Once she got the police to cooperate, they tried pinging Stew’s phone, but it was disconnected. Sam’s cell had been turned off since the explosion, going straight to voicemail. All the surrounding towns were on the lookout for Stew. It was no use, he seemed to have disappeared without a trace. She had to keep trying the phone. Pray he would slip up. Leave it near Sam or be tempted to rub his victory in her face again. Not likely, if he thought she had been in the truck. She listened to Sam’s voicemail for the zillionth time.
They checked the address listed on his driver’s license but there was no one there. It appeared to have been vacant for some time. She didn’t know if he had family nearby. Stew had always been a private person. Private. Of course he was, he was hiding that he was a wackadoo. The police were checking, who they thought to be, his grandmother’s house. She didn’t hold out much hope since the only reason they were connecting them was because Stew was present for a first aid call at that location, once.
The jingle on her cell went off and Jak scrambled to answer. She was desperate for any news, no matter how meager.
XXVII
The door creaked open and there stood her tormentor. He had given up trying to feed her and held only a flat soda. Opening it in front of her as always. She wanted to snatch it from him as soon as he entered. Sam was desperate to quench the thirst that ran so deep now. To fill the void in her stomach. It had been a few days and her throat was finally allowing the fluids to flow freely. Her nausea a distant memory. At least the carbonation gave the illusion of being full, for a while.
His menacing smile in place as always, yet something was off. He took the empty can from her and retreated without a word, locking the door once again. Why the smirk? It weighed on her mind, caused the fear from the first night to return. An anxiety that bubbled up, fabricated from uncertainty. Seeing the smile that haunted her even when he was nowhere to be found. He didn’t express any of his normal opinions. Didn’t try to influence her in any way. She sensed no irritation behind the expression. Something was up.
Not fifteen minutes passed before the figure darkened her door. What did he want now?
“Come here,” he said as he took a tentative step closer. Sam was unable to move. He was watching her intently, expecting her to respond to the command. His hand reached behind him, into the back pocket of his jeans. When it returned, he was opening a switchblade. It looked to be a Swiss Army knife. Oh god. She backed away, frantic. Knowing there was no way out of this. What new torture awaited her? Her heart skipped a beat with every step.
In spite of her retreat, there was nowhere to run. Her eyes darted around the room, trying to find some way out. She knew it was hopeless. There was nothing to grab. No way of getting by him. She stood, trembling. Trapped by the bed, in the far corner from the door. Feeling like a shaking sheep, trapped by a hungry wolf. Was that how she wanted to go out? Meek, meager, spineless? Just lay down and die? No. She had done that all her life. Accepted any fate that came along. Not anymore.
There was no surrender in her. She knew this was going to be a painful, bloody end. One she would gladly accept if it meant he never touched her. She would not succumb willingly.
He must have registered that she was about to launch her petite frame into him because he took a step back and raised his hands slightly. Still gripping his knife with his thumb. What trickery is this?
“I am not here to hurt you. The knife is for the rope.” He said pointing to her wrists. She refused to move, to accept any “Truth” from a man that would keep her in captivity.
“I came in here to apologize. It has become apparent that I have made a monumental mistake. This has gotten way out of hand. I see that now.”
Don’t fall for it. He just wants to kill you without a struggle.
“I’ll drive you back home or to the hospital if you want to get checked out.
Sam stood her ground as he closed the distance between them. Heart pounding wildly in her ears as the pocketknife neared her wrists. To her surprise, the blade cut at her bindings. Slowly fraying the thread, releasing her. Each saw to the ropes dug them in further. Pain shot up her arm. A joyous and agonizing moment. Finally, the last strand snapped and she was free, at least from her restraints. She wanted to rub the pain away, to ease the ache in her bones. Sam was shocked to see the, now visible, open wounds. She knew the rope had rubbed, scratched at her fragile skin. However, she had not realized that she had caused enough friction for the amount of raw skin staring back at her. They looked like she felt.
He turned and started for the door. Should she follow? Could she believe anything he said? One truth, kindness, does not undo the past.
“Are you coming?” He must have stopped when she didn’t immediately follow. Not trusting her voice to obey and nodded. Her head was feeling light but that could be from the lack of nutrition.
The doorway lead to a kitchen. Small, wood cabinets; an old, simple, porcelain sink; wooden table and chairs, matching the cabinets. Bric-a-brac on every surface. Majority of knick-knacks, she noticed, were roosters. Why do people always put roosters in the kitchen? Like a misplaced chicken or the egg joke? Better question, why was she musing about roosters right now? Was she losing her mind already?
As Sam reached the end of the room, there were two doorways. He stood in the archway on the left and guided her with his arm out the other, as if he were a gentleman allowing her to go first. She turned, presumably, towards the back door. She didn’t want to go first. Who knew what his plans were. What the end game was. Maybe he had multiple personality disorder and she should get out before the crazy person comes back. She finally had her hands…was getting out of here. She didn’t want to anger the keeper of this dungeon. He could become her executioner in the blink of an eye.
