by JD Nixon
One of the men shot his hands out and grabbed both my ankles as I passed, causing me to fall flat on my face. Fortunately I had the time and reflexes to put my arms out to stop my face breaking my fall. I glanced up at the wives, huddled in fright in the doorway, looking back at me.
“Ladies, get inside and lock the door!” I shouted slowly and patiently and hoped I didn’t sound as patronising as I felt. The man that tripped me, and it wasn’t Golden Guy but one of his friends, the lanky, freckly one, had a death grip on my ankles.
“That wasn’t nice what you just did to us,” he complained, and while I could agree with his line of reasoning – it undoubtedly wasn’t a very nice thing to do – I found it hard to muster up any remorse.
“Well, it wasn’t very nice what you just did to me either,” I pointed out politely. “I could have broken my nose. And it wasn’t nice for you to hassle us and block our path and swear at us. Or for him,” pointing at Golden Guy, “to grope me or try to kiss my friend. Will you let go of my ankles now, please? You’re hurting me.”
And just like that, he did. To my utter surprise, he then stood up and offered me his hand to help me up as well. The others rose to their feet and stood in the hall, hangdog expressions on their faces.
“Sorry for being so obnoxious. We’ve just come from a buck’s party for one of our friends and we’re a little bit frisky. None of us have girlfriends at the moment,” said Golden Guy, as if that excused anything, rubbing his throat and bathing me in his incredible eyes. He was killing me with that admission though, because he was simply edible. I wished I’d met him in better circumstances, without me looking like, you know, a stupid polygamous wife in a hideous dress.
“Sorry,” echoed the other two sheepishly.
“Well, all right then. I’m sorry for pushing you all over. How about we just call it quits? Enjoy the rest of your evening, gentlemen,” I said, not quite believing the turn of events but taking advantage of it to move quickly down the hallway, rapping on the hotel door. “It’s Tilly, let me in. Quickly!”
I twisted to look back at the sorry trio, afraid they were going to rush me, but they had already turned away, making their staggering way down the hall towards the lifts. Golden Guy glanced back over his shoulder once to throw me a sweet and regretful smile. I gave him a little wave of equal regret. Damn, he was smoking hot! Even from the rear.
The women welcomed me back as if I was a hero warrior returning from a bloody but victorious battle, and fussed over me continuously. I gave a mental shrug and let them. It wasn’t very often I was fussed over, so I sat back and enjoyed it. They made me a cup of tea, although to be frank I would much rather have been given a nice cold glass of sauvignon blanc. Then they insisted on treating the minor grazes I’d received on my arms when I fell, and I didn’t have the heart to tell them that the disinfectant they liberally applied caused me more pain than the grazes had.
After a while they settled down and we ate our meagre dinner: cheese and crackers, apples again, tap water again. Then we commenced our queuing for the bathroom routine. Elizabeth received the call to spend the night with their husband and the conjugal nightgown was carefully folded and taken with her. It was just as I was ringing Heller to report in that I remembered I had wanted to ask Daniel to get some US currency for me, even though the dress was still fine.
So far.
Heller groaned with exasperation when I told him about the hallway altercation, probably imagining that I’d started a riot at the hotel. But when I’d finished my story, he congratulated me on defusing the situation with my politeness. When he said that, I was glad that I hadn’t had the capsicum spray handy, because I’m pretty sure I would have used it. And then the situation wouldn’t have ended so nicely, especially for the men, and I wouldn’t be feeling so warm and tingly with Heller’s praise ringing in my ears.
After we said goodnight, I sent Daniel a text message asking him to do that little favour for me and he texted back his willingness to help. I thought $US200 should cover it. Then I had the last, cold shower for the night and bunked down again on the lumpy lounge. I was very tired though and fell asleep immediately.
