Back on Solid Ground

by Debra Trueman

  “Can you walk on your own?” Niki asked.

  Stacy gave Niki a dirty look. “Yes, I can walk on my own.” She took a step and grabbed her side involuntarily with the pain, and Niki took hold of her arm trying to help her. “Get your hands off me!” she said, jerking her arm away from him. She inched her way across the kitchen and out into a corridor leading to a large living area.

  Niki walked beside her, wanting badly to pick her up and carry her. She’s as stubborn as they come, he thought. At last they came to the foyer where her unsuccessful escape attempt had begun. Stacy looked up at the monstrous staircase and she snapped. It was just too much. She couldn’t drag her body up those stairs if her life depended on it. Stacy collapsed on the bottom step and broke down in tears.

  Niki was horrified. He sat down beside her and tentatively put his arm around her. When she didn’t slug him or pull away, he patted her on the back and tried to soothe her. “You’ll be okay,” he said. But the floodgates were open and Stacy couldn’t stop. He sat helplessly while she cried, and when she finally let up, Niki picked her up without protest, carried her up to her suite, and placed her in a comfortable chair overlooking the ocean.

  “I’ll run a bath for you,” he said, and he disappeared into the bathroom. He returned with a fluffy white robe and laid it on the bed. “There are a few clothes in the closet,” Niki said.

  Stacy nodded her head without speaking.

  “When you’re done, I want Carlos to look at that,” he said, pointing to her side.

  “Okay,” she said quietly.

  “I’ll leave you alone,” he said, hesitating to leave. “If you need anything, you can call us on the intercom. Or if you feel strong enough, you’re welcome to move freely through the house. You don’t have to feel like you’re banished to this room,” he said, trying to elicit a smile.

  “Okay,” she said without looking at him.

  “Okay, then . . . Well, I’ll leave now, and we’ll check back on you,” Niki said.

  “Fine.”

  He left the room, but waited outside until he heard the bathroom door close, then rejoined his friends in the kitchen.

  Chapter 3

  Stacy slipped into the warm bath, and submerged herself up to her neck. The water was soothing, and she closed her eyes, relaxing. Mentally, she felt better instantly. It was amazing what a good cry and a hot bath could do for the soul. Physically, she was extremely tired, but no doubt the sleeping pills had something to do with that. She never took drugs, and on the few occasions when she had taken something to help her sleep, she felt lethargic for days. She removed the bandage and assessed the damage inflicted by the bullet. The skin around the wound was an angry reddish purple, and it felt hot to the touch. It would leave a nasty scar.

  Stacy lounged in the bath for an hour, adding more hot water as it cooled. She scrubbed herself hard with a soapy washcloth and washed her hair twice. When she finished, the bathroom smelled like gardenias. She found an Oral-B toothbrush new in the box and a tube of Crest and she brushed her teeth. The amenities provided definitely had a feminine touch, and Stacy wondered who she was.

  The hot bath did wonders, and now that she was clean, Stacy was famished. She dried off and searched through the closet and found a pair of fatigues and a faded army green T-shirt and put them on. I look like a commando.

  Stacy headed back into the bathroom, and took the towel off her head. She found a blow dryer and brush, and screamed bloody murder when she looked in the mirror. They cut my fucking hair!

  The four men were in the kitchen laughing over breakfast when the door slammed open with such force that it knocked a picture off the wall. In unison, they jumped to their feet, not knowing what had hit them.

  “What?! It wasn’t enough for you to shoot me and kidnap me, so you had to go and butcher my hair? IS THAT IT?” she yelled at the top of her lungs. “Which one of you fuckers did this?” she demanded, looking from one to the other with fury in her eyes. She zeroed in on Niki, “You did this, didn’t you?” she said, pointing to her hair.

  Niki opened his mouth to try to explain, but she wouldn’t hear him.

  “You are a sick, perverted, murdering, kidnapping, son-of-a-bitch!” she said, getting louder with each disparaging remark. Stacy stormed across the room and by the end of her tirade she was standing directly in front of him, right in his face. She was so incredibly pissed off, she brought her hand back and slapped him across the face as hard as she could.

