Lulling the Kidnapper

by O. L. Gregory

  “Are you going back outside?” I asked.

  “No, I have some work to do in my office. You?”

  I smiled at the indication that I could go back out by myself. “I thought it might be nice to take my novel for English out onto the porch and read until sunset.”

  “Oh? What novel are you studying?”

  “The Scarlet Letter.â��

  “Ah, an excellent piece of literature. Enjoy.” He put the dishes in the sink, kissed me on the cheek, and went upstairs.

  By the time I’d grabbed the book and stepped out onto the porch, the Coasties were gone. They always cruised by faster in the evening, maybe they figured he’d be home and didn’t want to arouse his suspicion. Maybe the evening trip was just to reassure me that they were keeping a presence, I didn’t know.

  On one hand, I’d wanted to stay out there, to lean against the banister and stand in full view. But he could have grabbed me, ran me through the house, tossed me into that damned trunk, and taken off before the Coast Guard could get to the dock. That was a chance I didn’t want to take.

  I wasn’t going to blow this opportunity and make things worse. I had law enforcement’s attention, and they’d still come around tomorrow when he was at work. Tonight was not the time for impatience.

  When I made my move, I was going to do so when I was sure that I could get away.

  It was just one more night. I could live through one more night.

  I laid there in bed, wide awake, long after he had fallen asleep. The moonlight gave the room a washed-out look, his low snore was the only sound to mar the silence, the itchy lace on my nightgown was starting to irritate my skin, and I wasn’t aware of any of it. My mind was running through not only the last few days, but all the memories that Asshole had tried to alter and twist around in my head. I thought about the false memories I had made up, and the real ones that he’d tried to convince me had happened differently. This one was true, this one false, this one he told me about, this one I really saw… This is how I kept my hold on reality, how I kept from going insane, how I stopped myself from believing his bullshit lies.

  His influence tried to run deeper than just memories. He tried to change the way I viewed the world and the people in it. He’d spent hours explaining and rationalizing his treatment of me. How’d I’d been taught all wrong, and how it was his job to retrain me. It was like he was trying to repaint the world with different colors.

  Every time I started to doubt myself, to begin to fall for his theories on love, to think that maybe I really was the one who had it wrong, I ran things through my familial filter. - How does this compare to my parent’s relationship? To my aunt and uncle’s? To the one I shared with Jared? - That’s how I kept myself together. That’s the yardstick I used to measure Asshole against. Just one of my defense mechanisms, among many.

  They say slow and steady wins the race, I say determination and perseverance wins the battle of wills.

  I hit the ground running the next day. I had breakfast made, and the kitchen cleaned up, before he came downstairs.

  He had a look in his eyes as he sat across from me at the table. “You’re up to something.”

  “Spring cleaning today,” I said and beamed him a big smile.

  “Spring cleaning has you this revved up?”

  “Hey, I’m going to battle dust bunnies to the death and evict spider webs today.”

  He rolled his eyes, “All right.”

  I gave him a flirtatious look, “Don’t belittle my fun. I’m planning to annihilate the dust in an epic battle.”

  He wrinkled his forehead as his eyes widened, “I think I need to get you out of the house again, soon. You’re starting to lose it on me.”

  Honey, you don’t know the half of it. I wrinkled my nose at him, “Are you going to make fun of me, or are you going to work.”

  “Well, as much as I’d like to stay and see you bomb dust particles, I think I’d rather go on ahead to work.”

  After I’d seen him to the door, I walked back over to the wall of windows and stared at the water. The tide was still moving upstream. I wasn’t going to chance it this morning. I’d make my move this afternoon, once the tide had turned. That’s when their boat would be moving just a little bit slower as it fought the current.

  That was fine, though. I had some things I still wanted to find out first. There was no way for me to know if he had cameras outside, watching the doors, porch, or dock. But, I was going on an interior camera hunt. I wanted to know the angles, to find out exactly what he was seeing. It was one thing to search an empty room or closet, it was another to search a furnished room.

  Did he know that the Coast Guard was coming by three times a day now? Would he know if they approached the house? I wished there was a window I could use to signal them, and not be seen. It wasn’t lost on me that if the idiot worked second shift, I’d be home alone in the evenings while the sun was shining in and I might be able to casually use a mirror to reflect the light back at them. But I just didn’t have that kind of luck on my side.

  I spent the morning dusting any and every surface, nook, cranny, crevice, and piece of molding that existed in the house. I was so very careful to not appear to notice or mind any camera when I came across them, it’s not like he didn’t know that I knew I was being watched. No lingering landings of the eyes on them, no looking directly into them. I’d located a half dozen by the time I had finished. One was aimed on the porch, but the angle suggested that he wouldn’t be able to see anything going on along the water.

  And I had to wonder, how carefully did he watch the cameras while he was working? Would he see me appear to have an accident? If he thought I was hurt, would he waste time continuing to watch cameras, or would he toss the phone to the side and focus on getting home. And if he wasn’t watching, could the Coast Guard get in here fast enough to set a trap for him to walk into? But if he had exterior cameras, he might see the trap and run.

