by J. L. Drake
“Let me drive you back to your car, at least,” Joe says, standing to shrug on his jacket. He is a handsome man. His gel-styled brown hair and light eyes are a pretty combination. I guess he’s in his mid-thirties.
“That’s not necessary. I can take a cab.”
“Nonsense. I stole you away, so it’s only right I return you too.” He gestures toward the door. “Is your car at work?”
I shake my head as I slip my purse over my shoulder. “A friend dropped me off this morning.”
“Home, then?”
I nod as we walk outside. The ride is nice. He offers more information about his company and asks a few questions about my position.
“So, you’ll fax me those samples as soon as you can?” he asks as I duck down to say goodbye through the open window.
“Yes, I will. ’Night, Joe. Thanks for the fun evening—and the ride.” I walk toward my condo, deciding to grab the necessary file now rather than tomorrow.
I prop myself against the wall in the elevator, tired and anxious about how my day started. The idea of disappointing Dad again is weighing heavily on me. It seems to be a weekly event. Either it’s the media or merely something I say or do around him. God, I really miss my mother! She was so sweet and understanding. She wouldn’t have cared if I wore the wrong outfit to lunch or said the wrong thing during a business dinner. Christ, I’m only human. I never wanted to be a part of the public eye in the first place—never once!
I step out to a quiet parking lot. Luckily, my car is parked close by, as my feet are getting sore in my high boots. I open the trunk, reach for my laptop case, and suddenly sense someone is behind me. I start to turn, but a dark cloth is slapped over my face. A hand covers my mouth so I cannot scream. My feet leave the ground as I’m flung over someone’s shoulder, and something cold and hard strikes my shin. Fear courses through my veins, and the air is forced out of me as my attacker tosses me roughly into the back of a vehicle. I feel the movement as we speed away. I can’t believe this is happening! I am terrified out of my mind.
Someone makes fast work of binding my wrists and ankles. I can make out only shadows around me, and hear male grunts and heavy breathing. Fear has taken over, and I seem to have lost my ability to speak. Someone grips my shoulders, pinning me, while another stretches out over top of me. With all my might, I buck my legs and nail one of them in the crotch. His screech is ear-piercing as he falls back, then I feel the poke of a needle, and everything gets fuzzy.
That’s all I remember from the last day I spoke to my father, my best friend, my coworkers, and since I saw the light of day.
Chapter Two
Savannah
I attempt to roll off the bed, as I have a horrible case of cotton mouth and desperately need water. My knees buckle as I start the trek to the sink. Normally, my prison room seems so small, but right now it feels like I am a hundred yards from the wall. I must have taken quite a beating; I hurt everywhere.
Finally reaching the sink, I grab the rusty tin container. Water never tasted so good. I wet my lips and let it trickle down my throat before collapsing into a painful ball. I begin to sob, knowing I’ll never get out of here. I can only imagine how bad my back looks. It feels wet and burns terribly, my head is throbbing, and my wrists feel tender. He must have tied me up during…my stomach drops. I slowly move my hand down to the hem of my nightgown and pull it up. I let out a hiss of relief when I see I still have on the same panties as yesterday. My outsides may be damaged, but the rest of me remains, at least for the moment, undefiled. But emotionally, I am spent. My hands cover my face in sudden defeat as I lie on the floor to think. I’ve been treated like something less than a barnyard animal for way too long. My captors never seem to tire of their sick power trip over me. I’m sure it brings them endless amusement. I get a bath once in a while, during which they take plenty of photos and videos. I have a toothbrush, which has grown disgusting, and a bar of soap, which is down to a small nub. My food, when they decide to feed me, is some kind of soup and crusty bread. The water is always warm, with flakes of dirt in it.
Occasionally, a doctor is brought in to check me over, and twice I had to get IV fluids pumped into me. I was more concerned whether the needle was clean than what they were putting inside me. Once, I tried to ask the doctor for help, but he acted like he didn’t understand me. I know he did, because when I mentioned home, he flinched and wouldn’t make eye contact. All I got was a jab in the ribs from one of the men and shouted admonishments in Spanish for attempting to talk.