  Eli cleared his throat. “Actually, it was my idea,” he confessed, trying to deflect her rage from his brother.

  Stacy whirled around like a hurricane changing course, venting her anger at Eli. “Well then you are the biggest fucker of all!” she hissed. Eli flinched, instinctively putting his hands up. She shot him a vicious look and turned to leave, then added, “And you’re probably the asshole who shot me!”

  When she was gone, the room was silent for a split second and then they all burst out laughing, everyone speaking at once.

  “I don’t think I have ever seen a woman as angry,” Carlos laughed. “Did I not warn you?” he said to his friends.

  “Oh, my God!” said Eli. “Did you see her eyes . . . she was pissed! She was gonna beat your ass again,” he told Niki.

  “Unbelievable! Barbie meets Rambo,” said Niki rubbing his cheek.

  “She knocked the damn picture off the wall,” said Jason incredulously. “Check it out, she dented the wall,” he laughed. They all gathered around and looked at where the doorknob had slammed into the wall.

  “Someone needs to go see if she’s okay,” Carlos said, trying to quit laughing.

  “Oh, let me!” Eli said, and they roared with laughter again.

  “Someone besides Eli needs to go see if she’s okay,” Carlos clarified. He waited, but no one volunteered. “Jason, I think it should be you,” said Carlos decisively.

  “Me? Why should I have to do it?” he protested. “Niki and Eli are the ones who whacked her hair.”

  “Which is precisely why it should be you,” said Carlos. “Out of all of us, I’m sure she dislikes you the least.”

  “Oh, right!” said Jason. “What am I supposed to say to her?”

  “You must explain to her that we did not cut her hair with malicious intent,” Carlos instructed.

  “Tell her it’s not even noticeable,” Niki suggested.

  “Yes, that’s very good!” Carlos said, enthusiastically. “Tell her it’s not even noticeable,” he coached.

  “No way,” said Jason, shaking his head. “I’m not doing it.” He sat back down at the table and swallowed a big gulp of coffee.

  “Come on Jayce,” encouraged Niki. “You’re good at shit like that. You’ve got the knack.”

  “I’m not doing it.” Jason said firmly. “You saw how pissed she was. Nothing I could say is going to change anything.”

  “She thinks we cut her hair just to spite her,” Niki explained. “You just need to tell her that it wasn’t like that . . . that we only did it so we could get her out of that bag.”

  “The bag that we crammed her into after we shot her and kidnapped her,” Jason retorted.

  Niki could tell that Jason was not going to budge on the matter. “Fine,” he said, turning to Carlos. “Then you’ll have to do it,” he said decisively. “You need to check on her bullet wound anyway. You can kill two birds with one stone.”

  Carlos threw up his hands in exasperation, “I knew it!” he exclaimed. “I always have to clean up after your mess!” he told the brothers. “Why would today be any different?”

  Carlos thought about the raw hand he had been dealt. “Well, I’m not going in there empty-handed,” he decided. “The girl hasn’t eaten a bite, she must be hungry. I’ll take her some breakfast and coffee as a peace offering,” he said, pleased with himself. He found a tray and filled a plate with scrambled eggs, bacon, toast and hash browns. Then he poured a mug of coffee and a cup of juice, and arranged them on the tray with a napkin,
silverware, salt and pepper, and cream and sugar.

  “Here,” Jason said, pulling a pink hibiscus out of the vase on the table and handing it to Carlos. “Might as well go all out since you’re trying to impress,” he laughed.

  Carlos took the flower and arranged it on the tray. “Yes, that’s a very nice touch,” Carlos said, pleased. “You see Jason . . . Niki is right . . . you do have the knack,” Carlos said, buttering him up. “I honestly feel like you should be the one to deliver this beautiful tray.”

  “Oh, all right! Give me the damn thing!” Jason said, shoving his chair back from the table and pushing Carlos to the side. “I swear, you’re a bunch of pussies!” He picked up the tray, and Carlos held the door open for him, making a sweeping motion with his hand as Jason stomped by. Jason could hear his friends laughing in the kitchen the whole way up the stairs.