Chapter 28
The next day passed almost identically to the previous one. At the morning prayer session, Elizabeth was given rare praise for her answers and the Pastor looked on her with something approaching fondness. She blushed modestly, smiling down at her hands and jealousy briefly flared on the other wives’ faces. She must have outdone herself in the sinful relations department last night to have earned such a reward, I thought cynically, trying not to let the thought bring my breakfast back up. Rebecca was singled out for further instruction during the day, so I assumed I could take the ladies for another stroll around the park, while he was occupied screwing, er, sorry, instructing his wife. Hannah perked up at that plan, having missed out on the excursion the day before and it was lovely to see her simple happiness in being outside the hotel room.
After the evening prayer session, where Mary was appointed the designated husband-shagger for the night, I pulled on my horrible dress and submitted again to having my hair plaited, tying the scarf in place as soon as it was done. We all filed downstairs again. And if I thought that the previous night’s lecture had exhausted the city’s supply of ugly, middle-aged sexual perverts, I was sadly mistaken. The room was full again. The crowd had a slightly different composition that night though and a different atmosphere, and I wondered if some of the audience had turned up looking for trouble. It didn’t take long before I knew the answer to that interesting little question.
About fifteen minutes into his speech, a small group of women stood up and started heckling Pastor Peachey. I sat up on my chair on full alert, but my brief was to look after the wives, not to protect the Pastor from dissent in the audience.
The women appeared to be refugees from a polygamous cult who had dedicated themselves to rescuing other women from the same fate. I’m sure they were well-meaning but they were over-emotional and an easy target for the abrasive tongue of the Pastor, who skilfully ridiculed them and their claims, questioning their credibility. They soon lost any support from the audience who had come to hear about the blissful joys of polygamy, not about the sexual and financial exploitation of young girls and women. The women were booed down every time they tried to speak and eventually stormed out of the meeting, throwing threats, obscene gestures and explicit curses at the Pastor in particular, and the audience in general, as they left.
I relaxed back in my chair again, although I spent the rest of the boring lecture keeping an eye on the hall’s entrance. Once the lecture was over, we again left the Pastor in the hall while I escorted the women back to their hotel room.
Walking across the foyer to the lift, there was a fracas behind us. Without any warning, I found myself being picked up by the elbows in two sets of very strong hands and half-carried, half-dragged out the sliding glass doors of the hotel’s entrance. I tried to twist around to view my abductors, but they had such a tight hold on me I couldn’t move. I presumed it was two men.
A woman, who I recognised from the earlier altercation in the hall as one of the hecklers, came rushing up from a dark van that was parked at the entrance and shepherded the men towards the open side door of the vehicle. The men tried to force me into the van but I decided not to cooperate. I kicked, scratched and bit my assailants in wild fury until one of them partially released his grip on my arm in pain. I took the opportunity to kick him hard in his stomach and he doubled over, letting me go. But there was still the other goon who picked up his partner’s slack by roughly throwing me into the van and attempting to slide the door shut on me. I forced my boot into the door entry and grimaced as he slammed the door hard on my foot. Repeatedly. Bastard!
He leant over trying to push my foot back into the van, and I raised my leg suddenly and collected him under the chin with the full force of my boot. He fell back clutching his neck and I flung back the door, jumped out of the van and, hea
d down like a bull, charged him in the stomach. He lost his balance and fell back hard onto the concrete.
“What the hell do you people think you’re doing?” I screamed at the woman, who was cowering next to the cabin of the van.
“We want to rescue you from that life of servitude,” she trembled. “I noticed you seemed really uncomfortable during the lecture. You don’t look as though you belong in that lifestyle. I wanted to get you away before you become brainwashed like them.” She pointed to the wives, who were huddled at the entrance, watching everything with huge eyes and horrified expressions.
I began to tell her just how mistaken she was when the first goon, recovered, made another attempt to get me into the van. He swept me off my feet and not in a romantic way either, flinging me over his shoulder, fireman-style. I punched and kicked him viciously. He crushed me so hard with his arms that I had trouble breathing.
“For God’s sake! Are you insane or something?” I wheezed, continuing to hit out feebly. “Let me down. I’m not one of the wives.”