Turning the corner, she saw a white exterior door was left open. The metal storm door letting the sun’s rays shine into the space. When was the last time she saw the sun? Based on feeding habits in this zoo, she thought it to be a week. Sam pushed the door open and nearly fell back from the weakness. Still, she was overjoyed. She wanted to whistle along with the birds she heard chirping nearby. The breeze was so refreshing, she wanted to spread her arms and sway with each sweep of the blowing winds. Squint into the trees and enjoy the warm rays on her face.
The door slammed behind her, a reminder of her company. The warmth was gone. In its place was a chill she might never recover from. She had forgotten it was winter. Had her mind conjured the birds? Were the leaves a figment of her imagination? She missed a step and nearly fell. It was getting harder to lift her weary legs. Her head was swimming. His arm snaked around her for support. While it did steady her, she wanted to push him away. To keep his grubby mitts as far away as possible, but he was the only thing keeping her vertical.
Satan released his grip on her and walked past. Using the now free arm to open the door to an old tan, wood panel, station wagon. It had to be over thirty years old. When was the last time a wood panel anything was sold? Her thoughts were becoming erratic, was it from the captivity? The dizziness from the starvation? Looking at the man helping her into the car she realized what was happening.
How had he done it? She had been so careful. Once again, she was losing her grip on reality. You son of a…
The screen read Washington Police Department.
“Did you find her?” She was beyond pleasantries.
“No.” Detective Riddle had been her contact since the explosion. He was a tall, balding, white man with a long black and gray beard. Clearly, he worked undercover. She had wanted to call him Detective Backwoods Hillbilly. He had a more pronounced accent than her own, one that mumbled every word together. He seemed more competent than Officer Carbone. Who wouldn’t after he stood around, watching her truck burn, with his thumb up his butt. Hopefully, he lived up to his name and solved this riddle. “But we think she was here.”
“Why?”
“We found the grandmother.”
This should be good news.
She would have an idea of where the fiend went. What isn’t he saying?
“What did she say? Did she see Sam? Does she know where he is going?” Spit it out already.
“She’s dead.”
A gasp escaped her lips. “What?” Oh god. If he could do that to his own grandmother, who knows what he will do to Sam.
“We found her just inside the front door, on the couch. Looks like she has been there a while. She has a station wagon registered to her, that’s missing.”
“Please tell me she had a heart attack. That Sam isn’t in the hands of a homicidal maniac.” Silence. Gut wrenching silence. “Well?”
She heard a loud noise then the line went dead. What had happened? She called back but there was no answer.
How could he just end the call and not answer her questions. She was sure there was a limit as to what the detective was supposed to give answers to but something didn’t add up.
She steered the matchbox car to the side of the road, knowing she was going to be sick. Terrified for her lover. Disgusted that a member of her brotherhood could become a monster. She shifted it into park just in time. Her body convulsed, attempting to purge the revulsion. Oh god. Sam. Where are you? Are you still alive? No! She has to be. If she wasn’t at the house, she would have to be with him. Jak fought to gain control of her body. Sam is alive! You can’t give up!
Think this through. Where would he go? He took her somewhere familiar. Somewhere he felt safe. If he decided to abandon the house, where else could he hideout? He must know that police are looking for him or was he concerned a neighbor would call to check on his grandmother? Either way, he decided it was time for a new inhabitance. Now she had to think like a killer, if she had any chance of rescuing her heart.
* * *
It had worked just as he had planned. Samantha had not seen the pill that hid beneath the surface. Did not see the sleight of hand. As he popped the top on the can, he released one of Grandmother’s morphine pills from his palm. She never saw it coming. After waiting for it to take effect, he lured her to the car, willingly. Now he just had to get her inside without anyone walking by. Slowing the station wagon to a halt, he unlocked the door. Checking to be sure that the coast was indeed clear. Once she was tucked safely away, he could get supplies.
He didn’t want to leave the house but that nosey nurse was due to visit today. If he tried to cancel, she would think something was up. Instead, he set a fun surprise for her. The oxygen tank was left open and the gas stove flipped on, without lighting it. It was a powder keg waiting to be lit. He closed the blinds making the room too dark to see. That lazy moron would hit the switch before she bothered to open the curtains for natural light. The spark caused from the switch would set off the house with a massive explosion. There would be no evidence that she had passed from anything other than the blast. It was the perfect revenge. Taking care of two irritating birds with one stone.
* * *
Samantha’s head was swimming. A memory of the last time she felt this way wormed its way to the forefront of her mind. Followed by a flash of that stupid station wagon. She wanted it to stop. Each thought only made her dizzier. How could she fall for it?
Trying to blink back the toxin that kept her down. Her eyes focused on the nearest object. Jumping back when the image came into view, knowing instantly exactly where he had taken her. How could she not? The bull stared her down with a vengeance. It looked angrier than before. A monstrous beast taking over, aiding in the madness. Her wrists ached from a week in restraints, the rope felt heavier than ever. He had made her think she was free. Released her from the bindings and here she was, wrapped up in rope again. Why bother tricking her? It seemed an elaborate hoax for getting someone into a car. Of course, if she were subdued, she wouldn’t try to get someone’s attention. Wouldn’t yell or run. No, she walked right to the car. A willing victim. How stupid could you be? Shut up mother!
