by J. A. Saare
"Good morning, Emma!"
I glanced to my right and spotted my neighbor standing in the middle of her neatly cultivated garden. Mrs. Peatree was waving exuberantly, clutching a tiny little watering can in her opposite hand.
"Good morning, Mrs. Peatree,” I replied in kind, waving back and attempting to mirror her happiness, forcing myself to be as sincere as possible.
I took off down the walkway and turned right onto the sidewalk, in the direction of Joe's Cafe. The last thing I needed was to spend my Saturday morning in the blaring silence of an empty kitchen with only the walls for company. I was going to sit in my favorite booth at Joe's, drink a nice piping cup of coffee, and enjoy two freshly fried donuts sprinkled with powdered sugar.
If that didn't make me feel normal—nothing would.
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Chapter 2—Taken
"What can I get for you, hun?"
Amanda pulled the ink pen from her loose French twist and then braced her wrist against a thick green paper pad, waiting to take my order. As the long standing waitress at Joe's, Amanda already knew what I wanted, but I answered just the same.
"A cup of coffee and two donuts, please,” I said politely, stretching the tattered plastic menu across the table and placing it into her outstretched hand.
She nodded, smacking loudly on her gum and pushing a chunk of blonde hair behind her ear as she hustled from the table. I watched as she rounded the counter and pushed aside the silver double doors with circular windows centered in the middle, disappearing into the back.
I braced my elbows on the black and white checkerboard table, lifting my head to glance around. Joe's wasn't crowded today, a shocking surprise. As the lone restaurant in our town, the place usually stayed packed.
Mr. and Mrs. Jones were eating at a table pushed against the paneled wall, two men in reflective construction vests were seated at the counter, and someone I couldn't see was nestled in the booth across the room. I sat back and settled into my seat as a flash of blonde behind the service area nabbed my attention.
Amanda reappeared with a small ceramic plate in one hand and the coffee pot and mug situated inside the other. She placed the white plate with donuts in front of me and then flipped the mug over, filling it with coffee and digging inside her apron. She produced several tiny white cartons of creamer and sat them down, followed by a rolled up paper napkin with silverware.
"Anything else?” she asked courteously, topping off the cup before lifting the pot to her chest.
"No, thank you.” I gave another polite smile and she hustled off, disappearing into the back.
I blew a steady stream of air from my pursed lips, reaching for the mug and dragging it across the table as the shiny dark liquid sloshed along the rim. I reached for the plastic creamer containers, using fingernails to yank at the persistent aluminum tops and then pouring the creamy liquid inside the coffee one by one. When done, I tossed the wrappers to the middle of the table, pulling the spoon free of the napkin.
"Where's the saccharine?” I mumbled, leaning to the left and grasping the glass container. When enough of the instant sugar rush was deposited in my cup, I plopped the container back into its designated position on the table, moving the spoon around to mix it all together.
The mug came to my lips and I took a sip, closing my eyes and sighing in bliss. It was just right, sweet and warm. I didn't overindulge, placing the cup down and pulling the donuts closer. Powdered sugar was sprinkled across the donuts and the plate, covering them in a dusty film of delicious enticement.
"Excuse me."
I frowned, ripping my attention from the delectable temptation of waiting food and lifting my eyes.
I started at the intricately pressed black slacks with the faintest of pin stripes, moving past the matching belt with a gold buckle, up the opaque buttons of a starched and crisp white shirt, until I stopped on the face that belonged to the voice. His honey blond hair was slicked back—the marks from a comb clearly visible—showcasing his bright blue eyes. A glimmer of recognition flittered in my brain, vanishing as quickly as it appeared.
"Yes?” I asked, gazing up at him expectantly.
"Emma,” he said flatly, moving closer to the table and jarring it slightly, causing the coffee to ripple inside the cup.