  Stacy had gone back to her room. She had dried her hair and was examining the damage. There were chunks of hair cut out randomly, some within inches of her scalp, and she had bangs on a third of her forehead. She looked like Raggedy Anne.

  Jason knocked on the door, “Stacy, it’s Jason,” he said. “May I come in?”

  “No, Jason. You may not come in!” she snapped at him.

  “I figured you must be starving,” he said. “I brought you some food,” he tempted.

  Stacy cracked the door, and Jason smiled and motioned to the tray in his hands. She opened the door just wide enough to make it difficult for him to enter.

  “How about I put this out on your balcony?” he said, heading towards the French doors. “You can sit outside and relax and take in the island air while you eat,” he suggested.

  She followed him outside and walked to the railing of the balcony to look around. The view was incredible, breathtakingly beautiful. Jason set the tray on the table, then walked over beside her. “It’s incredible isn’t it?” he said proudly.

  “It is,” she agreed. “I’d love to have come here under different circumstances,” she added. “It’s as beautiful a place as I’ve ever seen,” she said, gazing out over the ocean.

  “There’s no place I’d rather be,” said Jason. Stacy didn’t answer and the silence hung in the air while Jason got up his courage to broach the hair subject.

  He cleared his throat. “About your hair,” Jason said, waiting for her to launch into him.

  Stacy stiffened and ran her fingers through her hair, pulling at the short little pieces that were sticking out around her face. “Yeah, you really did a number on me, didn’t you?” she said, turning towards him so he could see the damage.

  “I want you to know that it’s not what you think,” he said. “It wasn’t done out of spite or maliciousness. Your hair was all stuck to that bag, and it was the only way we could get the thing off of you,” he explained. “Besides,” he said, cocking his head and examining her hair, “it’s hardly noticeable . . . except for right there,” he pointed to a patch that was sticking up. “And maybe right here,” he pointed to another. He was trying to stifle a smile, but she was so damn cute that he couldn’t. He was looking at her with a big smile on his face and he could tell that she thought he was laughing at her.

  “I’m sorry,” he said, “you just look really cute, that’s all. I swear, I’m not laughing at you.”

  “Raggedy Anne, right?” she said.

  “Not at all,” he lied. “Now come on, eat your breakfast before it gets cold,” he told her.

  Stacy sat down at the table and placed the napkin in her lap. If the food tasted anything like it looked, it would be delicious. She was ravenous.

  “Yum. Who cooked?” she asked, taking a bite of toast.

  “Carlos,” Jason said, watching her chew. She made everything look so delicious that it was making him hungry again. “I’ll leave you to it,” he said. “You should get some rest. You look tired.”

  “Whatever,” she said testily.

  Jason turned to leave but stopped as he reached the French doors, “We really are sorry about your hair,” he said.

  “I’m sure you’ll lose sleep over it,” Stacy said to her food.

  Stacy ate everything on her plate and felt much better after she had eaten. She wasn’t one to skip meals, and when she did, it made her feel shaky and weak. Having satiated her hunger, she was ready to tackle her predicament. She stood looking out over the water, and put her sharp mind to work.

  Okay, start from the beginning, Stacy thought. I was taken hostage during a bank robbery – or rather, it was made to look like I was taken hostage. But the bank robbers knew my name, so obviously I was not taken at random. Or maybe I was taken at random, and after they grabbed me, they recognized me, and that’s how they knew my name.

  Would they have taken me if I had not drawn attention to myself by jumping up and screaming after they shot that man? Not if I was chosen at random. Stacy continued to segregate relevant information from extraneous details.

  If I was not taken at random, then I have been kidnapped for ransom, she reasoned. She decided to pursue that line of thinking to see where it ended up. If I was kidnapped, then was the whole bank robbery a sham? But why would they do that? Why wouldn’t they just take me when I was getting in my car late at night? Why risk it? No, she decided, there’s more to it than that. Her stomach was feeling like it was tied in knots and she began pacing the balcony while she continued thinking.

