by Ann Mullen
“That’s a load of crap,” she hissed. “I’m not going to kill you unless you make me. I can say it was an accident. The gun accidentally went off by itself. I didn’t mean to hurt you.”
“Boy, are you in for a real jolt. The cops won’t buy that bologna! What I’m trying to tell you is that you’ve already committed one felony. Don’t add another one to the charge. How old are you? I bet you’re not a day over sixteen.”
“I’m eighteen. I’m an adult.”
I shook my head in disbelief and said, “That’s too bad. A young, pretty girl like yourself and all you’re doing is flushing your life down the toilet. You’ll be tried as an adult. You’ll get the gas chamber for this one.”
“You’re just trying to screw with my head,” she cried. “You don’t know what you’re talking about. They don’t have the gas chamber anymore.”
“You’re right, they don’t. Now they stick a needle in your arm and you die. It’s called lethal injection. It’s quick, simple, and easy. You go to sleep and never wake up. Is that what you want?”
“That ain’t going to happen. You’re full of crap.”
“Yeah, that’s what they all say... all the way up until they die.”
My ploy was working. She was getting visibly upset. Beads of sweat broke out on her forehead as she squirmed in her seat. She held the gun close to her chest as her eyes darted back and forth. She was about to crack.
“I hope you’re getting paid well for this job. You’re going to need a lot of money to get out of this mess. Kidnapping’s a felony. The FBI will be called in on this one. They’ll hunt you down like a dog, and when they catch you... and they will catch you... they’ll make your life horrible. I hope you have a good lawyer.”
“You’re crazy,” she said. She tossed her head back and laughed. “They told me you would say all kinds of stuff to try to scare me. They said you would threaten me. But Larry told me not to worry because he would take care of me. I don’t need a lawyer because I haven’t done anything wrong. We’re just out for a friendly ride.”
“You might want to listen to reason,” I said.
“There’s nothing you can say to get me to change my mind. I have to do this so Larry will buy me a new car. He said if I pulled this off he would buy me anything I wanted. And see, I’ve done it!”
“Who is Larry?”
“Oh, I see what you’re doing. You think if you keep after me, I’ll tell you everything. But you’re wrong. I ain’t saying nothing else. Just keep on driving and keep your mouth shut. I don’t want to get mad.”
“Have you ever hurt anyone because you got mad?” I asked, trying to get a feel for how far she could be pushed. I didn’t want to go too far and have her shoot me.
“Only once,” she whispered. She dropped her head in shame. “But I didn’t mean to do it. It was an accident. I said I was sorry.”
“What happened? What did you do?”
“What do you care?” She turned to face me. She leaned over and put her face as close to mine as she could without actually touching me. “You don’t give a rat’s patootie about me. All you want to do is catch me not paying attention. Then you’ll grab my gun. I’m not talking about it to you anymore. I know what you’re doing. I watch TV.”
She was mine... that statement told me so. She would not get away with her plans. My ploy had worked. Shortly, I would be in control. We had been on the road about ten minutes when the girl looked at me and ordered me to turn right at the next light.
“But that road takes you out into the country. There’s nothing out there but farms for miles and miles. Are you sure you want to go this way?”
“Just do it!” She stuck the gun in my ribs. “I’ll shoot you, I swear!”
I got over in the right lane and made the turn. She was still sweating, and I was running out of time. I looked in the rearview mirror and saw a car behind us. If I was going to do anything, I had to do it before we were alone on the road.
“Do you want me to turn the heater down? You look a little hot.”
“Shut up and drive. I’m fine.”
“You don’t look fine. You look a little pale.” I pretended to be concerned for her health. I took a chance and reached over to brush the hair away from her face. “Are you sick?”
“Don’t touch me!” she yelled. Her hand shook badly as she held the gun. “Leave me alone.”
“Why don’t we turn back now, before it’s too late?”
She became indignant. “It’s already too late.”
“It’s never too late. Please, put the gun away and let me take you home.”
“I told you to shut up!” She unfastened her seat belt, and in one swift motion, struck me up side the head with the weapon.
