Breaking Curfew

The girls are cruising down a dark residential street, music blaring, rehashing party bullshit. Amanda tells her friend to kill the tunes and the headlights. "Parents are going to lock my ass out again." They pull up to the house. Amanda waves her friend off and the car takes off into the night. She heads for the back door and finds it bolted. Front door has the note: Mandy, this is what you get. The key's gone from under the mat too. Phone's dead. No choice but to walk. Halfway to the road the hairs on her neck stand up. Footsteps? She spins around. Empty street. Then a hand yanks her shoulder. Everything goes black. Morning light bleeds through barn slats. Amanda's only wearing panties, her brain pounding. Next to her, another girl sits slumped, also half-naked, knees hugged to muddy tits. "Quiet," the girl hisses, clamping a palm over Amanda's mouth when she starts to scream. The hand comes off slow. "He'll hear you." Amanda whispers fast—where the fuck are they, what does he want? The girl’s name is Jaime, she's been here for days. "He talks about raping us but he chokes every time he tries. Gets all twitchy and runs away." They trade stories: same age, same neighborhood. Both snatched at night. Mid-sentence the barn door creaks. Jaime freezes. A clean-cut dude in his twenties stumbles in, eyes darting, chest heaving like he’s already lost control. He yanks Jaime up by the arm and shoves her to the center of the floor. "I’ve got plans for both of you now that sleepyhead’s awake," he announces, voice cracking. Amanda starts to snap back at him, but he spins and bolts outside at some sound they can’t hear.