My only choice will have to be starvation. I’ve decided I’m done, and at least my death will be under my control.
I hear footsteps outside my door. At the click of the lock, my body automatically starts to tremble. Sure enough, the fat guy returns with my tray of food. He drops it loudly on the table then glares at me.
“Sore?” he asks with a laugh. I want to lunge at him and jab another piece of plate into his neck. Next time I’ll remember to pull it back out and continue until the fat bastard is dead.
“No, you?” I hiss back. Really, what do I have to lose? His face drops and his hand jerks to touch his neck, but he stops himself. He picks up my water glass and pours it out on the floor and continues to do the same with my soup and bread as he watches me with an insolent smile. A few days ago, I would have been heartbroken, but today it plays right into my decision, and I smile back. Fuck you.
A few hours later, I hear the familiar key in the lock. The lights are dim, so I can’t see very well. Someone brings a new tray. I hear it scrape on the floor as he puts it down. He moves toward my bed. I smell the familiar aroma of Montecristo and know it is the man with the cigar.
“You need to eat,” he says sternly. I don’t move. I just lie there, feeling completely defeated. He reaches over and chucks a piece of bread at me. It bounces off my shoulder. “Eat, perra.” He leaves, slamming the door behind him.
After some time, I finally move over to the tray and nearly vomit when I see the same meal I’ve been fed for lunch and dinner for God knows how long—a watery beef stew. Knowing these guys, it’s probably rat or possum. It helps reinforce my choice not to eat. I take a sip of the water, and some grit slides down my throat. I cough, choking down the rising bile, and stumble back to bed.
Five more meals are brought to me, five meals that stay untouched. Although my body begs me to eat, my willpower doesn’t falter. Needless to say, I feel like shit.
My mother visits me often to whisper words of encouragement. I know it is only my mind’s way of coping with starvation, but on some level, it brings me joy to see her again. She is just as I remember—long, dark hair, perfect teeth, and dark eyes. Her touch is so real I can feel the heat from her hand on my face.
“I love you, Savi. You know that, right?” she says. “I’m here for you.” She touches my chest right over my heart. “My little angel.”
I pull my knees up to my chest and sob as the memory fades.
I wish I were capable of love like that now. Love and trust were things I’d promised myself I would never give away. I’ve been tested many times, only to be betrayed over and over. It is always a trap. They can have my body, but I will be damned if they will get my soul.
I’m lying in bed, staring at the ceiling, watching it fade in and out of my blurry vision, when I think I hear a popping noise followed by loud shouts. If I were in a clearer frame of mind, I may have understood what was going on, but in my present state, I don’t really care.
A series of events seems to happen all at once. There is a loud bang, my door flies open, and a bright light moves all around the room. A man dressed completely in black with a helmet and goggles draws closer. It takes considerable effort, but I roll my head over to face him. The light flashes over my face, making me squint. He pauses for a moment then shouts something into a radio on his neck. He reaches forward to lift me out of the bed. I groan as his hand grips my back. I don’t know if I am dreaming or not, but I don’t seem to be able t
o take it all in. My brain isn’t functioning properly.
The man holds me tightly as he carries me down a long hallway. There are a few other men in front of us, dressed in the same black outfit, guns raised and ready to fire. I am so tired, but now I’m wide awake and afraid if I close my eyes I will find myself back in that room again, alone. We travel down a long staircase toward double wooden doors that look to have been blown open. I don’t seem to be able to speak; I’m still afraid I’m dreaming.
The air is cold, and it is dark and feels like it might rain. This has to be real. I feel moisture on my face, and the fresh, cold air is so wonderful. I want to cry with the pleasure of it. Three black SUVs are waiting out front. I am placed in the middle vehicle, followed by the man who carried me and three others, including the driver, a man in the front passenger seat, and one in the back facing the opposite direction.
