Wes leaves you there all night. It's impossible to sleep: the combination of your uncomfortable position, the occasional sounds of the woman in the stall next to you crying, and the impenetrable gloom of the place combine to keep you at your wits' end.

You try to converse with your fellow captive, but she does not respond to you at all. It seems like she's beyond reason.

Morning breaks. You're stiff; your shoulders ache, your knees ache, your head aches. You roll your shoulders, trying to stretch your muscles, but this has the effect of reminding you of the gruesome gift Wes left you: the noose of nylon rope, which still hangs at your neck, a macabre adornment.

You're almost grateful for the lingering nausea, because if you felt like yourself, your stomach would be snarling with hunger; the last thing you had to eat was a granola bar at the office yesterday morning. You didn't even stop for lunch.

The sound of a car door sends a shock of fear through you. You're instantly alert. The rattling of the chain on the outside of the barn door comes to you, and there's a rustle of wings: a pair of pigeons taking flight in fear.

If only you had wings.

The barn doors creak open. For one insane moment of blind hope, you're certain it's the police or some good Samaritan coming to investigate, coming to save you, but by the sound of his footsteps, you know it's Wes.

No. No. No.

"Afternoon, ladies," he calls cheerfully. "Brought you somethin' to eat, if you've been good."

Just the thought of food makes you want to vomit. You've never felt so sick in your life. The thought of food offered to you by Wes is even worse.

He comes into view, lifting a brown paper bag that smells of fast food, and your stomach roils.

"Hungry?" he asks. He leans against the gate of your stall.

You shake your head.

"Huh." He opens the bag and and peers in, then reaches in and picks out a fry. Popping it into his mouth, he shrugs. "Suit yourself."

He moves away. Once he has taken a few steps, you can no longer see him from your low vantage point. "What about you?"

There's a soft sound. Maybe it's a human voice. Maybe not.

A creak. More footsteps. You think he is going into the other prisoner's cell, kneeling down next to her. Perversely, you wish you could see; these things happening outside of your range of vision is frightening. If you could only see him, you might get insight into who he is, why he's doing this.

The crinkling of the brown paper bag comes to you. More low voices.

Time passes. You can't be certain how much, but you're pretty certain the muted sounds are of a person eating, and you wonder if she's still tied up, if Wes is feeding her like he offered you water to drink before. When the woman speaks again, her voice is clearer, but hollow, as if there's no person behind the words.

"Thank you, Wes." A pause. "Please...please...will you please let me go now?"

The sharp sound that rings through the barn can be nothing other than a strong man striking a woman. Her cry pierces you like a knife, and the sound of her muffled crying brings tears to your own eyes.

Wes does not even respond to her—not that you can hear. His booted footsteps move across the floor, and you hear a creaking sound that you think must be another gate closing. He comes back into your line of sight, looking pensive.

You don't call out to him. You lower your head and remain silent.

***

Another night passes, and on the second day in Wes's barn of horrors, you wake not only sore and stiff, but hungry. The lingering effects of the drugs he gave you still make you feel unwell, but now hunger heightens your discomfort.

The creak of the barn door is like a knife through the heart. You sit upright, alert in your terror, and strain for a sight of Wes.

There's silence for a moment, and you entertain the insane notion that it might be someone other than Wes, some hapless passerby who has chanced upon your prison and has come to set you free...

...but then comes the sound of booted footsteps walking toward you across the empty barn.

You see Wes's face in profile when he comes by the stall, but he does not even look at you. As quickly as he comes into view he passes back out of your line of vision, moving with a purpose.

You hear your fellow prisoner's voice. "Wes?"

There's a shuffling sound, then a thin gasp and a sob. "Wes? Wes!"

You clench your eyes shut tight, lowering your head, as the sounds of a struggle issue from the stall next to yours. The woman's crying is quickly overtaken by a horrible choking sound.

"Stop!" you scream, unable to help yourself. "Stop it! Leave her alone!"

No answer comes, and the horrible scene plays out where you cannot see but can only hear it, and as the torturous seconds pass, you become more and more certain that Wes is choking the life out of the nameless woman as you crouch here, tied up, unable to do anything to help her.

The silence, when it falls at last, is deafening. Tears are streaking down your cheeks, but now that you're certain your companion is gone, you can't bring yourself to break that silence, afraid of turning Wes's ire on you.

You're certain your time is coming.

A shuffle. A creak. And then, you hear the sound of what can only be a heavy object dragging slowly across the floor, pulled by a large man. You want to close your eyes, but you cannot help but watch through the slatted gate as Wes edges into view...and then the legs...the hips...the torso...and the face of a woman you realize you know all too well.

It's Ivy.

Wes is dragging her toward the door of the bar. In just a few seconds, she's out of your sight again, and you can do nothing but stare through the gap in the gate where you last saw her face, twisted into a horrible rictus of death.

It feels like an eternity later when you hear the sound of a car's trunk slamming closed, and then the slow, chilling creak of the barn door closing again and the rattle of a chain outside.

Another slam: the car door. The engine turns over. Tires crunch on gravel.

You're alone...and he doesn't return.

Some things in this game of life are out of our control, Kendall. It's devastating, but it's true.

This is one of those moments. Everything you have done thus far to shape your path has brought you to to this crossroads, and now, trapped in this barn, alone, you have no choices...no control.

Chance will decide. Pray that fortune favors you and select one of the following paths:

[[Go to Chapter 82.]]

[[Go to Chapter 83.]]