Thwack! The back of his hand collided with her face. Her cheek stung at the point of impact, ears ringing from being rattled. She never saw it coming. Hands tried to move in their restraints, to cradle her face.
“How dare you ignore me!”
Not caring about the floors, she spit out the blood that had collected in her mouth. Her mother would have fainted at the sight. Told her how unladylike it was. She might as well be spitting tobacco.
“Why would I listen to the ravings of a lunatic? Spewing hate and homophobia. You know nothing about me to make such presumptions. More importantly, I don’t even know you. Nor do I owe you anything. You are just a coward that won’t even tell me your name. Yet you want me to listen to your nonsensical ramblings.”
She waited for it. For his temper to flare again. For the knuckles to connect with her face. Instead, she watched his back as he retreated. Walking, stomping, towards the back of the house. Guess I struck a nerve.
* * *
Here he was trying to help her. Liberate her from Jak’s control. As he lifted the vail from her eyes, allowing her to see through the manipulation. Yet she rejects him, time and again. You reject me? I am offering you everything. What does she have that I don’t? She is nothing more than a puppeteer behind a curtain. A demon orchestrating a ruse. I’ll show her. I’ll show them all. Samantha will be saved. She just doesn’t know any better. Yea. She is still enthralled. I will show her the way. Make her feel the righteousness. Awaken her soul with a cleansing only fire can provide.
He didn’t go far. Wanting to stay close by, incase Samantha needed him. The kitchen would act as his workspace until she could be trusted. Close enough to hear her movements, yet just out of reach. He had to work, concentrate. To conduct his next move with more precision. The planned rescue had went swimmingly. However, he had not thought out what to do with her after the snatch. Grabbing ropes from the firehouse had been a calculated risk. He hadn’t thought out bathroom trips or grocery shopping. It’s not like he could have food delivered.
This time he would contemplate every detail. Be meticulous and execute with faultlessness. Whistling to himself as a multitude of scenarios played out in his mind, strategies starting to take form. First thing was first, Dinner.
XXV
There was too much to lose. She couldn’t give up. Jak had searched everywhere. She felt as if she had even picked up the town to search beneath it, but he could have brought her anywhere. For all she knew, Sam might not even be in Washington anymore. Heck, they could have left the country. Who knew? She needed help.
The stone steps had a dusting of snow. Just enough to show the lack of foot traffic in the area. Only the prints from her own feet blemished the fallen flakes. It was only noon, but the day was eerily quiet. She felt foolish looking over her shoulder, paranoid. Snow always had a deafening effect. Yet, with Stewart on the loose, she didn’t know what to expect and was always on edge.
The only sound was that of the door squealing open, announcing her arrival to Washington Police Department. She didn’t know where else to go. Perhaps if she reported Sam missing, kidnapped or abducted, then something would turn up. There would be more people looking for her. More eyes has to equal more of a chance to get her back, right?
The lobby had an echo about it, the emptiness not lost on her. She waited for the officer to take the report. Pacing around the room; wondering, with each lap, how much longer it would be. What good is it if I have to sit here instead of searching for her? Having to remind herself that she had already searched everywhere she could think of, that is why she was there.
Finally! After waiting for an eternity, nearly thirty minutes, the officer graced her with his presence.
It took an hour to get the problem across to Officer Carbone. They were speaking in circles. Jak was sure he thought they had a spat and she took off. Even after explaining the phone calls, he kept asking idiotic questions. Are you sure she just doesn’t have a jealous boyfriend? Did you have a disagreement about anything? If she lives in Peoria why are you reporting it here? Why isn’t he asking more pertinent questions? Where does Stew live? Do you know if he has a criminal background? Do you know where he hangs out?
She didn’t know what the right question was in this situation but treating her like a jealous ex-girlfriend seemed counter-productive. She didn’t know where Sam had been taken from, but she worked in Washington and Stew lived here. Any harebrained half-wit could connect the dots. She couldn’t take it anymore.