A pain shot through my skull like a sledgehammer. My vision blurred as I fought to maintain control of the car. But it was too late. The car careened off the road, bounced in and out of a ditch, and then slammed into a tree. My last conscious memory was of us hitting the tree and that poor girl flying through the windshield. Blood splatter was the last thing I saw before passing out.
Chapter 23
Slowly, my eyelids parted, focusing in and out repeatedly before I finally saw the bright light in the ceiling. Once my vision cleared, the intense heat and glare made my eyes hurt and caused me to turn away. The minute I moved my head, an excruciating pain shot through my neck all the way down to the base of my spine. I screamed out in agony, moaning and groaning as I wrestled with my predicament.
“What happened?” I spat, looking down at myself. I was sitting in a wooden table chair with my wrists and ankles bound to it with duct tape. My clothes were torn and bloody, and I ached all over. I screamed out loud, trying to get someone’s attention. “Somebody help me, please! Let me out of here! If you don’t release me, you’ll be sorry, I promise you! Listen to me. If you let me go, I promise I won’t tell a soul.”
Nobody responded to my cries. Instead, I sat alone, listening to the sound of my own breathing. I looked around the room, searching for the slightest hint of recognition. It was like a scene out of one of those cop shows where they put the bad guy in the middle of the room and shine a bright light in his face. The only problem was, I was not the bad guy, and this was not a room at the police station. This was someone’s bedroom; the decor obviously chosen by a female. The exquisite canopy bed was covered with a pink, frilly bedspread and matching pillow shams. One wall held a huge entertainment center, complete with all the amenities: stereo system with a CD player, television set, VCR, DVD player, and several shelves lined with store-bought DVD and VCR movies, CD’s, and cassettes. Another wall held an antique bookshelf filled to capacity with expensive looking dolls. The carpet under my feet was a thick, plush velvety pile the color of cream. A door off to the side stood ajar, revealing what was obviously a private bathroom. I could see a beige colored sink with a shiny brass faucet on top. Underneath, a thick, furry rug of the same beige color lay on the tiled floor. Several feet to the left of the bathroom door, I caught sight of a bedroom window. The ruffled, full-length, pink drapes had been drawn, shutting out all visibility. I couldn’t tell if it was day or night. Yet, seeing the window gave me hope. If I could just get to it, maybe I could recognize something familiar and figure out where I was being held. I had to try. I used all the strength I had in my feet to lift me and the chair, but all I managed to do was to send another spasm of pain down my spine. I felt a tear roll down my cheek as I bit down on my lip, trying to ride out the pain. As soon as it passed, I tried again. This time I made a little headway, and the pain was not quite so intense. What seemed like hours later, and after almost tipping over a couple of times, I reached my destination. My face was a foot away from the outside world. I leaned forward, digging through the gap in the curtains, only to be met with the resistance of closed mini-blinds.
“I don’t believe it,” I mumbled.
Frustrated, but determined, I tried once more using my nose. I poked and prodded, but still couldn’t separate the
slats enough to see anything. It was useless. The situation was hopeless. When things start getting out of hand, I tend to go a little berserk—as was the case now.
“Oh, give me a break! Somebody had better get in here. I’m tired and I want to go home!” Nobody was listening.
I twisted in my seat, my anger rising with each passing moment. My momentum built until I was shaking, twisting, jerking, bouncing, and doing just about everything I could do to release myself from my confinement. The chair creaked, but remained intact. I held still, panting and hissing, my face grimaced and distorted from the pain as my senses went into high-alert mode. I became all too aware of my predicament.
Suddenly, I heard footsteps accompanied by voices outside the bedroom door. Panic replaced the anger. I cowered like a whipped dog, slobber drooling from my mouth, my hair a tangled mess of long strands hanging down my arms. I slumped down in the chair and pretended to be resting. It was the only way I could calm myself. If I didn’t get myself calmed down, I would turn into a raving idiot.
At a glance, I must have looked rabid, because when the man walked into the room, he took a step backwards.