He wasn’t listening though, concentrating on squeezing me so hard I thought I was going to throw up. The wives ran to him and started pummelling him with their fists and feet, until he was surrounded by angry women assaulting him. He staggered around, unbalanced by my squirming weight on his shoulder and being attacked from every direction. Rebecca was pulling cruelly on his hair and Mary was valiantly trying to gouge out his eyes. Elizabeth was kicking his shins, and Sarah and Hannah were punching him weakly on his torso and back. It was Gulliver and the Lilliputians re-enacted in front of a run-down hotel, but unfortunately without a happy ending. He dropped and shoved me unceremoniously into the van and slammed the door, helping his fellow goon up and into the front of the van. The woman jumped into the driver’s seat after them and we all screeched off into the darkness.
It was the kind of van that had a solid partition between the cabin and the back, so I couldn’t see or hear my abductors. There were no windows in the back either and that meant it was pitch black inside. I was very disoriented and tossed around as they drove recklessly fast away from the hotel. I clung on to the floor desperately. When the van pulled up at what I thought might be a set of lights, I sprung over to open the sliding side door to escape, but there was no internal handle. You couldn’t open the door from the inside. There was no escape for me.
I started to panic, not having been in this situation before, when I gave myself a good mental shake. Calm down and think, I instructed myself. So I sat down on the dirty floor and asked myself a question: what did I have that could help me? The answer I gave myself almost made me weep with joy. My phone! I had my mobile with me. I dug it out of the deep pocket of Mary’s dress and dialled Heller’s number.
“Hello, my sweet. You’re ringing me early tonight.”
“Heller . . . um . . . this is embarrassing, but I’ve kind of been kidnapped.”
Silence at the other end. “You’ve been kidnapped?”
“Yes.”
“Do you know who they are or what they want?”
I sighed shakily. “They think I’m one of the wives, and they’re trying to rescue me from a life of servitude with the Pastor. I guess they want to deprogram me. I’m in a van with no windows and no escape.”
“Did you tell them that you’re not a wife? Why would they even think you were one in the first place?”
“Because I’m dressed like the wives. It was the Pastor’s wish that I blend in with them.” A muffled noise issued from the receiver. My blood boiled. “Heller, are you laughing at me? Because it’s not the slightest bit funny from where I’m standing. I’m being kidnapped! And anyway, you’re the one who told him that he could have any arrangement that suited his needs. Me looking like a wife suited his needs, and now I’m being kidnapped because of that. So it’s all your fault!” Yep, I was definitely starting to lose it.
“Okay Matilda, stay calm and don’t panic,” he said coolly, no further sign of laughter. “Did you manage to note the number plate of the van so I can see who we’re dealing with?” I hadn’t. “That doesn’t matter. Your mobile phone has a GPS tracking system that we can turn on and monitor from here, so don’t worry, I’ll be able to find you soon. Are you hurt?”
My voice had an emotional wobble in it that I couldn’t hide. “They roughed me up a bit. There are three of them – a woman and two big men. The men had a struggle to get me inside the van. I almost escaped from them. Almost.”
“I bet you made it as hard as you could for them,” he comforted gently. “I’m going to hang up now so I can organise Sid to track the GPS and Clive and I will come to rescue you. Be patient and brave please, my sweet. I’m sure these people don’t mean to hurt you.”
“Thank you,” I sniffed and then I was alone again in the back of the van. I sat quietly, conserving my energy, thinking of what I’d do when they finally stopped and opened the door. Maybe there was something in the van that could help me. I felt around cautiously on the floor with my hand to my left but didn’t find anything useful, just some discarded fast food wrappings. I felt around to my right and ditto, until my hand came up against a metal box secured to the wall of the van. I moved my fingers up its side until they hooked onto a lid, slightly ajar. I opened the box and carefully felt inside, hoping it wasn’t full of mousetraps, cacti or scorpions.
