Hope To Escape

by Jack Parker

  It was the familiar stranger. Oh, no, Ess thought, how did he know she lived in this unit? Maybe he was just looking for someone else, and knocked on the wrong door. She looked so unpresentable right now in her worn out jeans and faded college sweatshirt, with her unkempt hair sloppily tucked behind her ears. And on top of that, she felt the blush starting to warm her cheeks. Damn it!

  "Ah, hello," the stranger began. He looked as attractive as before, still in his slacks and button up collared shirt. He even wore the tie, though casually loosened. "I don't mean to disturb you."

  Well, he came across as very polite. "Yes?" was all Ess could get out in response. Her absurd timidity was really starting to infuriate her.

  "I, um, happen to live down the hall," he replied, "and I'm making dinner. Well, I began making a pesto for my penne, and realized that I was very low on olive oil." He held up his nearly empty bottle of oil so that he could emphasize his predicament. " I had a very long day at the office. I'm really too tired to run to the market, but I've already started preparations. Could I beg a little olive oil from you?"

  He was very courteous, and so sincere in his need. "I don't have any olive oil," she started. He looked a little surprised and slightly disappointed. She felt obliged to help him, so she continued, "But I do have vegetable oil. You're welcome to it."

  He seemed appeased. "That would do just fine." Then he flashed a rather alluring smile at her, which put her right at ease. This, she decided, may be her best opportunity to strike up an acquaintance. Fate kept pushing for it, and she would be stupid to keep pushing it back.

  She closed the door so that she could unhook the chain. Then she opened it to show good will. Since the kitchen was directly to the left of the entrance, and he was technically still a stranger, she did not ask him in, but headed to her pantry cupboard for the oil. If she poured the oil into one of her measuring cups, he would have to bring it back. Maybe by then she could be better prepared to attract.

  He stayed respectfully at the entrance, and continued conversing with her. After introducing himself as Chad, he talked of his recent move to the neighborhood, and his current work. He was a tax accountant, but dabbled in real estate. Not the most exhilarating work, he admitted, but it afforded a living.

  As Ess handed Chad the measuring cup half full of oil, he smiled in gratitude, and asked, "What about you, Esther? What do you do for a living?"

  "Well," she began to reply, then stopped short as she realized something. "I'm sorry. I don't remember telling you my name." Her heart began to beat a little out of rhythm in her chest.

  "Of course you did," and he laughed a bit forcedly. "How else would I know?"

  But Ess knew she didn't mention it yet. Besides, she went by Ess not Esther, and that was how she typically introduced herself. "That's funny, I really don't remember doing it." She tried to cover up her startled reaction, but her stomach squeezed and turned in her gut, and her nerves began tingling like static electricity.

  Chad just shrugged his shoulders, and looked at her like she was being silly and overly suspicious. Something didn't seem right, and she just wanted him out of her apartment at that point. She was feeling increasingly uncomfortable, and wondered how she could be naïve enough to open her door to a stranger.

  "You better get going," Ess prompted, "I have some things I need to do . . . and you need to finish making your dinner."

  She moved forward to press him out the door, but he stepped further inside and grabbed the door to shut it behind him. Ess gasped and began to panic, but her mind raced and she hadn't quite grasped what she needed to do in this situation. She couldn't even prompt herself to let out a scream.

  Just before the door slammed shut, it burst open again. The ensuing actions happened too quickly, but Ess heard a metallic clang and a wooden thud. Looking down, she saw Chad on the floor.

  Where Chad stood half a moment before, another man now loomed, tire iron grasped in his hands as though he had just swung it like a baseball bat. The man looked down at the crumpled mass on the floor, and then flashed his eyes up to Ess.

  Finally, Ess had enough control over herself to let out a scream. Her timing was imperfect, however, because the man with the tire iron flung his weapon away, so that he could clasp one hand over her mouth and the other behind her head.

  Ess stopped screaming in her new shock. This gave the man enough time to let go of her and kick "Chad's" body out of the radius of the door, which he swung shut with his foot. With the second intruder, seemingly even more dangerous than the first, Ess found her adrenaline heating and her senses geared up for a second wind. She sucked in air so that she could begin a fresh new scream, all the while turning from the scene to run anywhere she could. Anywhere had to be safer than her living room just then.

  Her reaction was cut short as the man grabbed her again from behind. This time he held her to him, arms trapped at her sides, a hand placed once again over her mouth. His hand felt hot, and she could smell remnants of the metal iron he had just been wielding. The invasion on her senses made her stomach turn.

  He let her go for a moment, but she was abruptly grabbed again before she could react. Suddenly her energy diminished, and she felt herself become unwillingly limp. After that, the world disappeared.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Roden walked through the doors of Benlevi's and immediately began perusing the faces of the crowd. He still didn't know exactly what he was going to do. Maybe, just maybe, Esther frequented the restaurant and would be here tonight. He could warn her, or follow her, he didn't know. He just knew from the phone message that, wherever she was, Max was probably not far off. This was a long shot, and he didn't deny it, but if he had even the slightest chance of getting to Max, he wanted to be sure he took it.