“Having a bad day are we, Miss Watson?” he asked. At the same time he laughed that ridiculous laugh that all short, skinny, half bald-headed men seem to have, who suffer from what I call little man syndrome. He was a small man with a big attitude. I despised him instantly.
“Don’t tell me, let me guess,” I snipped. “Clayton Tyler?”
“That’s me,” he smiled. “I’m afraid we haven’t been properly introduced.” He walked across the room and stood by the bed, keeping his distance as if he was almost scared to get too close to me. “You’re Jesse Watson—troublemaker and snoop.”
“And you’re Clayton Tyler—gangster and murderer,” I shot back. I glared at him and showed no fear.
“You know, I’m almost your worst nightmare.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means that you’ll meet your worst nightmare later tonight.”
“I’ll have something to look forward to.”
“Save the sarcasm, honey. I’m not impressed.” He moved from the bed to the bookshelf and picked up one of the dolls, examining it. “I bet you’re wondering whose room this is, aren’t you?”
“Actually, I don’t care who this room belongs to. All I want to do is get out of here.”
“I’m sure you do.” He sat the doll back down and turned to me with that stupid grin still plastered on his face. “She was such a lovely young woman...”
“Are you talking about that teenybopper you hired to kidnap me? The last I saw of her, she was flying through the windshield of my car. It wasn’t a pretty sight. Is she dead?”
“Unfortunately, Tammy didn’t survive the crash, poor child. I had my doubts about her from the start, but he assured me she could handle the job. Incompetents... all of them! You just can’t get good help anymore. What’s this world coming to?” He walked to within a few feet of me and stood there with his hands shoved into his pockets, rocking back and forth on his heels. “But this isn’t Tammy’s room. Oh, no, Miss Watson, this room used to belong to a wonderful young woman whose life was cut short because of you. The sad part is, you probably didn’t even know. You don’t have a clue.”
“Why don’t you enlighten me, Mr. Tyler? You seem to have all the answers and I’m sure you’re dying to tell me.”
“And deprive him of the pleasure of watching you squirm? No, I don’t think so.” Tyler turned and walked to the door to leave.
“Wait a minute,” I demanded. “I think you owe me an explanation. I haven’t done anything to you so why are you out to get me?”
“Past tense, my dear,” he sneered. “I’ve got you.”
“Whatever,” I said, not wanting to argue the semantics of a few words. “How do I fit into your little game?”
He didn’t answer. He turned and left the room, slamming the door behind himself. I heard the click of a door lock.
There was no longer any doubt in my mind that Clayton Tyler planned to torment me before he killed me. What had I done to him? It certainly wasn’t because he had made the unfortunate mistake of having his face show up in a picture filled with a bunch of cops, and said picture had ended up in my hands. Besides, I wasn’t the one who found it in the first place and I certainly didn’t have it now. No, there had to be more to it. And who had been the occupant of this room? Was I really responsible for someone’s death and just didn’t know it? I put on my thinking cap and surveyed the room. The first thing I noticed was that there wasn’t a single photo anywhere. I thought everybody had at least one picture of somebody sitting on top of their dresser or nightstand. That wasn’t the case here. There wasn’t even a picture of a pet. It made me wonder if the room had been stripped of all those personal items just to keep me from guessing my whereabouts, or was it because the memory of the young woman was too painful? Clayton was correct, I didn’t have a clue. Some private investigator I’m going to be!