Hmm, tools, I realised as I cautiously ran my fingers over the contents. A toolbox. Tools are handy – there’s a lot you can do with tools. You can make things, you can fix things, you can use them as weapons. My fingers closed over a long screwdriver. Oh yeah, that would make a good weapon. I pulled it free from the toolbox and slid it into my deep pocket. It’s just amazing what you can keep in a deep pocket.
We drove along for another ten minutes, according to my watch. I wondered what Heller was doing and fought the urge to ring him again. I wondered if the wives had managed to get to their room safely. I wondered how on earth these people thought that kidnapping a woman would predispose her to: one, take them seriously, or two, be willing to cooperate with them in any way. Because I was feeling pretty damn disobliging at that moment and more than ready to let them know about it.
The van slowed down and we made a left hand turn, bumping down a road pocked with potholes. Of course I couldn’t see anything, so didn’t know if we were headed for a castle or a caravan, but it felt as though we were nearing our destination. The van stopped and it sounded as though everyone in the front got out. I tensed, waiting for the door to slide open, but nothing happened. Nobody came for me and I sat in the back, no idea what was going on, my anxiety growing with each minute that elapsed (another ten of them so far, according to my watch). They weren’t going to leave me here all night by myself, surely? Maybe I was meant to be mulling things over and they were giving me some quiet solitary time in which to do so.
Suddenly the door was flung back, making me jump. Three faces peered into the van at me. I brandished my screwdriver with as much menace as I could muster. Six eyes widened in surprise.
“Get back and stay away from me!” I warned, thrusting the evil screwdriver in front of me and slithering towards the door. I didn’t want to give them the chance to shut the door on me again. I was going to stab one of them if they came anywhere near me, I was that angry.
“Aw geez, Alan! Didn’t you take your tools out first?” one goon said to the other, annoyed.
The other goon shrugged apologetically. “Sorry Jonno. I was flat-out at work today and came straight here afterwards. I forgot.”
“We’re not going to hurt you,” said the woman soothingly, her palms held up in the universal symbol of peace.
“Yeah, well I plan on hurting you plenty if you come any closer, bitch,” I snarled, and jabbed the screwdriver towards her ferociously. She jumped back in fright, offended by my aggressiveness.
“That’s not a very Christian thing to say. Is that what Peachey has been teaching you?”
“Look, let’s get something str
aight. I am not one of Peachey’s wives. I’m a security officer hired to protect them from . . . well I guess, from people like you.” A little white lie never hurt anyone and I was sure that they’d never go checking to verify my licence.
Jonno scratched his head. “Why are you dressed like them, then?”
I sighed and lowered the screwdriver. “Because Peachey made me. He wanted me to blend in with his wives so nobody would know that he had hired security.”
Three sets of shoulders slumped in unison.
“Wow,” said Alan, shaking his head and looking at his accomplices. “We really fucked this up, didn’t we? We grabbed the only one who isn’t a wife.”
The woman gave a resigned laugh. “I suppose that would explain why you appeared so disgruntled and bored. And why that dress doesn’t fit you properly. But we knew he had six wives, and there were six wives on display. Come on, you must agree it was a reasonable conclusion to reach. How were we meant to know one of the wives wasn’t real?”
“I suppose,” I conceded reluctantly. “The other wife is back home minding the kids. Didn’t you even twig when I spoke without an American accent?” They glanced at each other sheepishly.
“What’s your name?” she asked me.
“Tilly.”
“Come on, Tilly. Come up to the house and have a cup of tea.”
I slid the screwdriver back into my pocket, just in case, and we all trooped up to the house and took a seat on its wide, sheltered veranda. She made the tea and soon I was enjoying a hot brew with my kidnappers. The woman introduced herself as Carla, explained that she had joined a polygamous marriage in a cult when she was sixteen, escaped with her four children when she was thirty-five, and had now made it her life’s work to campaign against polygamy. Alan and Jonno were brothers, her cousins, and they weren’t really goon-like at all once you got to know them better. They were actually quite friendly. Alan was a carpenter and Jonno a guitar player in a local bluegrass band.