  Ugh! Drop it. Forget about anyone catching him, just go! They can bust into his office and get prints and evidence off his hard drive. He probably even has his various IDs in there, too. There’d be something for the police to use in trying to catch him. I was tired, so tired of keeping up appearances every moment of the day. I just wanted out, and if I left while he was at work, I just might be able to not get anyone shot.

  If he loves me at all - in his own twisted way - he’ll see me fall and take off to get home to me. He wouldn’t see the boat coming if he was occupied with driving. I could only hope that if I got the Coast Guard’s attention, they’d radio it in to the police and they’d follow Asshole on in, cornering and capturing him.

  Of course, it hadn’t escaped my notice that this little plan of mine may very well get me severely injured. I could just open the door and run towards the pier, flagging them down as I hit the water, but I still had the hope that he’d see my little ‘accident’ and come running into a trap.

  The plan was to fake a realistic looking trip into a plate glass window. I was going to have to pay attention to my every move, to make it look authentic while still making sure to roll on through fast enough to avoid as much falling glass as possible. Ugh, there was going to be blood, I was going to need stitches. But, hey, maybe he wouldn’t be watching and the impact might not set off the alarm. Maybe he wouldn’t know for awhile and they could catch him.

  This had better work, because I sure wasn’t looking forward to the idea of Asshole stitching me up by himself.

  I did have a plan B, on the off chance that I didn’t get the attention of the Coastguardsmen, or if they didn’t show up for some reason. I’d run back in and grab the roll of duct tape out of the drawer and some clean cup towels. If need be, I’d try and wrap up my wounds while riding the current downriver.

  One choice was to swim across and land on the island as I drifted down, hide in the woods, nursing my wounds, and flag down help the first chance I got.

  My second option was to tread water until I got to th
e marina of my grandparent’s trailer and break in. My dad had forgotten his key one weekend, and he’d shown me that the middle of the three living room windows was warped and could be popped open by pounding on the wall next to it. I’d walk up the steps of the porch, pop the window, open it as far as it would go, kick out the screen, climb inside, land on the couch, and call the police.

  Neither one of these options would result in him getting caught, but anything was better than him playing doctor on me again. Police could go and gather their evidence later. I just wanted to get the hell out.

  And if that meant that his next victim was going to want to come punch me in the face, then so be it. Hell, she could punch me twice.

  I looked at the clock, time was ticking away. I hoped the men were going to continue to keep the same schedule today as they had for the previous three.

  I stripped the bed and loaded the sheets and blankets into the laundry basket, leaving one long corner to dangle. The boat was just becoming visible as I began my descent down the stairs. I let my eyes scan the entire view through the windows. There was a crane standing on the edge of the shore. I focused all of my attention on the bird, in case he was watching the cameras.

  I was halfway across the room when I saw the boat enter my peripheral vision as the bird tried to jab at something in the water with his beak. I let out a laugh and shifted the basket to one hip, in order to clasp my other hand over my mouth, as if to capture my giggles. As I shifted the basket, I let the dangling sheet fall to the floor, while keeping my eyes trained on the bird.

  I started to walk forward, to get closer to the glass wall, to see the bird more clearly. My feet stepped onto the sheet, and - oh, no - I began to stumble forward and fall.

  Here’s the thing, I was legitimately thrown off balance. The basket of sheets went flying, when I flung it away in an effort to regain my balance. I managed to get enough control to ensure that I was going to hit the window, but not enough to actually control my impact.

  I must not have had enough momentum to break through the glass, because as soon as my head hit the window I bounced right back and was thrown to the floor.

  The room swam around me when I tried to push myself up. The damn boat was passing by the house, the window wasn’t even cracked, and I was woozy. I grabbed my pounding head and pretended to pass out into unconsciousness.

  Well… That. Didn’t. Work.

  Stupid, stupid, stupid. One lapse in patience, and look what it had gotten me. Nothing.

  I continued to lie there, berating myself, waiting to see if he’d come for me. One, I might as well find out how long it took him to get from work to home. And two, well quite frankly, I needed a little time to pout.

  It had been such a stupid plan, and not at all well thought out. I should have just said, ‘screw it’, and walked out the door. How the hell many more days did I think they were going to look for me, anyway? I’d messed this up, messed it up big time.

  I figured I’d done about fifteen minutes worth of sulking before he came running through the door. This meant that he didn’t even work in town. He might even hop on the interstate and work off another exit, which would make it all that much harder for the cops to track down his car. I had hoped that an officer would find his car parked outside of some small business building, but hope was dwindling on that front as well.

  “Oh Mia, my Mia, are you okay?” he asked as he rushed to my side.

  I wasn’t pretending to be passed out anymore. I was just laying there, looking stunned, and clutching at the big bump on my head that freaking hurt.

  He scooped me up, placed me on the couch, and went to get an icepack, a glass of water, and a couple of Tylenol pills for me.

  “What were you looking at when you fell?” he asked, when he’d returned from the kitchen.