I am quickly fastened in and have a blanket wrapped around me. The first thing that comes to mind is how clean the blanket smells. We travel away from the building. I have no strength, and my head seems to have a life of its own, bouncing around until it finds a comfortable bump on the blanket. I watch the driver’s hands slide over the wheel, perfectly calm. After we are a good distance away from the house, the man who carried me tears off his goggles and helmet. He runs his hand through his black hair and looks over at me. I am surprised to see that he appears to be only a few years older than I am, maybe early thirties.
“Savannah? You’re okay now. You’re safe,” he says quietly in a steady voice.
I just stare at him. I heard what he said, but it doesn’t seem to register in my brain. I am still afraid to believe I am really rescued from my prison. Perhaps this is only a nasty trick.
He studies my face for a moment then reaches over. I flinch, closing my eyes momentarily. He pulls his hand back but points at my forehead. “Looks like that hurts. Are you all right? Do you hurt anywhere else?”
I want to tell him about my back, but I am still unable to speak.
“The jet is standing by, sir,” the driver says into the rearview mirror.
The man beside me nods. “Good. Tell them we’re ten minutes out.”
“Yes, sir.”
I start to feel dizzy. The lack of food has taken a toll on me. I flop my head against the window and watch as tiny raindrops make paths down the glass. I don’t recognize anything. Houses and streets look different, and nothing makes sense. I wonder where I am and where I’m going.
Again, I feel the rush of cool air as I am lifted out of the car. The rain is cold but feels wonderful as my head bobs against my carrier’s shoulder. I have no strength left. The raindrops bounce off my face, sweeping away some grime.
If this is a dream, it is the best dream ever.
I am placed on a warm leather couch inside an airplane and watch as ten other men dressed in black board and take their seats. They look like SWAT or something. My vision is getting very fuzzy, and I am so tired.
“Stay with me, Savannah.” The voice comes from beside me. I force my eyes open to see my carrier looking down at me. His incredibly dark gaze holds on to me for a moment. A voice sounds over a speaker, and within a matter of minutes, I feel movement, and my carrier is gone from sight. My eyes grow heavy again with the hum of the plane. I have fought sleep for as long as I can. I feel myself sliding down into the void, and my last conscious thought is how I usually hate flying.
The calming sound of rustling leaves brings me back to consciousness. I move my head slightly, rubbing my cheek against the softest pillow ever. I smell the faint fragrance of fresh roses. Can this be right? My eyes flutter open, blinking a few times to take in the soft sunlight that fills the room. A wall made up of large windows with three doors that open to a balcony is on one side. An ivory curtain flutters in the breeze, wafting the floral scent of the roses in a glass vase to my eager nostrils. I feel a tug on my arm and realize I have an IV attached to my left wrist. The bag hanging from a pole next to me is almost empty. I take in the queen size sleigh bed with its amazingly red sheets and a duvet that feels like heaven. I am overwhelmed and close my eyes, drifting back to sleep.
When I regain consciousness, it’s dark, my fluid bag has been changed, and someone has lit a fire in the stone fireplace. The lovely sound of crackling wood almost brings me to tears—it is beyond soothing to my soul. Is this heaven? If so, I’m completely fine with being dead. I hear a creaking sound and freeze.
A door opens off to my right. An older lady, maybe in her fifties, wearing slacks and a blouse, comes in holding a tray. I start to push myself up into a sitting position, but oh, God, everything hurts. Sadness washes over her face.
“Oh, no, dear.” Her voice is soft. “Please, I’m not here to hurt you. I’ve been taking care of you for three days.”
My mind goes blank. Three days! I pull my knees up to my chest and wrap my arms around them, flinching. The pain is another reminder of the hell I’ve been through.
“Please.” She sets the tray down on the table and raises her hands. “My name is Abigail. I didn’t mean to scare you. I know you’ve been through a lot, but you’re safe now. I wanted to bring you something to eat, and maybe a few answers.” She raises her eyebrow, knowing I am interested. “May I sit?” She points to a rocking chair.
I swallow past the lump in my throat. At least she seems nice enough. I cautiously nod and watch as she pulls the chair over, being careful to not make any sudden movements. I know I should welcome her—and this place—with open arms, but instead I want to curl up in a ball and protect myself. I want so much to believe I’m safe.