“Why are you asking me all these dumb questions? We didn’t fight. I was picking her up for dinner. That psycho has Sam! Why won’t you help me?”
The officer didn’t frazzle at her outburst. He kept calm, collected and professional, she assumed it was a practiced response.
“Ma’am I am trying to…”
“Don’t you Ma’am me. Stop asking if I’m crazy or paranoid. She is gone. Missing. Possibly being tortured or killed. Why won’t you help her?”
The incessant buzz in her pocket stopped her from putting Officer Carbon Copy in his place. Jak almost ignored it, but what if it was Sam trying to get free.
“Do you want to say goodbye?” Came Stew’s voice.
She panicked. Her fingers trembling as she put the phone on speaker.
“Stew why are you doing this? Where is Sam? This isn’t a joke. You can’t just kidnap people and expect a happy ending.”
The officer looked at the phone. The caller ID on her screen telling him it was Sam’s number.
“You know why bitch! You can’t have her anymore. I won’t allow you to corrupt an angel. God will make you pay for what you’ve done. Your punishment will not be swift but last an eternity. Tortured by the demon that led you down this path.”
“Don’t hurt her! Think whatever you want about me, just don’t hurt her. If you’re mad at me, why take Sam?”
She could hear the laughing, a deep never-ending evil cackle. Followed by a slight snarl before he spoke again. As if he was ready to attack through the receiver.
“How dare you let Samantha’s name slither from your mouth. You can’t desecrate her divinity with your filth. I will see her return to the side of the divine soon enough. Besides, you should be less worried about her, you have other problems.”
“What? Where is she? You have to let her go.”
She heard a bang from the parking lot. Her eyes following the racket as the line went dead.
“What now?” the officer grumbled.
Black smoke and flames crossed the sky. Another burst, explosion, came from her truck. Trees lined the drive behind her vehicle. Wind whipped and pulled at the flame, lighting the trees with the living torch. What if she had been driving? How long had the device been on her car? She looked around, but there was no noise except the crackle caused by the embers. No footsteps, barring that of her own. No tread on the road but those of her own tires. The roar was deafening, erasing the quiet of the snow. Flames shot from her engine block. Black smoke billowing, caused by the oil. A monster devouring everything in its path. Life turning to ash with a single touch of its deadly fingertips.
“Do you believe me now?”
Fire trucks would not arrive until five minutes after dispatch. The inferno had spread along the tree line getting dangerously close to a house. Wind casting amber cinders towards building and brush. The officer had yet to do anything. His personal and patrol car parked in the rear parking lot, safe from the wreckage. He seemed frozen, in shock that something so treacherous could transpire in the police parking lot.
She no longer had bunker gear, yet couldn’t stop her natural instincts from pushing her forward. Dialing dispatch as she ran towards the residence. Apparatus would never arrive if they were not notified. While there would be a hundred people calling if the incident had occurred during the evening. It was mid-afternoon, people were at work and not likely to know the dangers present during the day.
No one answered when she banged on the door. There was no time to
waste on pleasantries. Jak kicked at the old solid locked door until the hinge gave way. She knew from experience that deadbolts were solid. The screws, however, if jarred enough in the wrong direction, would come loose.
That was her way in without a k tool handy.
Finally, the door wobbled slightly and she pulled it from the jamb.
“Hello!” The house was starting to catch on the roof. She had to hurry. “Washington Fire, is anyone there.”
There was no reply. She kept yelling as she moved from room to room. Checking in closets and under beds, where children liked to hide. Nothing. The smoke was building in the house and she would not be able to breathe much longer. She could hear the air horn as the fire department arrived.
Stumbling out the door, Jak saw Mike emerge from the truck. Sure and confident, until she materialized from the havoc. She spoke before he could question why she was there. Escaping the confines of a hot house.
“I did a sweep, checked the usual hiding places. I didn’t find anyone inside.” Her voice was raspy, throat tight from the toxins.
