by Lorin, Terra
Nausea grabs me in the pit of my stomach, making me gag, and the sharp, sour taste of bile rises to my throat. Pain . . . in my chest . . . and I–I–I can’t catch my breath.
I know this feeling, I know it all too well, even if I haven’t had one for a while—I’m having a panic attack.
Oh God.
I start to tremble and I’m getting cold sweats, while tears stream down my face. I’m panting hard, and my heart pounds as though I’m going to have a heart attack.
There are sounds outside, men’s voices, talking. I can see through the cracks that they’re right outside the door. As the door opens, I squint as the sunlight hits me, then there’s dimness again, and I watch them walk towards me—there are two of them.
Tears continue to flow from my eyes as my breath comes in pants.
“Plea . . .” I plead, my voice hardly audible as I puff out the incoherent word with my ragged breath, “I–I–I . . .” I try to speak, but my words are unable to leave my lips.
“Shut up!” a harsh voice commands me.
“What’s wrong with her? Why is she breathing like that?” another voice—a younger, gentler one—asks.
As my anxiety mounts, I start to scream like a crazy woman.
“Shut the fuck up, I said!” the older kidnapper’s voice bellows out, and a sharp sting lands across my face.
I lower my head, sobbing, trying hard to catch my breath. I scream again, and this time, his hand is at my throat, choking me, my eyes start to blur, and I–I–I . . .
* * *
I wake up coughing as water splashes my face. I look up and the younger kidnapper, the one with the soft voice, crouches in front of me.
His eyes roam down to gaze at my breasts, where the top buttons on my dress have come loose. I bring my knees up to my chest, to guard myself, but his eyes now move downward to where my panties are exposed. I quickly drop my legs and fold them under me, but my hem bunches up exposing a good portion of my thighs.
He runs his fingers over my thigh, and I cringe, squirming around to make him stop.
“Please don’t,” I plead.
His eyes gaze into mine, and he smiles at me charmingly. If he wasn’t a kidnapper, I’d say he was handsome, but because of who he is, he repulses me.
He sits down comfortably, crossing his legs in front of him. He picks up a piece of bread off a tray of food he brought in, tears off a piece, and says, “Here, you need to eat.”
He pushes it to my lips but I lock them tight and don’t let him in. I jerk my head as he continues to try to push it into my mouth.
“I don’t want any,” I say in defiance when I manage to make him stop.
“You’re going to eat, or maybe you want me to do other things to you instead.”
I look into his eyes. Is he serious?
He pushes the bread to my lips again, and as I stare into his eyes, fearful of his threat, I reluctantly open my mouth.
“That’s a good girl. You do as we say and you’ll live to see your brother again.”
Tears again flood my eyes and roll down my cheeks. He spoons soup into my mouth, and gives me water to drink.
When he’s done feeding me, he says, “Wasn’t that good? Aren’t you glad you ate something?”
I don’t answer and instead lower my eyes so I don’t have to look at him. But he puts his hand under my chin to force my gaze upwards.
“I want you to look at me when I talk to you,” he tells me.
I do as he says, but my eyes look at him sadly.
“You’re a very pretty girl,” he says as he touches my hair.
I pull away from his touch.
“I have to use the bathroom,” I tell him abruptly.
He looks at me for a moment, then stands up and disappears behind me. I feel my bindings loosen, and I rub my wrists as soon as he sets them free.
“C’mon, let’s go.” He grabs my hand and pulls me towards the door.
Once we get there, my free hand grabs onto the doorframe and I hesitate to go any further. He stops at my resistance. That panicky feeling is coming over me again. I’ve already had a panic attack earlier for just being in this strange environment; I’m going to freak out again if I have to go outside.
“What the fuck’s wrong?” he asks, looking annoyed.
“I–I–I can’t go out there.” My panic starts to take hold and I’m trembling. My heart races and heat inflames my face and neck.
“I’m going to be sick,” I tell him and I drop to the ground, gasping for breath, as nausea once again brings that awful taste to my mouth.
“What the fuck?” I hear him say as he stares down at me, while I’m grasping onto the doorframe for dear life.
My breaths are coming fast and hard, I feel dizzy, and I can barely understand what he’s saying to me. He crouches down and scoops me up in his arms. My arms instinctively cling to his neck and I bury my face, shutting my eyes out to the surroundings, while he carries me.
The next thing I know, we’re inside a cabin.
“What the fuck’s going on?” the other kidnapper who slapped me earlier asks.
“She needs to go to the john.”
“Can’t she walk?”
“She was having a panic attack.”
“Oh yeah, her brother said she’s got agoraphobia.”
“Why don’t we let her stay here in the cabin? She can then go to the john herself.”
“No. She stays outside. She ain’t no house guest on vacation.”
“Well, we’ll have to get her a bucket or something because I ain’t gonna be carrying her back and forth every time she needs to pee or take a crap.”
The other kidnapper laughs.
The young kidnapper carries me to the bathroom and sets me down. I’m still breathing hard, but I feel my panic subside. He holds me up until I steady myself and can stand without his help.
“You okay?” he asks.
“Do you care?” I answer, sarcastically.