  “There was a bird… a crane, I think… anyway, he was standing on the shore. He started poking at something at the edge of the water. I just wanted to see what he was poking at.”

  I accepted and swallowed the pills with the water, and then put the icepack to my head. He took the glass, placed it on the end table, and sat on the edge of the couch.

  “Well,” he asked, “did you see what he was after?”

  “No, all I saw were stars.”

  He chuckled.

  I immediately started bawling. I blubbered an apology for making him worry, for making him leave work to come check on me. But really, I was crying about how I’d been dumb. I’d gotten so excited about the prospect of getting out of here, that I’d forgotten virtually everything I’d learned while being stuck with him.

  My sudden shift in mood alarmed him. He shushed and crooned until I pulled myself together. Then he gave me a thorough once over. “Well, your pupils look good, and you’re speaking in coherent - if not weepy - sentences. I think you’re going to be all right.”

  “This icepack hurts.”

  “You need to keep ice on that bump.”

  “It really hurts, it feels like it’s already bruising.”

  He sighed, peeved either because I’d argued or because I’d whined. He got up and came back a few minutes later with a bucket full of ice water and a couple of hand towels. He sat back down on the edge of the couch and immersed the towels in the water.

  “Relax,” he said, “accidents happen. I’m not upset that you disrupted my work day, only glad that I could get away to come to tend you.” He removed the icepack, wrung out one of the cloths, and placed the freezing cold thing on my head.

  “But I did disrupt your day, and for something as stupid as a bird, too.”

  “I’m only glad that you will recover easily. But I do want you to stay put, on this couch, for the rest of the day.”

  “But don’t you have to get back to work?”

  “Nonsense, I’ll call and tell them you’re injured, they’ll understand.”

  He switched out the two towels, so that as one warmed against my skin, it could be replaced with an icy one. He made dinner. He freaking picked up and washed the sheets and remade the bed. He was the picture of husbandly civility.

  All I could do was sigh as I lay there that evening, watching the third boat of the day cruise on by, stewing in my own frustrated thoughts.

  And then the Coast Guard boats stopped coming by. They stopped looking for me. Oh they might be keeping their eyes open for me, but they were no longer actively seeking me out. I’d blown it, and I knew it.

  Chapter Eight

  “Do. Not. Laugh.”

  I’d been sitting at my desk, working on school and watching the clouds, all day. I may not have access to any news broadcasts, but I was pretty certain that we were about to get hit with a serious thunderstorm. The water was gray and choppy, birds were attempting to play in the changing air currents and ended up looking disoriented, and the clouds were turning from gray to piss-your-pants-black.

  It was still spring, and the changing weather was wreaking havoc along the river. This wasn’t the first nasty storm I’d seen hit this area and, with any luck, it wouldn’t be the last. We weren’t in hurricane season, so I didn’t really see any reason to worry about it. We had bottled water and canned goods, we’d survive.

  The first flash of lightening, so far upriver I couldn’t see the actual bolt, was followed by a low rumbling of thunder a few seconds later. The storm was pushing its way towards the house. I got up and went into the master bedroom to fill the tub, then into the other upstairs bathroom to fill that tub, and then downstairs to fill the kitchen sink with soapy water. Flushing toilets and the ability to wash a dish or two could make a power outage more comfortable. I walked over to the refrigerator and turned up the cold, and then did the same to the freezer.

  I’d like to say that I gathered flashlights, candles, and matches. But I hadn’t been given access to any. Besides, I had hours of daylight left.

  After that, I settled down on the couch to watch the show. Sure, I would have rather been watching a movie during the storm. But that wasn’t
an option for me, either. I kept my eyes on the force of nature, instead.

  Huge storm clouds crept their way down the river. I sat there, enthralled with watching the line of rain work its way across the water. I had been in this kind of storm before, but rarely had I actually watched it. It was crazy to see that ever-changing line of demarcation. I was amused as I watched the pier begin to get rained on first. The idea that it was quickly becoming soaked while the porch remained dry was funny. It wasn’t long, though, before the porch and the house were being battered by fat drops of rain that quickly began coming down in sheets.

  I was comforted by the sound of the rain. Don’t get me wrong, it was an angry storm, but it was something different than the endless hours of silence that existed throughout every single day that Asshole went to work. I was enjoying the storm because I somehow felt less alone.

  But then something else caught my eye. The surface of the water started to look funny as the storm continued to roll in. Like… I don’t know, it was like… Oh. Shit.

  Hail.

  Bigger than golf ball sized hail. Usually this wouldn’t really have bothered me, either. But there was an entire wall made out of glass here. That made it bother me.

  I scrambled off the couch and backed my way up the stairs. I found myself sitting on top of my desk. I guess I figured that if the hail did bust a few windows, I would be safe sitting this high up and away from the glass that might start flying. I briefly thought about hiding in a closet, but I was still obsessed with watching the storm unfold.

  I almost wished for the windows to burst with the impact of the balls of ice. What a convenient excuse that would make for wandering outside to find help. And after the storm, people would surely have to come to make repairs. With all the hustle and bustle, I would certainly have an opportunity to breakaway.