There were subtle differences in the room. Things that were not there before. The trickster was moving things around, preparing. For what, she hoped to never find out. There was straw on the floor near the bar, not exactly an unusual item for the country theme. Perhaps it was for a barnyard dance or something. Lifting her gaze, she saw candles were spread onto every surface. If he thinks this is going to turn into a romantic getaway…she stopped when she realized there was no threat to make. No way of derailing this nightmare. Oddly, she was comforted by the assertion that she would never be so delusional as to develop Stockholm syndrome, especially for him. Although, it wouldn’t be so horrible if someone as dashing as Jak had whisked her away. Her head swam though the phantasmagoria, wanting to get lost in that delusion. To grasp at anything to keep her from coming unglued.
You can’t fade away now. Not when you know where you are. Not when your life is dependent on staying in the present. She grasped onto the positives. She was no longer locked in that room. The air was free of that rancid smell. Now she just had to stay in the moment long enough to get out a distress signal. Sam continued to look around the room. There would be more useful items here to aid in her escape. She spotted bottles of holy water and stopped. What on earth? This misbegotten barnyard rendezvous just turned into a séance.
Watching in silence as her captor rushed out of the room. Coming and going from the entrance too rapidly for her to make any headway. His eyes searching her out, taking in her whereabouts with each trip.
In his haste, he left her phone sitting on top of the bar. The pink case shone like a beacon. As soon as he was out of sight, she snatched it. Sam shuffled back to her corner, heart pounding wildly in her ears. Hoping he wouldn’t notice the hollow place the phone had once been. The phone was stashed between her legs, out of sight. She waited for her opening, for an opportunity to send a message out. For her abductor to give her a moment free of his presence. Not trusting his hurried trips outside, presumably to his car. Getting caught in the act would not assist in an attempted rescue. Her smoke signal would be doused long before anyone could see. When he returned, she was sure he would hear her heart beating. Thundering in her chest. She wanted to shush it. To keep the pounding from giving her away. The bull stared at her, threatening to tell of her treachery. Where is a gag when you needed one? Beads of sweat formed at the top of her brow. Why was everything trying to tattle on her? Please don’t know; don’t see. Just keep walking. She silently thanked the heavens when he went about his business.
When he retreated into the restroom, she went for it. The problem was, she needed long enough to turn it on and send a message. Please don’t let the ringer be on. Please be on silent. One chime and it would all be over. This was most likely the only chance she would get. She couldn’t remember Jak’s number and didn’t want to take the time to scroll through her contacts. A memory of an ad flashed through her mind. Text 911. Keep it simple. She was still experiencing adverse effects from the drug he used to knock her out. Probably more so since she hadn’t eaten but a couple small bites all week. Picking at the edges of her food before he stopped bringing it. “Help Sam Porter,” shit. She couldn’t remember the name of the bar. Quickly looking around for the name. When she didn’t find it; she wrote, “TX bull.” Hastily, she sent the short missive. Deleted the message and turned the phone back off. Just placing it back on the counter as the door swung open.
He was so unhinged; she was sure he hadn’t noticed. Well, she prayed that he hadn’t. The entire plan hindered on Jak speaking to police. On them figuring out where she was from just a few words.
“What did you do?” He asked when he noticed she had moved from the corner.
“Nothing.”
“Get back over there. I’m not ready for you yet.”
Swallowing the lump in her throat, she stood her ground. Sam was done taking orders from this insecure worm. Her mind screamed to just scrabble back towards the bull. Yet, every bit of sense was overshadowed each time that arrogant prick ordered her around.
When she didn’t move, he physically escort
ed her to the pole on the dance floor. She tugged. Yanked. Strained to wrench her arm free of his grip.
“Stop fighting.” It was more of an exhausted whine than a command. Maybe she was wearing him down. Did she want that? Would he give up or just get rid of her?
“Never.” Her victory cut short by his smirk.
“You’ll have no choice soon enough. Now sit still or I’ll put you out again. Then you’ll miss the show.”
“I don’t know what you’re up to, but Jak is going to stop you.”
The boisterous laugh shrunk her bravado, slightly. Of course, she knew something he didn’t.
“Jak. You still think that heathen is coming for you.”
“Better than the devil himself,” she spat out.
He got within a foot of her and stared down his nose with such hatred. This was it; she knew with absolute certainty that she had pushed him too many times. This was her time to die. She stared into the endless pit in his eyes. Watched the doomed screaming souls trying to escape. Reaching over each other, trying to gain any leeway. She was about to be added to the list of lost souls. Her essence drained, scattered with the wind.
“Jak is dead.”
“You’re lying.” He is just trying to make me give up hope. To damage what was left of her fragile psyche. It’s a trick.
“No, she died in a little accident I arranged.”
She had no idea if it was true. Had he snuffed out the only person that would bother to search for her? She should feel hopelessly alone. Concerned for the chances of her ever getting out. Instead she found herself worried for Jak’s and her wellbeing.
“You’re going to kill me, aren’t you?”
“Haven’t you been listening? I’m going to save you.”
Volunteering Your Heart Page 16
