The Dying Hour by Rick Mofina Read Free Book Online Page A

she was on her way to see her sister when her car broke down and someone came along offering to help her.” Luke paused. “She’s a beautiful trusting person who doesn’t preach, doesn’t judge anyone, sees only the good in people.”
    Then Luke stared at Jason with a question.
    “You tell me, how could she just vanish?”
    He didn’t have a quick answer, although he was familiar with the torment of losing someone. Sitting there in Luke’s apartment surrounded by walls plastered with poster art from old horror movies, Jason was transfixed. Karen’s picture in the newspaper bled into the unsettling images. Women’s faces frozen in wide-eyed terror as they tried to escape deranged men, demons, or malevolent forces on the brink of destroying them.

12
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    K aren Harding was sinking in a bottomless, black chasm.
    The darkness was overwhelming, tossing her between sleep and waking terror. Her mind swirled with wild uncontrollable emotions. She’d lost all sense of time, all sense of direction and perception. Why was this happening? It took prayer and every fiber of her being to stop her descent into the abyss.
    Slowly, with deep breaths, her thoughts became lucid.
    Turning to the crack of light, her thread of hope, Karen put her mind to work as she lay in the back of the RV listening to the engine’s hum and the tires against the pavement.
    This was what she knew. She was alive. She was not dreaming. She had been abducted by the reverend. And unless she fought back, this cell under the twin bed would become her coffin.
    The steady drone told her they were moving.
    On some road somewhere.
    Her pulse raced, struggling to keep a heartbeat ahead of fear, the way she’d seen the baby rabbit in a documentary fleeing for its life from a large wolf. Eyes wide, darting left, darting right, stumbling as the wolf pawed its legs, screaming as the hunter’s fangs tore at its fur, staining it with blood, until the rabbit disappeared into dense bramble.
    And lived.
    Karen would fight back.
    Her will to survive would be her ally. Still, she was calmed only slightly by her determination. She could not stop trembling. Could not slow the adrenaline coursing through her.
    The hot breath of fear was gaining on her.
    She swallowed hard and searched for strength. Searched for it in the memories of her mother and father. Marlene. Luke. She searched for it in the smallest victories.
    Like the gag in her mouth.
    By chewing and stretching the dampened cloth, she had worked it to the point where it had slackened enough for her to close her mouth. The relief for her aching jaw was immeasurable. She could breathe, swallow. Call for help. But if need be, she could open her mouth and let the gag slip back into place and bite down on it so it appeared secure.
    The binding around her wrists was more difficult.
    She used every conscious moment to work on it. At times she worked on it automatically, stretching with every degree of strength she could summon. She would beat this rope. By clenching her stomach muscles, and those in her arms, she was loosening the rope. Almost imperceptibly. But she could feel it. It was going to take time, but eventually she might, just might, be able to slip her hands free.
    She prayed.
    Prayed that someone would come for her. But how would they know where she was? She was kidnapped but had no idea by whom. A stranger? She had no idea where she was. What time it was. What day it was. She was thirsty. Hungry. The wolf was gaining on her. Tears stung her eyes and she sank deeper into the darkness. As if she were buried alive.
    Karen caught her breath.
    The mattress above her had creaked.
    The woman above her.
    She remembered seeing her arm. There was a person above her. Karen heard a muffled groan. Was the woman a prisoner like her? But the wrist hadn’t been bound.
    Maybe she was another wolf.
    Karen swallowed. Blinking as she thought. And thought. She could call out to her. No. Not now. Not while the RV was moving. The