As the time passed, I got closer to a panic attack. I was taped to a chair, barely able to move, and escape was not an option. Unless... if I could break the chair, I could get free… and if I could get free, escape would be possible. I had to try. I thought about the many times I’d seen this same scenario played out on television—it worked then and it would work now. So began my struggle as I inched and bounced my way toward the bathroom door, praying the whole time. “Let me see,” I told myself, once I got to the opening. “All I have to do is lean forward on my feet, push up, and slam the chair leg against the doorjamb. It’s a piece of cake.” Once satisfied with my new plan of action, I put it into operation, following it step-by-step. What I had failed to take into consideration was the possibility of it actually working the first time and the consequences of breaking the chair leg. A snap and a crunch later, I hit the hard ceramic tile of the bathroom floor sideways, my right hand still gripped to the seat, and pinned between it and the floor. I cried silently. Pain and suffering were quickly becoming a way of life for me. Using my body weight, I managed to roll the chair over on its back, freeing my hand from the pressure. I lay on the floor, staring up at the ceiling. “Well, you’ve done it this time, Jesse,” I said, my voice echoing off the bathroom walls. “Billy’s going to kill me for giving a ride to a stranger. Look where it got me! Why do I do such stupid things? I know better than to trust someone I don’t know.” My next browbeating words were interrupted by the bedroom door swinging open. I couldn’t see who had entered, but I heard their voices.
“I brought someone to keep you company, but I can see that you found a way to amuse yourself, Miss Watson,” Tyler said. “I have to leave for a little while. Please try to behave yourself.”
“Drop dead!” I yelled from the bathroom floor.
Clayton Tyler then spoke in whispered tones. “Cuff her hands and don’t let her out of your sight for a second. As you can see, she’s a feisty one. If she has to use the bathroom, make her leave the door open. If she gives you any trouble, you know what to do. Just remember, I want her alive when we bring the Indian here. Our man wants to do them together. Don’t disappoint me.”
“No problem,” a familiar voice said. “She’s not going anywhere.”
Tyler walked over to where I was lying, leaned over and admonished me for trying to free myself. “Look at what you’ve done to yourself. You’ve got to stop trying to escape. You’re not getting out and you’re only making things worse. If I untie you, will you behave yourself?”
“Yes,” I grunted, still trying to place the voice of the other man.
Tyler turned to leave, but hesitated. “Oh, by the way, you’ll be having a visitor soon. I’m sure you can’t wait. It’ll be so much fun.”
“Mr. Nightmare?” I hissed.
“Yes, and he’s dying to see you.” Tyler chuckled and then walked away.
The bedroom door closed with the familiar click of the lock as I waited to see who was left in the room with me.
My heart pounded and my breathing got heavier. I closed my eyes. When I opened them, I got the shock of my life. Cole was staring down at me.
“I don’t believe it,” I said, looking up at him. “I should have known you were too good to be true! You dirt bag jerk! You’re the scum of the earth! I hate you... you lying, sneaky, ratfink...”
“Shut up!” he yelled, and then kicked at the chair. The force of his foot should have rocked me hard, but it barely made contact. It was as if he was doing it for show; not to hurt me. I was confused, until I saw him raise his finger to his lips to shush me. He wasn’t the bad guy after all. But what part did he play in Tyler’s dangerous game? “They’re watching,” Cole whispered, removing the duct tape around my ankles, and then progressing to my wrists. “There’s a camera mounted behind one of the dolls.”
Once untied, Cole jerked me up and out of the chair by my T-shirt, pulling my face to within an inch of his. His lips formed the words, “Play along,” a second before he threw me face down on the bed, and slapped a pair of handcuffs on my wrists.
“Ouch,” I cried, trying to sit up. “They’re too tight.”
“Too bad,” he snapped. “You’re lucky to still be alive, after all the trouble you’ve caused. Fortunately, your days are numbered. I can’t wait to see the look on your boyfriend’s face when they bring him here. I wonder which one I will have the pleasure of killing first, you or him. Either way, I’m going to enjoy it. He’s been a thorn in my side ever since we were kids, always sticking his nose in where it didn’t belong. I should have buried him a long time ago.”
Cole was trying to tell me something in code, but my mind was in such a spin that I couldn’t assimilate the meaning of his words. Was I supposed to figure it out from his facial expressions or was I to pick out a few choice words? One thing was for sure, we needed to have a conversation, away from the view of the camera. An idea came to me.
“I’m hungry, and I have to use the bathroom,” I hissed. “The food can wait, but if you don’t let me use the bathroom, I’m going to pee all over this pretty bed.”