Jak watched as her guys tried to contain the flames before the blaze spread further. Hitting the neighboring houses with water. Spraying the trees and the building. Her car had slowed with no material left to burn, just the chemicals to keep it going.
Mike stayed outside as the incident commander. Keeping tabs of all the apparatus. Requesting a fast team and a cover assignment. He called EMS to come take a look at her. Eyes scanned the area, surveying the damage. All this from her truck. Two houses, numerous trees and her truck. Limbs fell, creating their own ruination. She imaged all the places that would have been worse. Gas stations, under bridges, the firehouse. How long would the fire go before a neighboring department was able to get there?
At least no one got hurt, yet. There was always the inevitable concern for the men and women working the scene. The building could collapse, firefighters might get trapped and run out of air, they stay in the flames too long and sustain burns, heart attacks and dehydration. There were too many threats to count. Gear could sustain five hundred degrees for five minutes. Yet the person inside would continue to heat, like a tinfoil rapped potato in the oven.
More than fifty percent of firefighter deaths in the US were due to cardiac arrest. It was the adrenaline, the pager going off in the night, the stress of working a scene. When she was training, an instructor told them she had taken about five years off her life just by joining the department. There were men that worked the fire, then went home and never got out of their cars. She knew the odds but wouldn’t change her choice.
News 25 was arriving. Pedestrians began to arrive, on looking from afar. EMS was examining her throat for inhalation. They checked her BP and respirations. She didn’t fight, letting them do their jobs. Watching everyone working around her, feeling absolutely useless. Useless to stop the flames, to find Stewart, to save Sam.
Turning from the disaster playing out before her, she saw something even more appalling. The officer she had been speaking with was still standing in the same spot. With the same befuddled expression on his face as when she left him.
She had already lost her patience with him once and strained to find some semblance of calm within herself. Difficult, as someone tried to blow her up. The same someone that had taken Sam. Yet there he remained with his mouth agape.
XXVI
Sam had barely slept. She couldn’t when she was jumping at every sound. Every creak of the floors in the rickety old house. Every shutter slamming breeze. Her captor had rarely left her side. Keeping a watchful eye. As if she could spring forth and magically free herself from her bindings.
He had been a “cordial host” and brought her dinner. Not that she could move her hands or get anything but the water down her throat. It felt swollen, raw. The icy fluid soothing her ache. It wasn’t long before she had started to doze, unable to hold her eyes open anymore. Was she crashing? Coming down from the adrenaline? How could she sleep at a time like this?
She awoke in a small bedroom. Dead bolted from the outside. The drowsiness back in full force along with the nausea. Had he drugged her again? Why bother? Was he worried she would try to run as he relocated her? That she would be too difficult, fighting him as he loosened the rope? Whatever he had given her, it had eased the pain in her wrists.
Looking around, taking inventory of the contents of the room. As they were minimal, it didn’t take long. A full-size bed with floral sheets, a vanity, and a basin. She assumed what the basin was left for. At least my hands are free from that chair. Of course, they were still bound to each other. That wretched smell, though still present, was minimal in this room. Where had he taken her to? Was she in the same house? Judging by the décor and the smell, yes.
Taking stock of her predicament. Hoping that as long as she was locked away, she was safe from him. On the other hand, there would be no opportunity to escape. She went to the window and threw back the room darkening curtains, of course it had been boarded up. She couldn’t attempt to free the boards without gaining some unwanted attention. They might as well be steel bars. She huffed out a frustrated breath, turning to take in her prison.
It was odd that the curtains were new when everything else was ancient, including the bedspread. Perhaps he didn’t want any light to stream through the boards. To what end? Seemed like a lot of trouble for her to not know what time of day it was. Did he want her to lose track of time? Was he worried about someone seeing through? He couldn’t have gotten new sheets instead? Why she was worried about sheets, when she would be filthy in a matter of days, was beyond reasoning. Had it been days yet? How long was she unconscious before waking each time? Her time imprisoned felt like forever but she didn’t think it to be more than a day, conscious anyway.