He looks at me, furrowing the space between his brows. “Hurry it up.”
I close the door and sit on the toilet as the tears once again spill from my eyes.
Don’t think I haven’t considered the fact that I’ve seen their faces. They’re not going to let me live. Once they get the ransom money, I’m dead.
I have a feeling they’ve hidden me away somewhere out in the boonies where nobody is going to find me. Once they get their money, they can easily dispose of me, bury me, or throw my body in some lake.
God, what am I going to do?
I put my hands over my face and I sob.
“Hey, you cryin’ in there?”
I wipe my eyes and blow my nose in a tissue.
“I’ll be right out.”
After I do my business, I don’t flush the toilet, to buy me time as I look through the medicine cabinet and on the counter for anything that might be useful. There’s a box of Band-Aids, rubbing alcohol, shaving cream, a razor, two toothbrushes, toothpaste, but not much else, no pills. They must not live here and just using this cabin for my kidnapping.
I look for extra razorblades, but there’s none. Damn it. If I take the one out of the razor, they’ll know in the morning that I took it. Having no spare razorblades is not a good sign. Seems they’re not intending on staying here long.
“Hurry it up,” my kidnapper says impatiently.
I flush the toilet and wash my hands. As I open the door, the young kidnapper grabs me by the arm and pulls me out.
“I don’t smell crap in there, so what the hell were you doing in there so long?”
“I was crying okay? I’m not used to being kidnapped.”
“C’mon, I’m taking you back.” He once again pulls me along to the door.
“You’re going to have to carry me again; otherwise, I’m going to have another episode.”
As much as I loathe him touching me, I prefer not to have another panic attack, because it’
s the worst feeling in the world, and I’ll tolerate anything to avoid it.
He carries me back to the shed and sets me down in front of the post. Just before he goes around to the back to bind my hands, I touch his arm. He hesitates and his eyes look into mine.
“Please don’t tie me up. You saw how I get if I go outside. I can’t escape if I wanted to,” I say, looking at him with pleading eyes. “Besides, I’m sure you’ll lock me in anyway, so can’t you let my hands be free?”
His eyes stare into mine as he thinks about my words for a moment.
“Yeah, I guess we’ll have to set you free when we bring in the bucket anyway, so it doesn’t really matter whether now or later.”
Oh God, is he really going to make me use the bathroom in that way?
“Get some sleep. We’ll be calling your brother again tomorrow. If you’re good, we may let you talk to him.”
Although, this ordeal has been a nightmare so far, that is one piece of good news I’ll be looking forward to. Talking to Marcus will give me the strength I need to get through this.
The young kidnapper leaves with the empty food tray. As I hear him secure the lock on the door, I stare up at the moonlight beaming in through the cracks in the ceiling. My fingers clutch the charm that Marcus gave me as I wrap my other arm to hug my knees to my chest. Again, my sobs take over as the fear of my predicament once again engulfs me.
If I am to die, why wasn’t I taken the day of the accident? Surely drowning would be a more merciful death than what these kidnappers have in store for me.
But I can’t give up hope, I have to hang on and pray that they’ll let me live.
Please, God, don’t let them kill me.
Chapter 14 - Laura
~* Laura *~
Yesterday, a few hours after the kidnapper’s call, we went down to the FBI’s local office. They said that whoever kidnapped Angela must’ve been casing the house for a while, so it would be better for them to conduct their investigation somewhere other than the house. Especially since the kidnappers’ threat was so horrific. Would they do something like that? I don’t even want to think about it.
Because the calls are being made to a cell phone, unlike what we see in old movies, they won’t need to setup equipment to tap into it. Also, Marcus downloaded an app that will record the calls, so that will also help.
This morning we went to the bank as soon as they opened so Marcus could find out just how much he could obtain for the ransom. Most of his money is tied up in investments, but if he has to, he said he’ll sell them off. It still won’t give him the amount the kidnappers asked for, so he was hoping the bank could make up the balance. Unfortunately, what he’d have left to put up as collateral won’t be enough to grant the loan.
The last resort is to sell the majority of his and Angela’s shares in his father’s corporation. Marcus told me he is executor of Angela’s inheritance until her twenty-first birthday, so he has authority to do that. Selling their shares could give him enough money for the ransom.
I’ve only known Angela for a few weeks but she’s already like a sister to me, so my emotions are totally invested in her and my heart is aching, and the pit of my stomach wrenches with stress and worry. I can’t imagine how Marcus is feeling because I’m sure what he’s going through is ten times worse.
Marcus is upstairs resting. I told him I’d make him a cup of tea and bring it up to him when it’s ready. He had a sleepless night.
When I reach his room, the door is wide open. I guess since he knew I would be coming, he didn’t bother to close his door. He’s lying on his bed in a white tank undershirt and shorts.
I walk over to his bed, and he turns to look at me. He sits up and swivels his body so he’s sitting on the edge of the bed. I pass him one of the cups and look around for a chair to sit on.
“You can sit on the bed,” he tells me.
Why not? I’ve already been in his arms while he was naked, so sitting on his bed isn’t anything to feel uncomfortable about.
I plant myself down next to him, but I keep a six-inch distance between us.
