  But some things are worse than death, and there are other victims held captive with her. If Rowena releases the killer within, will she save them all? Or will she prove to be the monster that she’s always feared?

  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  About the Author

  For Greyson. Thank you for being my everything – friend, family, and husband. I trust you to never tell where the bodies were buried.

  Chapter 1

  I daydreamed about death again. It didn’t matter how mundane the situation, I always managed to imagine a way in which I could die. The yearning filled my soul as if it could taste the sought-after oblivion.

  There was nothing special about the circumstances. I had dropped my keys while crossing the median in the grocery store parking lot. A path was etched in the bushes, where countless others had passed before me, too lazy to walk around. It was hot as hell, the steam off the pavement drifting hazily to blur my vision as the car approached, going too fast for a parking lot.

  Just a slight shift and I would be in front of the car. I could almost picture the impact, the thud and crunch of bones breaking. With my head angled just right, it might crack too. If the woman behind the wheel was flustered enough, maybe she wouldn’t stop and something vital would be crushed under her tires.

  Or you can startle her enough to swerve into that pole. She deserves it, driving like that in a parking lot. The inner voice was mine but not mine, somehow huskier, almost humming in anticipation. She was always there, with a big enough presence to earn a name. I called her Wynn.

  I squinted past the reflected sunlight on the windshield to the girl inside. She didn’t look much older than me, likely early twenties. Her face creased in concentration, she tapped a hand impatiently on the wheel. I let out a shuddering breath, my fingers digging into the rough surface below them. The car shot past.

  It would have been more likely to maim than kill anyway, Wynn admitted. There’s always the highway. That would be more promising. The sound of cars in the distance didn’t sound distant enough.

  I snatched the pharmacy bag up with the keys. I could almost hear the whine of my mother’s voice from her earlier pleading.

  “I hurt, Rowena. Be a doll and run up for my pills, will you?” She had rolled over on the grungy couch until her back faced me. The frayed ends of the afghan seemed to wave me off. “Please, Rowena. I feel so bad. Only the pills help.”

  My hand gripped the paper bag tightly, a small shake clattering the capsules together. Maybe she would take them and have a couple of normal days. I didn’t feel much hope in the thought.

  The scar on my thumb, darker than the skin around it, drew my attention. I traced it lightly with the keys, a calmness filling me.

  A grunt and curse had me focusing on the parking lot again. A few cars ahead, a man struggled with his groceries. He groaned as another bag fell from his grip, the cans inside rolling both underneath the back fender of his car and past the buggy, ready to be squished by the passing cars.

  The reason for his struggle was obvious. A thick, white cast enveloped his leg, starting just below his knee and completely encasing his foot. He hopped on his good one, a crutch digging into his armpit, trying to reclaim his balance.

  It would be so, so easy.

  He rubbed his free hand through his clean-cut brown hair. Drops of sweat dripped down his neck, caught by the collar of his sky-blue polo shirt. He looked about as average as an average Joe could get. He nearly lost his crutch again as he started to crouch, wobbling to correct it.

  I jogged the few feet to his side, mainly to annoy that inner voice. “Here, I can help.” Easily transferring the other bag from the buggy to the trunk, I bent to collect the can that had rolled furthest away, stepping back afterward to watch a truck pass.

  “Thanks, you’re sweet.” The man’s voice was deeper than I expected, with a quality to it like chocolate, making me want to savor the sound.

  I rubbed a hand over the back of my neck where the hairs had risen. “I’m not sweet,” I muttered, crouching down to reach beneath the trunk for the other runaway item. It had the added benefit of letting me keep my face averted to hide my heated cheeks. “You really should just let the baggers help you. You don’t lose manly points when you have the excuse of a bum leg.”

  There was a short bark of laughter and I risked a glance up to see the corner of his lips crook into a half-smile. “Manly points?”

  “You know, the male pride that rears its ugly head.” I lifted the full plastic bag as I stood. “It’s a bother to other people. There won’t always be someone willing to help.”

  His smile eased into a more normal one, but his brown eyes became flat and dull, reflecting my own image. “No, there’s always someone.” A trace of boredom lingered in the words.

  “I guess you’re just lucky then.” I turned to place the bag in the trunk.

  “Must be,” he said, his voice closer than I expected.

  I felt a quick prick in my arm and a hard shove in my back. I lurched forward, my head banging into the side of the trunk even as my legs were pushed inside. The lid closed with a metal clunk and all light winked out.

  “Too simple again,” the man said, and I heard two taps, as if he had patted the trunk. “It’s never a challenge anymore. They all deserve death.”