  As he made his way through the dining room to the bar, his eyes darted quickly from face to face. The time when he had made her acquaintance was brief, but she had looked so identical to Max's artworks that he felt sure he could spot her if she were present.

  At this particular time of the evening, the place lacked that overzealous crowd he had witnessed a few Friday's ago, and so he found an open stool at the bar upon which he sat. Several minutes of searching the restaurant's patrons didn't come up with any results. Finally, he started to realize how ridiculous his hopes of finding her were. Obviously, she wasn't present. He even watched the women exiting the lady's room longer than necessary before he could convince himself that she wasn't about to appear from behind the restroom's frosted glass door.

  His heart twisted with the reality, and his lungs stiffened. Roden knew he needed to go to the police. It was his only available option now. He'd already attempted to locate Max. The young man wasn't at home. He didn't find him in his studio or at the pub that he occasionally went to. His choices were slim, and basically gone.

  Roden reluctantly rose to make his way out the door, skimming the faces just one more time in the hopes that he had just missed her. No such luck. With his shoulders slumped forward and his head hung low in defeat Roden headed for the exit.

  That's when he heard a voice. The resonance vaguely familiar, and the tone slightly annoying, could not be easily forgotten. Roden turned his head in the direction from which the voice had come. Sure enough, there she sat at a table for two by the window. It was Esther's snotty friend.

  This was going to be embarrassing, and Roden didn't quite know how he was going to put it, but he didn't have time to waste on those petty matters. He took a deep steadying breath, and strode up to the table where the woman sat across from a gentleman.

  Roden cleared his throat and proceeded to get her attention, "Your Esther's friend. Am I right?"

  She looked up at him, slightly stunned, and then raised an incredulous eyebrow. "Excuse me?" A slight sneer appeared at her lips at the evident displeasure of the intrusion.

  "I beg your pardon," Roden felt the embarrassment of the situation just like he knew he would. "Truly, I don't mean to interrupt. But you are a friend o
f Esther's, right?"

  "Ess? Yes," she replied haughtily. "And you are the guy that caused her grief by letting her know that some freaky artist created statues and put them on display for everyone to see."

  Roden cleared his throat again, "Ah, yes . . . about that - "

  "Maybe it wouldn't have traumatized her so much, if you had let her know ahead of time that one of the sculptures on display was naked!"

  Well, that shocked Roden. He didn't really think about the effect that would have on the poor young woman. Not a smooth move for a psychiatrist. Add that to the list of screw ups that their coincidental meeting had started.

  She continued, "And now you are interrupting my date in the hopes that you can cause my poor friend more misery? Is that right?"

  Maybe this wasn't such a good idea. If she responded this way to seeing him because his kindly intended information led Ess to distress (why did he only now realize in hindsight that Esther would likely react that way?), how livid would this woman be when he told her that the artist meant to kidnap her friend, or may have already?

  "I'm sorry I bothered you," Roden replied, but he just stood there, unsure what to do next. He hated the thought of facing this woman with the news he had to reveal, but she was also his only hope in righting the current catastrophe.

  "Well?" Esther's friend gasped. Roden thought he saw a flash of curiosity cross her face before she gave him an imprudent glare.

  Maybe her cocky attitude was just for show. She simply covered up her insecurities by being a bitch . . . He had to tell her, to get to the next step in saving his friend and hers from a bad situation. "Can I speak with you alone?" he asked.

  She rewarded his question with an exaggerated look of haughtiness. Yup, Roden thought, he was right. She was compensating. "No, you can have nothing to say that my date here can't hear."

  Oh, yes, she enjoyed this attention. It added a little flare to her date, so she played up on the dramatics. Roden glanced at her date and back to the overreacting woman. Then he glanced back.

  "Do I know you?" Roden addressed the man. He almost had a vaguely familiar face.

  The man rose up off his chair slightly to offer his hand to Roden. His nonchalance showed that he was not affected by the conversation between the intruder and his date. He found it slightly amusing by the smirk on his face. "Martin Voletti. I don't think we've met." He sat back down in his seat. "I have seen the Esther statues, though. Very good. I've been to La Donne on 5th many times. In fact, that's where Manda and I met."

  "Dr. Michael Roden," Roden replied in greeting. He didn't recognize the man's name. Maybe they crossed paths at the gallery. He had been there several times himself over the years, and he did have a good memory for faces if not for names.

  "Doctor?" Manda inserted, "Like a 'psychiatrist' doctor?" Roden colored, and she smirked at her correct guess.

  "Listen," Roden addressed them both, "I really don't mean to interrupt your meal. Truly. It's just that . . ." he paused. No this would be delicate ground.

  Manda raised her eyebrow at him again. Not a very becoming habit of hers, Roden reflected. He went on, "Max - the artist - is convinced – somehow – that Esther is in some kind of trouble." Manda's expression started to reconfigure into confused concern. "He left me a voice message saying that he was going to try to . . . 'take her away'."