  Assuming I have been kidnapped, then what’s next? From whom would they attempt to extort the ransom? My father? It didn’t figure. Why would they kidnap me, when I’m the one with the money? It would make more sense to kidnap someone in my family and call on me for the ransom. The more she thought about it, the less sense it made.

  The bottom line is that it doesn’t really matter whether I was taken randomly or intentionally, because either way, I’m in big trouble. There’s no way these men can let me go. I’ve seen their faces; I know their names. Which was another point that confused her, because of what she had seen of these guys, they didn’t seem like cold-blooded killers. They could have just as easily killed the guy in the bank, but they didn’t; and she had to assume they’d left him alive intentionally. No one could be that bad a shot with the artillery they had used in the bank.

  Stacy looked out at the ocean and let her mind wander, but all that came to her were regrets. She regretted that she’d never taken art lessons, or that she couldn’t speak French; she regretted spending so much time working, and not taking more time to travel and enjoy life. But most of all, she regretted that her mother had died before Stacy could give her a grandchild. The other things she could still accomplish when she got out of her current predicament, but that which was most important to her was forever unattainable. Well, if it’s forever unattainable, why are you standing here stewing about it! she finally told herself. Stacy gave herself an attitude adjustment. You can either bask in your regrets, or you can get your shit together, get out of here, and transform yourself into a French-speaking, jet-setting, life-loving artist. Or whatever . . .

  Stacy shook her head to clear it. Her breakfast was churning and she was going to be sick if she didn’t give her mind a rest. She decided to lie down for a minute, and she didn’t wake up until the next morning.

  Chapter 4

  Stacy woke up feeling stronger and ready to make a plan. She decided to go nose around. Stacy walked out into the hall and noted that her room was the last door in the long hallway. She opened the door directly across the hall from hers and peeked inside. It was another bedroom suite, as big as the one she occupied, and furnished just as nicely. There was no sign that anyone had been in the room recently, so she closed the door and went on to the next.

  Bedroom turned junk room. There were rolled up sleeping bags, camping gear, boxes of magazines, a dinosaur computer, dust-covered speakers. It looked like Stacy’s storage space. She moved on.

  Linen closet, everything folded perfectly. Definitely a woman’s touch.

  She moved back across the hall a
nd opened the door adjacent to her room. Another bedroom, this one with twin beds, and again, no sign of life. Empty hangers in the closet; no soap in the bathroom. Stacy surmised that she must be in a guest wing of the house that was used infrequently. It had that cold unlived-in feeling like the rooms that never get used in a big house.

  Stacy passed the stairs and continued down the hall. She opened the first door on the right and entered a large sitting area with leather couches placed around an Oriental rug. She froze, realizing that she had just walked into someone’s living quarters. There was an office with a computer just off the sitting room, and further past that she could see what she presumed was the bedroom. There was definitely a lived-in aura about the room. It had a fresh scent, like soap or maybe after-shave; like someone had just showered and walked through the room.

  Stacy didn’t think anyone was in the bedroom, but she couldn’t be certain. She knew she needed to get out before she got caught, but she was going to check out the desk before she left. There could be some clue as to why they had taken her. She tiptoed over to the office area and scanned the desktop. Pencil cup, stapler, hole punch, note pad. Nothing relevant. She pulled out the top drawer, but it was a junk drawer crammed with pens, scraps of paper, paperclips, a deck of cards, a Swiss army knife, a screwdriver, and rubber bands. Stacy pocketed the army knife and closed the drawer.

  She pulled on the top right drawer but it wouldn’t budge and neither would the one underneath it. They were locked. She pulled out the middle drawer again, looking for the key, but stopped cold. Footsteps. She pushed the drawer back in without making a sound and looked for someplace to hide. Someone was coming out of the bedroom. Stacy crouched down beside the desk and held her breath.

  Eli walked out into the sitting area with a towel wrapped around his waist. He opened up a small refrigerator and took out a bottle of orange juice and up-ended it, then sat on one of the sofas, propping his feet on the coffee table.

  Shit, thought Stacy. Her legs were cramping from squatting and she broke into a sweat. Good grief, it looks like he’s about to take a nap!