  My mind went blank, even my separate inner voice silent. The edge of a can pressed into my arm but a strange numbness spread, easing the ache.

  The man was going to kill me.

  The car rumbled to life, beginning to move. Alone in the trunk, I smiled.

  Chapter 2

  Whatever drug the man had given me put my body into a state somewhere between waking and sleeping. The time that passed seemed both dreadfully long and also as quick as a blink.

  I opened and closed my fingers, tingles running through them. The cans pressing into my limbs drew my attention, the uncomfortable edges no longer lost to numbness. Every
bump from the uneven road caused the cans to roll and dig into a new part of me. I had the suspicion we were reaching the end of the road.

  A peace flowed through me at the thought that soon it would all fade.

  How can you be sure he’ll simply kill us? Wynn asked in disbelief. Maybe rape and torture are first on the agenda.

  Any urge to smile died with those words. Most of the deaths I contemplated weren’t pain free, but that was different from letting someone do as they liked to me. What if his plan for my death was still far off? What would he do in the meantime?

  We need a way to make him bleed.

  My heart raced in my chest, but I wasn’t sure if it was from the thought of what he may do to me, or the thought of what Wynn might convince me to do to him.

  I patted around, seeking anything I could wield. All that met my grasping fingers were the groceries I had placed in the trunk myself. I vaguely remembered that one of the cans I had picked up had a pull tab. Finding the bump on a lid in the dark, I lifted the tab, working it back and forth until it broke off, liquid from the open can dripping onto my face.

  I slid my finger through the tab, curling it against my palm, the sharp end indenting the skin. My free hand curled around another can, my nails scraping the edge of the label.

  It doesn’t have to be sharp to gouge at the eyes. Images of a bloody socket accompanied Wynn’s thought, droplets of blood coating his cheeks like tears.

  She was a part of myself, the part that just wanted to hurt someone, anyone. Normally I kept her buried, pushing her as far down as I could each time she resurfaced. Maybe the man would kill me and end the constant struggle.

  Fat chance. An image of the can smacking into his head replaced the other. The man crumpled to the ground in my mind, his eyes rolling up in his head. Then the can came down again and again, smashing until blood caked the dirt around him.

  I rolled my eyes in the dark, comforted by the knowledge that I didn’t have the strength to accomplish her scene.

  A girl can dream.

  I shook my head, trying to rid it of the husky chuckle that followed. Distracted, I tilted heavily onto one shoulder as the car down-shifted, finally coming to a stop.

  The engine cut off and a car door slammed. I could barely hear his footsteps on the gravel over my own panicked breathing. My hands tightened, aching from where the edges of metal pushed in. The trunk creaked as it opened. The setting sun’s light was blocked by his form leaning in toward me.

  I led with the arm that held the can, swinging it with all the momentum I could manage from my cramped position. It was halted mid-strike, the smack of our hands crashing together loud in the otherwise still yard.

  His lips curved up in a genuine smile, corresponding with a new spark in his eyes.

  I lashed out with my other hand, wanting to wipe the smirk off his face. The metal tab caught him just beneath his eye, creating a curved red line where it scraped along his cheek. I was pleased to see his mouth drop open in surprise.

  Not hesitating, I tried to push off of the trunk with my feet. I ended up falling out more than lunging, but my weight took him down, with me landing on top.

  My advantage didn’t last long. He curled his leg around mine, planting his foot on the ground and lifting his hips to flip us. My head hit the gravel as he caught my other hand, lifting them both above my head.

  “I actually prefer to be on top,” he said in that same simmering voice, a chuckle hiding in its depths.

  He forced the can out of my hand, switching his hold to grip both of mine together despite my struggles. He used his freed hand to loosen my fingers from the metal tab. Moving it between our faces, which were much too close, a single eyebrow went up. Blood rose beneath the gash on his cheek.

  “How creative.” His eyes seemed to shine as he slid the metal tab into the pocket of his polo.

  I tried to arch my back, but he didn’t budge. “Why don’t you just kill me and get it over with?” A lilting edge seeped into my voice that I wasn’t proud of.

  He searched my face. “You actually sound hopeful that I will.”

  I stared back at him, my heart thudding slow and loud in my chest. I felt like if I looked away, somehow he would win.

  “What’s going on over here?” Another male voice called out, drawing my attention. The approaching figure had shortish black hair, messy from where his hands ran through it even in that moment. He was wearing jeans and a t-shirt from some sort of 5K for a cause. “What are you doing to this girl?”

  “Help me–” I started, but the smile he aimed at me, upside down from my position, was full of teeth. The sharp granite of his eyes was not of an innocent bystander.

  The newcomer continued to speak to the man holding me down. “It’s not like you to play with any of the girls, Reeve.”