  "What?" Manda breathed. The concern appeared sincere. The first genuine expression Roden noticed on this woman.

  "Come again?" Martin added in turn. Roden ignored him. It really was between him and Manda.

  He quickly filled her in on the rest of what he knew to try to keep her calm and get some action going. Manda, skeptical by nature, took a little more convincing than he felt they had time for. When she finally understood what Roden told her, she grabbed her cell phone and called Esther's number. Esther didn't answer her home phone. Manda then tried her cell phone with no success. After trying each phone number a second time, Roden got her to agree to lead him to Esther's apartment so that they could check on her and warn her of Max's ill-considered intentions.

  Martin insisted on joining them, declaring that Roden was a stranger, and one with odd circumstances for making their acquaintance. Roden could understand the justification in that.

  The apartment was several city blocks away, so they took Roden's twenty-year old BMW sport coupe. Though, a bit cramped with the three adults, it sped along very quickly, which was the necessary objective at that moment.

  Manda wanted to call the police, and Roden had a difficult time convincing her to hold off until they reached Esther's apartment. Luckily, Martin was of the same understanding as Roden, and convinced Manda to refrain from calling the police until they were sure of what was going on. The police wouldn't like it if they were dragged out to report a false tip on an imagined crime. Manda appeared to be appeased by his suggestion, and Roden was grateful.

  The drive seemed to take forever. Saturday night traffic was surprisingly sparse, but the traffic lights were working against them. The BMW sped from one long red light only to reach another and another. Roden had to breathe deep in order to stay calm, but Manda's cutting comments didn't help. She did not let up on her accusatory statements that Roden acted negligent and that "that crazy artist" acted, well . . . crazy. Her accusations were the same, over and over again, without any pauses. The only thing that changed were some of her colorful words: creep, weird, freak, nuts, lunatic, criminal, degenerate; along with the adjectives sloppy, reckless, thoughtless, irresponsible, heedless, inappropriate, illicit, immoral, depraved . . .

  Roden concentrated on the notion that this had to be penance for the regrettable situation that he had started. For the hundredth time that night (probably more), he berated himself for getting involved when he approached Esther. He couldn't for the life of him remember why he had thought it would be a simple harmless gesture. Stupid, stupid, stupid!

  Finally, FINALLY, they reached Esther's apartment. Manda flew out of the car before Roden could even pull the key out of the ignition. While Roden held the driver's seat forward to allow Martin to crawl rather ungracefully out of the back seat, Manda frantically pressed the call button for Esther's unit.

  By the time the men caught up to her, Manda was nursing a broken nail from the fierce pounding she performed on the call button. She gave Roden an angry glare. His feelings of guilt were starting to wear as his annoyance increased.

  "Well," Manda practically shouted, "She's not answering!"

  "Let's give her a chance," Martin suggested, "Maybe she's in bed and she needs to make it to the receiver."

  "It's barely nine o'clock," Manda retorted, "Ess is not an old lady. Even she doesn't go to bed this early. Besides, she lives in a teeny one-bedroom flat. You can walk across the entire length of it in less than ten steps."

  She pushed the button for one more long moment, and then began to fish through her purse. "I'm calling the police."

  Roden's face fell with the idea of this next move, but he let her rummage for her phone. He knew he couldn't delay any longer. Esther was not answering her phone or her door. This didn't bode well.

  Martin spoke just then, "Hey, someone is coming towards to the door. Maybe we can get in with her."

  Roden and Manda looked up, and the three of them stared at an elderly woman while she slowly walked up the pavement. As the lady reached the door, the three took a step back, making room for her, but stayed close to the door so they could grab it and slip in behind her. While she searched her luggage-sized purse for her keys, the lady gave the suspicious little crowd at the door sly and distrustful glances.

  Eventually, she pulled out a handful of keys and began to sort for the one that would fit the lock. Manda's impatience showed as she tapped her foot and glared at the lady with her arms crossed. This didn't go unnoticed. The elderly woman gave her a sour scowl; and, as she shoved the key into the lock, she glanced slyly again at the three people huddled around her.

  At last, she turned the key an
d opened the door just enough to slip in, attempting to shut it behind her. Manda acted quickly, and grabbed the door before it hit the frame, nearly squashing her fingers in the process. She tried to pull the door open as the lady held the knob and used all the weight of her rickety little body to pull it closed.

  "Listen you old fart," Manda snarled through the opening, "if you don't let go of this door right now, I will personally see to it that you are in need of the services of a nursing home for the rest of your short life."

  Manda's threat embarrassed Roden. Under any other circumstances, this was not a woman he would care to be seen with. She was crude, rude and an equal opportunity discriminator.

  It worked though. The lady let go of the door, turned and ran for the elevator as fast as her wobbly legs would let her. In her fright, she was punching the elevator 'up' button with impressively rapid speed. Manda rushed in and the lady let out a cry of terror. However, her fear was unfounded, because Manda ignored her and rushed for the stairs. Martin followed, and Roden brought up the rear, peering at the woman with the hope that Manda hadn't given her a heart attack.