The strong smell of aftershave wafted off of his face and crashed into my nose, burning and tingling. My eyes bulged and I held back a sneeze, swallowing loudly. My hand lifted automatically, the back of my palm pressing against my nose as I was forced to breathe through my mouth.
"Yes?” I choked brokenly, arching my eyebrows and coughing. My eyes began to water and I sniffed as much as I dared.
"Emma Johnson."
"Yes?” I repeated myself, somehow managing to keep the agitation from my voice.
"Mike,” he responded in the same monotone.
"Mike?” I shook my head at him and frowned, keeping my hand in place and shrugging my shoulders.
"Mike Dalton. We had history together. Mr. Walters. Remember?"
His voice and pattern of speech was peculiar, like he was reading instructions or directions. There was no shift in the tenor of his voice, no increase or decrease in cadence, zero emotion—nothing. I peered at him closely, trying to put the name to the face.
"Uh, yeah, Mike, what can I do for you?” I asked, exhaling stagnant air before bravely reaching for my coffee with the hand I had used to mask the smell.
The coffee didn't make it to my lips, stopped just shy. The frown resurfaced as Mike slid into the empty seat across the table. His strange smile remained oddly intact and his blue eyes burned a path straight through my head. He didn't say anything and I narrowed my eyes at him, bringing the cup to my lips—and it clicked.
Mike Dalton.
I spun my eyes in my head and did a double take.
Not that Mike Dalton, it couldn't be. The last time I'd seen stoner Mike his hair hung past his shoulders in long greasy strands, he was preaching the wonders of LSD with the entire class, and he had on a tie-dyed t-shirt with bears dancing in the woods and the logo ‘What do you do when you see a bear in the forest? Play dead'.
"Beautiful day today,” he stated, watching me with an expression as blank as his voice.
"Yeah, it is,” I agreed uneasily, giving him a look to convey I was not amused. In truth, I felt increasingly uncomfortable.
He seemed unnatural somehow.
I glanced at the donuts, trying to decide if I could eat with the lingering repugnance radiating off his face or if it was best I spare my stomach lining.
"Let's go for a walk."
I choked on the coffee I'd slurped down, coughing loudly as I tried to clear my airway, my throat constricting and burning with each lurching hack. I put down the cup, beating on my chest before covering my mouth with my hand.
"Excuse me?” I finally managed to croak in a high pitched voice.
"Let's go for a walk,” he said again in his bizarre monotone.
He's talking at me—not to me.
I narrowed my eyes at him and his expression remained the same, absolutely vacant. That fake smile was still present, and his eyes were still boring empty holes into my head.
A wave of unease washed over me, a warning signal blaring inside my brain, telling me something wasn't right.
Not right at all.
"I don't think—” I started to decline his offer in the nicest way possible when he cut me short.
"It's a beautiful day. Let's go for a walk and catch up. It's a shame we never got to know one another during school."
Those icy blue eyes didn't warm, his voice didn't shift, and his body remained perfectly still. It was as if a robot was sitting across from me and we were having an electronic conversation. That steady prickle of wariness increased, twisting my stomach and making my skin tingle uncomfortably.
I turned my head, shifting in my seat as I looked for Amanda. The bar was totally empty and she was nowhere to be seen. I reached for t
he cup of coffee again, lifting it to my lips and taking a cautious sip while keeping my eyes on him.
"It's a beautiful day. Let's go for a walk and catch up. It's a shame we never got to know one another during school."
"I heard you the first time.” I sat back, holding the cup closely and frowning, narrowing my eyes distrustfully.
He lifted his right hand at an odd angle, palm up and flat fingers stretched toward the window. He raised his hand up and down as he spoke, creating a little elevator shaft. My head tilted with the motion, chin notching to the side, observing the bizarre display in confusion.
"It's a beautiful day,” he said flatly, keeping his hand suspended in front of him as if he expected to get a treat of some sort.
Okay. Mike was on a new drug of choice and had obviously fried the few brain cells he had left.
