Her Terrifying Love

Part 87

Lyla looked out the back window. "Think we're good. I don't see that cop anywhere."

"I'm gonna be a total paranoid wreck until we get him out of my trunk," he replied.

In the dim light, she could see the toll the expedition had taken on Jack. His handsome face was bruised and swollen. His knuckles were raw, his palms lacerated, and his arms lined with scrapes and scratches.

"Hey, so anyway..." she said.

He didn't respond.

"Thanks for everything you've done for me. If it hadn't been for you, it would have probably been me that was left in the woods."

He kept his eyes on the road.

She continued, "So thanks. And I'm sorry."

"You don't need to apologize," he replied.

"I mean I pretty much ruined your life. If you'd never met me--"

"Please, Lyla. Just stop."

"Okay," she sighed.

Not only did he refuse to talk, but he wouldn't even make eye contact. 

She busied herself by scraping peeling nail polish from her ragged fingernails. Lyla couldn't draw upon her experience with guys to fully understand his silence. Before her disastrous relationship with Keenan, she'd only been out with a couple of other young men, teenage boys, actually. A half dozen dates and a few makeout sessions were the sum total of her guy experiences. But, according to Darcy and Richie, guys often shut down. It wasn't unusual. And the best advice in those situations seemed to be "don't push." It would only make things worse. So she rode in silence. 

For the next few miles, the only sounds were the car's tires against the blacktop road. She wasn't certain if she was imagining an occasional dull thumping sound coming from the trunk. She glanced at Jack. He had no reaction. 

She heard it again, this time a little louder. 

"Did you hear that?" she asked.

"What?"

Another THUMP, louder still. 

"That," she said, her pulse quickening. "Sounds like it's coming from the trunk."

"You got service yet?" he asked.

She checked her phone. "We have about four miles 'til the intersection."

There's no way he didn't hear the muffled clanging of metal from the trunk. It sounded like Keenan was pushing the tools aside. She looked toward the rear of the car. The THUMPING sounds coincided with the rattling of the back seat. 

Ba-BANG! They heard the sound of metal striking the trunk lid.

Jack slowed the car and steered to the side of the road.

"What are you doing?!" 

BANG-BANG! The trunk lid nearly popped open.

He reached for the door handle.

"Don't!" she cried. "Keep going!"

Her ringtone blared, causing both of them to jump. She checked the message, then covered her mouth in horror.

Keenan: Your mine Kitten Always will be

Another text: This ain't over

"Drive, Jack. Please drive," she pleaded.

Now a message hit Jack's phone: You don't want to take this any further dude trust me 

He went pale. "That's what I said to him the night of the party."

She clamped her eyes shut, the noise of the tools banging in the trunk now almost deafening. 

Jack shouted over his shoulder toward the rear of the car, "Go to hell!" He pounded the steering wheel. "Go to hell!"

He drove back onto the road and accelerated. The unbearable racket of tools clattering continued from the trunk. Lyla covered her ears. It seemed to her as though they drove forever.

"You sure we didn't pass it?" Jack said, his voice strained from desperation.

THUMP! THUMP!

She noticed the orange cones just ahead. 

"We're almost there," she said. "Slow down. The road's caved in up here."

He steered cautiously around the cones.

THUMP! THUMP! THUMP! The tools clanged and rattled.

"Stop it!" she shouted at Keenan.

A few miles down the road, Siri calmly spoke, "In five hundred feet turn left."

Jack squinted. "I don't see anything. Where's the turn?"

THUMP! THUMP! THUMP! THUMP! from the trunk.

"Turn left," said Siri.

Lyla pointed. "There it is."

"Right here? How's that even a road?"

"Drive super slow." Her wide eyes remained on the back seat.

He turned the wheel and started the car up the rocky trail. With every bounce, he decreased the speed until they were barely moving.

The racket in the trunk subsided then stopped.

"He knows," Lyla whispered.

"He knows what?"

"He knows that he's going home."