“There, that’s better.” She smiles warmly. “Thank you. Please call me Abigail, or Abby. Everyone else does.”
Everyone? Who else is here? I look around, taking in the room again with a more critical eye. It is huge and has a high cathedral ceiling.
“I bet you’re wondering where you are,” Abby says. I turn back to her. “You’re at a safe house. No one here will hurt you. You’re extremely dehydrated and malnourished, but you are young, and your body is healing fast. Your back…” She clucks her tongue and looks sadly at me. “Your back must still be very sore, but it will heal soon. It will take some time to get your strength back and feel like your old self again.”
I stare at her a moment, then out the window, wondering where exactly I am.
She smiles, sensing my confusion. “You’re in North Dakota, Savannah.” She pauses a moment while this information sinks in. Holy shit! Okay, breathe. “I know it’s a lot to take in right now, but once you feel better, I can tell you more. You really need your rest.”
Rest, yes, that does sound like a good idea. Suddenly, I’m very tired again.
“But first, Savannah, do you think you could eat for me?”
Oh, God, food. I’m not sure if I am truly safe; eating is out of the question.
“You’ve lost a lot of weight, and your body is battered. You really need to help it by eating something.” She hands me a saltine cracker. “Baby steps.”
I slowly reach for it. Holding it in my hand, I look up to see her hopeful eyes. I lift the cracker to my nose, sniffing to see if it is laced with anything. It doesn’t smell funny. I take a small, cautious lick. It tastes normal.
The door suddenly flies open, and in strides a huge man. I immediately drop the cracker and pull the blankets up to my chin, turning a terrified look to Abigail. She looks as shocked as I feel at the sudden appearance of our intruder. She stands and shields me from him. “York, what are you doing, coming in here like that? You frightened the life out of us.”
He strolls in with a smirk. “Cole told me she arrived, and I wanted to make sure she was adjusting to her new accommodations.”
“She’s fine. Now, please leave.” Her posture tells me she’s been up against him before.
He leans to the side to get a better look at me and issues a wolf whistle. “My, she’s a pretty one. A real step up from the last, hey?”
The l
ast? Where the hell am I? I feel sick. I see a bowl on the floor and heave over the side, letting my stomach retch and twist, removing anything that may have been in there.
“Oh, no,” Abigail moans, coming to my aid. “Here, Savannah, let me help you.” She pulls my long hair out of the way. When I finish, she takes a cool cloth to my face. It feels lovely having someone take care of me, though I cannot let my guard down. I am always wary of traps and know better than to let someone get too close. There are many questions firing off in my head. Am I safe? Where the hell is my father?
“Leave. Now,” Abigail hisses at York, who doesn’t seem to be fazed by my vomit show. “Does Cole know you’re here?” she asks, her voice more accusing than anything. That seems to get his attention, and for a moment, concern flickers across his face.
“Fine.” He shakes his head then gives me a smile. “See you later, pretty girl.”
This man seriously makes me uncomfortable. Abigail seems to have caught my feeling as she pulls the covers around me and tucks me in.
“Don’t worry about him. He’s not around too much, and when he is, Cole watches him carefully.” Cole? “There isn’t a thing that goes on that Cole doesn’t know about. That’s what makes him so good at what he does.”
And what is that, exactly? I want to ask questions, but I can’t find my voice…or the strength to stay awake, for that matter. I am spent. I close my eyes and listen to the comforting sound of Abigail’s rocking chair.
I remain in my bed the next four days, feeling a little better every day. I am helped considerably, I’m sure, by the fluids they are giving me. I haven’t had any more unexpected visitors, and Abigail has become a constant, comforting presence as she nurses me back to health. She is kind to me, but so was Maria. I still keep my guard up. Everyone has their own agenda. She tries to get me to talk, but I can’t; silence is easier for now. She comes and goes throughout the day, opening windows and doors, letting the warm sun find its way to me. The air itself is chilly, but I don’t care. It is lovely. Sometimes a bird lands outside the window, its song reminding me how much I miss the outdoors.