We’re silent as we sip our tea.
“What kind of tea is this?” he asks.
“Ginseng. It’s good for relieving stress and anxiety.”
“It tastes good. Thanks.” He smiles so sweetly at me, but it’s a smile overshadowed by pain. He’s trying to be strong, to carry on as he normally does, but his true emotions reflect in his dim eyes.
He puts his cup down on his nightstand and positions himself to lean back on his headboard, folding his arms across his chest. I’m still sitting on the edge, but I turn to face him. He closes his eyes.
I continue to stare at him, sipping my tea, not knowing what to do. He’s obviously in deep contemplation so I don’t want to disturb whatever it is he’s thinking about. I watch a tear fall from his eye. He clears his throat and rubs his nose, trying to hide his emotions.
“Don’t hold back what you feel,” I say to him, my voice soft, almost a whisper.
He opens his eyes to look at me. “I can’t lose her,” he says, his voice low, and hurting.
“I know.” I put my cup down and touch my hand on his arm.
He puts his hand on mine and says, “Thank you for staying. I would be going crazy if you weren’t here.”
“I care about Angela as though she were my sister too.” I gaze into his eyes. “And I care about you, so I’m not about to let you go through this alone.”
I don’t know why I’m saying such bold things to him, but I mean them, and it feels right to say them.
He smiles and pulls me to him until his arms embrace me fully. He holds me and we’re silent again.
Being in his arms feels so right, and although I’m the one who’s supposed to be comforting him, it feels as though he’s comforting me.
His cell phone rings and we both jump up. He grabs his cell from the nightstand.
“Hello?” His voice is deep and raspy. He puts his cell on speakerphone and lowers it to his lap.
“You got the money?” the voice on the other end asks.
“No. I can’t get it that fast. It’ll take me a few more days.”
“How many is a few?”
“I don’t know, maybe two or three. I have to get some legal paperwork done to release the money. It’ll depend on how fast they can process it.”
There’s a pause on the other end.
“Okay, you’ve got your time, but no messin’ around. If you try anything, we’ll send you her hand.”
Oh my God. This guy is crazy. I sure hope he’s bluffing. The fear this guy is instilling in me, I can’t even imagine the fear Angela is feeling.
“Let me speak to my sister. I have to know she’s still alive, before you get your money.” Marcus’ voice is firm.
In the background, we can hear noises, muffled talking. The kidnapper must be holding his hand over the phone.
“Marcus?” It’s Angela’s voice.
“Angela!” Marcus’ body stiffens, he stands up, and paces a few steps. “Have they hurt you?”
“No, not really.”
“What do—” But before Marcus can ask her the question, the kidnapper comes back on the line.
“You’ve got the proof you need, so go to it. Get the money. I’ll call back every day to find out where you’re at with it.”
“You better not touch her. I swear, I’ll find you and kill you if you do!”
I think this time Marcus may really mean it.
“If you don’t want us to touch her, you best get the money fast. She’s a pretty girl, I bet her body’s real sweet.”
“You fuckers! Don’t you fucking touch her!”
“Get the fucking money.” And he hangs up.
“Fuck!” Marcus hurls his cell onto the bed. He drops to his knees and slams his fists to the mattress.
“He’s bluffing. If they were going to hurt her, they would’ve already. Sh
e’ll be all right,” I try to console him, and I want to believe it myself.
He rakes his fingers through his hair and holds them there as his elbows dig into the bed. He turns around and sits on the floor with his knees bent in front of him.
I sit next to him and hold his hand.
After a few moments, he embraces me, and we sit wrapped in each other’s arms. His head is in my neck and I stroke his hair, to comfort, to let him know that everything will be fine.
He squeezes me tight as the tears well in my eyes.
I hope to hell that I’m right.
Chapter 15 - Angela
~* Angela *~
Damn them! Why didn’t they let me talk to Marcus longer? They’re horrible and cruel! The young one is not as bad as the older—he scares me.
The young kidnapper at least shows some form of compassion—sometimes, anyway. Yet, other times, he frightens me too.
I wonder how much they’re asking for ransom? What if it’s too much for Marcus to pay?
Oh God. I’ve got to try and escape. I don’t know if Marcus can save me this time. I need to try to save myself.
But how? I can’t even take two steps outside the door. My panic attacks have subsided within the shed, but I know they’ll reoccur once I’m outdoors. And how am I going to break the lock?
The situation seems hopeless.
I sit on the ground, hug my knees, and my mind races as to what I can do.
Someone’s at the door, undoing the lock.
I squint, but not for long, for he immediately closes the door. It’s the younger kidnapper.
I lower my knees and tuck in my legs.
“I’ve brought you a bucket,” he says, setting it down next to me—there’s a toilet paper roll sitting inside it, “and a book.”
He tosses it to me. “You might as well keep yourself busy, because you’re going to be here for a few more days. Looks like your brother needs time to get the money.”
“How much are you asking for me?” I ask boldly.
“Five mill,” he answers as if it’s no biggie.
“What if we don’t have that kind of money?” Marcus takes care of all our money matters, so I have no clue as to what our assets are, or whether we even have that kind of money.