I rotated my eyes toward the counter and sagged in relief when Amanda appeared from the back. She glanced over and saw Mike sitting at my table and frowned, as if she were trying to place him too.
"You know what?” I motioned her over, lifting my hand and flashing a fake smile, allowing a sigh to ease past my lips. “I can't. I have a ton of stuff to do today."
Amanda stomped over and pulled the green receipt book from her apron, ripping the top piece of paper free and handing it over. She pivoted her head around, chomping loudly on her gum while gawking at Mike. I watched her nose flare and considered offering her sense of smell my deepest sympathy.
"Here,” I said quickly, thrusting a ten dollar bill into her hand along with the stub, “Keep the change."
I grabbed the napkin and swiped it roughly across my lips before tossing the thin paper over the neglected and now wasted donuts. I gave the best smile I could manage; equal parts annoyed, confused, and freaked out.
"It was good to see you, Mike. Take care."
The artificial smile on his face broadened and his eyes followed along as I ambled past the table.
I hustled to the door, grasping the long metal rail and tugging it open. The large round bells dangling from the handle rang inside my ears, signaling my departure as the chilly air enveloped my body. I hastened my pace, stepping down the walkway and walking onto the street, heading in the direction of the main road past the alley. The insane but intense desire to run coursed through my body, but I resisted the compulsion.
Mike is still inside—don't freak yourself out, Emma.
The sound of the bells clamoring caused me to close my eyes and draw a ragged breath. I didn't turn around, well aware of who had left the building. I squelched the fear that threatened to take over, forcing myself to continue onward at a normal pace.
You should have stayed home, I reprimanded myself angrily, increasing the movement of my feet. It wasn't a long walk home, ten minutes at most, but those minutes seemed like an eternity—especially when the person following me was high on something that made him creepy as all hell.
I changed trajectory, saying a hasty prayer that Mike was simply traveling the same path on his way home. I crossed the street and walked toward the alley, footsteps pounding the pavement in perfect rhythm with the painful throbbing of my heart. Adrenaline was pumping inside my veins, bringing the world into a triple focus. My senses widened—eyes, ears, and nose taking in everything.
I stilled my breathing, exhaling quietly to better distinguish the sounds coming from behind. Blood pounded in my ears, the dull throb of each thump like the beating of a drum. The footsteps behind me amplified with my fear, picking up speed. My heart slammed into my throat in realization.
The sound wasn't on the opposite side of the street anymore.
Then the world shifted.
A solid arm wrapped around my waist, lifting my body effortlessly from the ground, and the large palm that flopped over my mouth muffled the scream I attempted to let fly. I began to struggle and thrash wildly, arms flailing like a mad person.
This isn't happening. This cannot be happening!
Terrified, my eyes widened and I doubled my efforts, watching in a suffocating despair as my assailant turned with me in his arms, walking deeper into the alley. I thrashed harder, shoving my head from side to side and screaming wildly against the hand blocking the sound.
A heavily accented southern voice spoke softly, vowels slurred together and extended, “Is he alone?"
"We'll find out soon enough,” the person carrying me answered in a corresponding southern dialect, ducking into a nearby doorway. His body pressed mine into the wall, covering from shoulder to foot, making it impossible to move.
"Shh,” the deep voice rasped quietly against my ear and I closed my eyes, “It's going to be okay. Don't make a sound."
"What have we here?” Mike asked, his flat voice echoing off the brick walls. His footsteps were distorted thwacks inside my ear, coming closer from the road.
My breathing became ragged, my heart threatening to burst free from the confines of my sternum. A strange languid fear settled over me, detaching my brain from what I was experiencing. My body started to tremble violently and the hand clamped around my mouth gentled.
"I'm just takin’ a walk,” the southern voice answered.
My stomach clenched as Mike's voice changed, the flat tenor lifting an octave. “Trust me. You want to leave, right now."
"I'm afraid I can't do that."