  “True.” Reeve shook his hair off of his face but maintained his grip on me.

  “Wow, she even left a mark,” the other man said with a laugh. “You’re losing your touch.” He knelt next to my head. “Or is this one special in some way? Who is she?”

  Reeve tightened his hands around my wrists. “Your name?”

  I swallowed but refused to cower. “Rowena,” I spit at him.

  “Rowena,” he repeated, rolling it around as if savoring the texture.

  The other man stroked his finger down my cheek, a shudder trailing behind his touch. “Well, Ro-Ro, I’m Gavin, and I’ll be taking care of you for a little while.” His other hand nipped at my side where my shirt had ridden up in the struggle. I felt a prick near my hip. Gavin turned his gray eyes on his companion. “I want her in my room right away. Might as well break her in.”

  Something flickered in Reeve’s eyes before he released my hands. Possibly amusement since I think he had an inkling of what I was going to do. When his weight lifted off of me, I almost instantly rolled into Gavin, swinging my elbow into his side as hard as I could. He toppled over from his crouched position and I scrambled to get my limbs under me. My arms cooperated, but my legs did not, tingles the only feeling that kept them from being completely numb. I dragged myself a foot or two across the ground with my hands.

  A soft chuckle sounded from near the trunk. I clawed forward a few more inches, panting as my arms started to tingle. Then Reeve was back, tying some sort of rope around my hands and feet as the tingles shifted to numbness. He stepped away to nudge Gavin.

  “Come on, you’ll have to help carry her now that she’s limp baggage.”

  With them outside of my view I finally took stock of my surroundings. The house itself was a multi-story colonial, with stairs leading up to a wrap around porch. It looked like an abandoned farmhouse, with the shutters hanging off and the porch swing lying on its side. A murky paint color flaked off, the original color unknown. The overgrown yard crept up to the house and went beyond for as far as the eye could see. There wasn’t another house in sight.

  A balcony extended from the upper floor. Above it, sticking out of the roof like horns, were dormer windows. Appearing in all the windows were lace curtains, but even from my distance they were more yellowed than white, with splotches of darker mildew.

  The two men lifted me in their arms, carrying me toward the house. The windows stared at my progress, unblinking. As we drew closer, I saw that behind the glass and curtains was brick.

  Gavin dropped my feet when we reached the front door. My calves clunked against the top stair in a way that I knew I would feel later, but in that moment it barely registered through the numbness that had taken over.

  Multiple clicks sounded as he turned the locks, filtering through separate keys for each. There was only one reason I could think of to need so many separate locks, and it wasn’t to keep people out of a house in the middle of nowhere.

  Those bastards. The anger in Wynn’s words was bluster, trying to mask the shiver of fear. How many girls went through these doors never to come out alive?

  I tried to jerk my arm fr
ee, but it only resulted in the faintest of tugs. I felt a squeeze on that arm, a subtle pressure from Reeve to acknowledge my effort.

  Gavin lifted my feet again, and they carried me inside.

  “Don’t drop her,” Reeve warned, and the two locked eyes over my lifted form.

  Gavin lowered my legs gently and turned back to the door. When it swung shut, all possible rays from the sun were cut off. He worked on the locks, throwing the deadbolts again with various keys.

  Fluorescent lights flickered in the ceiling above. Specks of dust danced in the air, making the hallway appear hazy. Barely any furniture cluttered the space I could see. Only a lone secretary existed, positioned against the wall with double doors.

  Gavin plucked my feet up, and we headed for a room further in. We passed the double doors, an empty, carved up kitchen, and reached stairs leading up. Two more closed doors barely registered before we reached what was apparently Gavin’s playground.

  “Just leave her here, I’ll get her prepped.” Gavin turned to a curtain hung in the middle of the room.

  Reeve brushed the hair out of my face, his fingers pressing the tendrils back into my ponytail as they lingered. “Goodbye, Rowena,” he whispered, and then he drifted out of sight.

  The curtain was ripped away, revealing a metal cot, vaguely shaped like a person with stirrups for the legs and a rounded platform for the head. And straps, there were plenty of straps.

  We’re going to kill them.

  I ignored Wynn’s empty threat, trying to force my arms or legs to move. A slight tremor was all I could manage.

  Gavin stepped closer, his pleasant smile back in place. “Now, let’s get started.”

  Chapter 3

  He was slow about removing my clothes. His fingers encircled my ankles in a caress as he untied my shoes. Each motion was deliberate and drawn out, the lifting of hems, the undoing of buttons. His hands brushed against me again and again. Numbness turned into a chilled panic that gripped me, unlikely to let go.