How on earth am I going to get out of here? Her mind only saw two options, they both terrified her. She could fight back with every breath she had, possibly losing her life in this hovel. Otherwise, she would have to play along. Let him “show her the error of her ways”. With time he could learn to trust her, let his guard down. Even if that worked, he was a ticking time bomb. There was no telling when he would go off. Would there even be time to earn his trust before he killed her, or worse. She was caught between a rock and a hard place with no way out.
She spent the next several hours, days maybe, trying to find an escape. There was no way to know how long she had been trapped. And when her mind was ready to crack, it was Jak who saved her. It was knowing that Jak wouldn’t give up. She will find me. Until that time, Sam would wrap her mind up in the blanket of Jak’s love and stay there until the end of time. Or the end of her time. Either way, she took pleasure in knowing she had one thing he could never take from her, love.
He was angry she did not eat. That he had slaved over a stove for her and she refused his kindness. It wasn’t that she didn’t want food, she was famished. However, Sam distrusted what might be in the food. Was it drugged, poisoned? How else had he moved her?
Eventually, she would have no choice, she would need to eat to keep her strength up. To have any hope of surviving long enough to get away. Eventually was not going to be today. She was fearful of the water too. Of some unknown pill dissolved in the liquid. As she had not been able to eat before, it must have been the water. She chanced asking for a soda. If the can was closed, it wasn’t likely there would be something in it. Thankfully, he obliged. The pop of the can, that first fizzle, was emotional. Like opening a beer after a long day’s work. Given, beer was not her drink of choice, that didn’t stop her from worshiping the sweet sound. Though her mind conjured a liquid gold, the carbonation burned her already constricted throat. It was warm and stale, but she was just so thirsty.
With renewed faith, she searched the space for a weapon. Anything to aid in her escape. Knowing she would be unable to overpower such a large man. She touched every object in the room. Even checking the archway, praying the wood would give. The drawers on the vanity would not pull out all the
way. The bedframe was made up of simple metal bars but bolted together and apparently secured to the wall. She couldn’t find a thing that wouldn’t cause a ruckus or require tools to pry apart. It is hopeless, she thought as she slumped against the wall. There was nothing to aid in her flight from this house of horrors.
She didn’t believe there would be enough time to wait him out. No opportunity would be presented if she bided her time. Everything she did, or didn’t do, seemed to aggravate her jailer. Each time he yelled; she heard the ticking of his clock getting faster, louder. More persistent in its quest. It was only a matter of time before the bomb went off.
* * *
It was time. The longer he waited, the harder it would be to get through to her. She had been stubborn since the instant she awoke. Throwing every nicety in his face. Flaunting her perfection. Looking down her nose at him. Who does she think she is? Angel does not a god make.
In the early morning hours Stewart prepared for the pilgrimage. It would have been easier if she was eating. Then he could just slip a pill into her food or let it dissolve in water as he had the first time. She’s doing it on purpose. Making my life harder. Testing my resolve. Fighting her destiny. She must be purified, it was foretold. She will bathe in his righteousness.
* * *
Unbelievable. Sam was in the clutches of a maniac and here she sat, having to do something as mundane as call her insurance company. She should be searching for Sam but without her truck that got a little more complicated. This could be dealt with at a later date…but she technically was not working and had no paycheck to verify employment with the City of Peoria. No way of getting the loan to get a new truck. So here she sat. Waiting for the approval of a rental.
Wouldn’t it be the way her life was going, there were no trucks left to rent? All they had was a little putt-putt car. Some eco-friendly crap that wouldn’t go above forty miles per hour. Between the one finger turning and the touchy breaks, which nearly sent her through the windshield a time or two, she would be in an accident before having any idea what direction was the right one.
Volunteering Your Heart Page 15
