The Gardens of Digby Green: In the Dark
She kicked at him, but he swept her other foot from under her and slammed her to the floor. His knee came down on her back before he pulled her left hand from under her. Rose screamed despite the man’s weight compressing her ribcage.
Grunting, he bound her hand to the rack with a long plastic zip tie. When he groped beneath her for her other arm, she thrashed. He slammed her head against the truck bed.
“Shut up. You’re not going to talk to me like that.” He yanked her hand nearer to the rack and bound it, also.
His voice immediately cured her of what had been a romantic fascination with southern accents.
If she couldn’t stand up, she could kick the floor. Maybe someone would hear. Rose’s feet beat a tattoo as loud as a drum line.
Chuckling, he straddled her, and Rose’s sweat ran cold down her spine. More zip ties cut into her ankles, and secured them to one of the wire shelves on the rack. Still she flopped, and he laughed.
“Give it up. Ain’t gonna do you no good anyhow.”
From the corner of her eye, she saw him reach for a potted rose. He pulled off the garish pink foil wrapper and balled it. Though she clamped her jaws shut, his dirty fingers pinched her nostrils until she gasped. Along with what little air she got, came the gag, foul on her tongue.
Now, he held her jaw shut, and slapped duct tape over her lips and chin. More tape went around her head, pulling the hairs and making her scalp sting.
“I’m going to have the best afternoon in quite a while.” He kicked her hip on his way to the loading door.
She heard him shove the ramp in before the door came down, leaving her in the dark.
The Gardens of Digby Green is a short story in multiple parts which will post on Fridays until the story is complete.
Next week, part five, Garden Girls.
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