It’s week four of the LHNB thread hop, and this week it’s all about
time-machines: where would your characters go, and who would they see if
they could. Hmmmm, I think I know the answer to this one. Note: poor William's still tied to the bed.
********
Jack:
Right, Will, [knocks on the bedroom door again] in between getting the
kids off to school, I had time to build a time machine.
Will: Really?
Jack:
[Chuckles] Nah, just kidding. But as the author, I can whisk you off to
any period in time you want to be, or if there’s someone you’d like to
meet. So, what’s your pleasure, Will?
Will: [Stays quiet]
Jack: Oh... sorry. [winces] Stupid question; anything other than
that time, okay?
Will: [sighs uneasily] Okay, I’d like to go back to my run a few days ago.
Jack: I can understand that; you like your freedom. And old grumbas in there doesn’t give you much privacy, does he?
Will: Grumbas?
Jack: Cross between grump and a bast—
Kidnapper: Do you want me to gag you as well, Jack?
Jack: Humph. No. Oh, [waves] hi there.
Kidnapper: Bye there.
Jack. Smartass. Will, your run? You’d like to go back to the forest?
Will: Hell yes, please.
Jack:
Okay. Let’s see what we can do.... [scribbles with pen] Hah. Here we
are. You’re on your morning run. See? [looks at Will still standing
there with a blindfold on next to her in the forest] oh, you can’t see.
Sorry. Let me take that off for you. There we go.
Will: You could have given me some clothes too, y’know.
Jack: Yeah, well. [Says very quickly] Oh look, here’s the point in history you wanted:
*******
Extract:
A
few hours into Will’s run, the halfway point came up close to lunch,
and Will let himself rest against a huge stone as he took another sip of
water. Off to the left, the old, disused mill with its rustic wheel had
been given an island all to itself, or at least a decent river that ran
almost like a moat around it. A small waterfall nudged at the
millwheel, trying to give it some life, but the wheel only whimpered a
protest that barely carried on the breeze. Air and water would only move
it so far before the wheel gave up, creaking back into its slow
drowning. Will and the mill had stared at each other a few times over
the years, sometimes leaving Will with a slight chill, that feeling of
not being as far away from life as he’d like. The blackness of the
windows glistened like a widow refusing to let her grief fall, mouth
quivering against the loss of life, of love, of history. He’d hated this
place as a kid, and now it just reflected how tired he felt. Like the
millwheel, life seemed to want to push him around despite his will to
just fade into the background.
Flicking the lid back on his water
bottle and then clipping it to his jogging bottoms, Will pushed away
from the stone, then from the mill. A few blackbirds flew from the
trees, crying disgust at his interruption, and Will nodded an apology.
“Sorry, lads. Your turf, right? Not mine so—humph.”
Will hit the
forest floor, tasting nothing but dirt and grunting away the leaves from
his face. A curved root jutted from the ground, and it sat there
grinning a little too proudly with Will’s running shoe jammed there in
its mouth. Will sat up and grabbed at his shoe. Wincing at the ache in
his ankle, he rubbed at his foot first, not liking how the deep throb
called cut to his running day. “Just like you to fall and have no one
around to fall for, Will,” he mumbled. Managing to wiggle his running
shoe back on, Will sighed and pushed up off the forest floor.
Barely
even managing to straighten to his feet, Will grunted as an arm slipped
around his waist, forcing him to hit the floor again, this time his
shoulder and hip taking the brunt of the ground as he landed on his
side. Legs came around his, holding him still, just as arms crushed a
bear hug around his ribcage. Will cried out, and a crunch of twig was
heard above his head just before a blindfold was roughly pulled into
place, turning Will’s world black. The man crushing his ribs, he came
with a friend, and one who was content enough to kick at Will’s shoulder
and force him face-first into the roughage. Will’s arms were wrestled
behind his back, tied, then as dirt-filled fingers dug into the side of
his mouth, Wills lips and jaw were forced open and a gag pinched into
the corners of his mouth. Will grunted, and a hard breath roughed his
ear as something sharp, cool, and very dangerous pressed against his
cheek.
“Keep real still, beauty, and real quiet.” The knife
twisted slightly, now scratching a path down Will’s jaw, to trace the
curve of his throat. “Or struggle,” whispered a voice. “But I guarantee
you won’t like me by morning if you do.”
Will stilled, his hard breathing the only stress-release point he allowed himself.
“Oh, I like you like that.”