"Don't be stupid. You didn't think I came alone—did you?” Mike's voice burned in my ears, the high pitched tenor painful, piercing my eardrums.
The southern voice thickened into a throaty growl; the tone menacing, angry, and distorted. “I know I didn't."
Several things happened in one chaotic and terrifying instant.
I was hoisted up and over the shoulder of the man who held me in his arms. The air left my lungs when the softness of my stomach met solid muscle, and I sucked in a painful gasp. He took off in a dead run, hooking a right down an adjacent alley and heading in the direction of the main road. I heard a terrible sound, as if a person punched something and broke through bone, followed by a wet gurgle and dull thud. Then more voices appeared behind us, yelling in garbled and high pitched screeches that hammered back and forth between the walls.
The world smeared and blurred, becoming dizzying. Brick buildings made strange red patterns; the square blocks a continuous blur. The wind swooshed loudly in my ears and my eyes began to tear. The body underneath me swiveled and turned.
I could hear rather than see stairs he climbed, rubber soles clanking firmly against metal. The violent sounds behind us began to wane and I heard strange ear splitting clacking sounds.
Gunshots.
I was about to scream when I was unexpectedly air bound, body floating in midair, hovering above the shoulder I had been carried on. My eyes searched frantically for the ground as my mouth dangled open. The air left my lungs when I landed on his unrelenting shoulder, blood pounding in my ears.
"Stop,” I managed to croak. If he kept this pace up, I wouldn't be the only one suffering. I'd spew the coffee I'd just drank down his back. He didn't respond immediately and I held my breath, forcing back a tidal wave of nausea.
"We can stop up here, hold on."
I didn't argue, allowing my head to dangle limply on my shoulders. I gave up trying to get my bearings. Attempting to see everything around me was too disorienting. He ran for several more blocks, ducking between random buildings. His speed decreased and he stepped into a deserted alley.
I groaned as gentle hands eased me free of the torturous shoulder, one wrapping firmly around my waist, the other coming up and around my head to cover my mouth. I swallowed back panic, breathing shallowly through my nose.
"Listen to me. I'm not here to hurt you, and I don't mean you any harm. Don't try to scream and don't try to run. I don't have time to explain right now but it's important that you stay very quiet. Do you understand?"
I bobbed my head up and down, breathing in short frantic pants. He removed his hands slowly, hesitating before releasing me and stepping b
ack. I sucked in an uneven breath, hands going around my aching middle. I stumbled away from him on legs that felt as solid as water and just as useless.
My eyes fluttered nervously, resting on his broad chest before rising to his face.
He was older than me, well into his twenties, and huge, standing several inches over six feet. If running with one-hundred and seventeen pounds on his shoulder wasn't indication enough of his fitness regimen, his chiseled chest and arms attested to it. Long dark hair hung in soft waves around his temples, complimenting smooth tanned skin.
He turned to glance down the alley, giving me a glimpse of his profile. His jaw was smooth, strong, and slightly squared. His nose was straight and in perfect proportion to his face. When he rotated his head to look at me, I saw his eyes. They were the most beautiful shade of blue I had ever seen—deep indigo—framed by long dark lashes.
He's beautiful, I thought immediately, scowling at myself and lowering my eyes in the same instant, trying not to stare. It was difficult. I had never seen anyone or anything like him before in my life.
I quickly averted my gaze, soothing anguished stomach muscles with my palms and clearing my throat.
"What is going on? Who are you?” The words wheezed from my lips, sore sides heaving, and each breath I took was unfiltered agony. The muscles in my abdomen ached, and I knew without a doubt they were going to be bruised.
I peered from left to right, searching for any identifiable road signs. I knew we were on the north end of town, in an area most townsfolk didn't frequent. The buildings were abandoned, a haven for the few homeless that passed through.
My eyes squinted, becoming thin slits. The green street sign in the distance wasn't clear and I tried to focus. After several seconds my brow smoothed, mouth going slack in shock.
