Number Seventy-Five Read Free

legs, the ember-hot pain in my right knee was a sure sign the kneecap was either broken or dislodged. Lastly, the dull throb from my left ankle was difficult to determine, although it felt like it rested on top of a sharp rock.
    Panic clenched at my chest again when it became clear that I wasn’t going to be able to jump up and run for my freedom. I forced the bile down that bubbled inside me and strained all my senses to focus on my foreign surroundings. The heavy digging still continued from behind me. Yet other than the grunts of air from my captor, I heard nothing else. No traffic. No bugs. No sounds of civilization. Not a single blip to help me figure out my location.
    The small hairs on my exposed arms and face stood erect--a clear indicator that the temperature of the air was cold. This revelation added even more confusion to my situation. It was mid-May. I wanted to believe that the goose bumps were from the shock of injuries to my body, but the frosty air I inhaled told me a different story.
    Oh God, where in the hell was I?
    The smell that woke me up hit me again, the scent stronger being than before. I held a whimper of despair at bay when I recognized it…the stagnant, pungent aroma of decomposing flesh.
    I tried to use every trick I’d ever been taught to retain my composure, but my body betrayed me and began to tremble in fear. Realizing I might only have seconds before it was noticed that I was awake, I forced my left eye to open and peered out from behind my dirt-encrusted eyelashes.
    A faint glow of yellow didn’t illuminate much, but it was enough to grasp the enormity of things. Shallow mounds of raised earth, more than I could count, faced me, each neatly dug in straight rows, identical in size and shape to the other. A mangled body was laid out on top of the freshly extracted dirt closest to me, the blood a dark shade of burgundy, signaling coagulation had begun. Although nearly every inch of the clothes it seeped out upon was covered, I recognized the outfit and the blonde hair. The whimper I held back for so long escaped when my eye forced my brain to comprehend what it was looking at.
    Graves—with Jacob’s body next in line for burial and most likely, followed by mine.
    “Oh, you woke up. Sorry, Mandy. Guess Jacob didn’t clock you as hard as I thought. I’ll tell ya though, from my vantage point, it sure seemed like he did.”
    The sound of shoveling stopped, and I heard the crunch of the hardened earth under heavy soles as feet brought my faceless captor closer. The tears flowed faster when his dirt-covered boots stood in my direct line of vision and recognition of his voice hit home.
    My thoughts were a muddled mass of questions and each jockeyed for control. What the fuck was going on? When I recognized the deep, baritone voice of Samuel coming from behind me, a rush of elation raced through me, but that glorious sensation was short lived. Other, more ominous thoughts took center stage. How in the hell did he know Jacob’s name? Why was Jacob’s dead body in a bloody pile less than ten feet from me? Did Samuel kill him to save me? If so, why wasn’t he helping me? Where was I? Most importantly, w hy the hell was he digging?
    A yelp of anguish erupted out of me when his cold hand reached down and touched my face. His filthy fingers slowly wiped at my tears. I heard a crack from his knees when he bent down and brought his familiar face inches from my own, his breath hot as it warmed my icy cheek.
    “You weren’t supposed to wake up, doll baby. God, I didn’t want you to suffer, I really didn’t. I hoped you’d just sleep forever, without any more pain. Poor girl, you were just at the wrong place at the wrong time.”
    Samuel stared down at my crumpled body while his hand caressed my knotted hair, his blue eyes full of madness and sympathy.
    No longer did the fear of being noticed keep me still, so I gulped in a few pain-filled breaths of the frigid night air and spit out the grit and