I’m alive… that’s a positive. And my hands are untied. And besides the ache in my shoulder the rest of my body feels fine. My pants are on and buttoned. My body feels the same as it did this morning.
Without standing I do my best to shuffle around, trying to figure out where I am. The only thing I find is a wall, which allows my back to rest against it. It’s a greater comfort than one would realize. Besides the dirty smell and sawdust, all I get for my efforts is an ass full of wood poking through my jeans and a mental image of the contraption on my ankle. It’s two pieces of metal held together by a large bolt. I can’t make it out with my eyesight, but feeling it reminds me of a shackle use on Dumbo’s mother in the Disney movie. More proof I imagine weird shit in times of stress.
Eventually I’ve searched out the entire area as much as possible. The inability to escape weakens my resolve and the search depletes my energy. There’s nothing to do but lean against the concrete wall and wait for whatever happens next. Normally I enjoy peace and quiet and getting to sit by myself. But this isn’t the way I wanted to get alone time. I’ve never been a big fan of the dark, especially darkness so deep even squinting doesn’t help. The only other piece of information I’ve ascertained is the room is long and does have windows but most must be boarded up. At the other end of the room, there’s a small sliver of light entering the building, but it doesn’t win against the darkness before it touches the ground.
The absolute calm of the dark building is shattered by a door wrenched open and then slammed shut. The metal on metal sound ricochets through the space. I swallow hard and focus on breathing. The panic I’d woken with died in the last hour or however long I’ve been sitting here, but now it’s heavy again. The sick emotion of fear coats my body and makes my head a jumbled mess. What should someone do in this situation? Do I fight like hell and hope to undo the chain around my ankle and escape, or play nice and wait for an opportune time to make a getaway? Which one would lead to death and which to freedom?
Footsteps scuffle against the concrete floor, but I’m not able to figure out how many. At least two different people laugh as they enter the building. Light flooded in with the open door, but is now snuffed out again.
“Good morning, Ms. Paycheck,” a husky male voice sneers.
Someone laughs, the pitch higher, leading me to think it’s a second man. There’s a fizzle and then a crack followed by the lights set high above my head flickering to life. The panels come on, one by one, working their way down the long rectangular building.
I yearn to keep my eyes open and see the surrounding room, but the harsh light hurts my eyes, which worked so hard to adjust to the darkness. Steps bring the men closer to my location, but I’m forced to cover my eyes with a hand to stop the bright light from burning.
“Maybe he gave her too much shit, Jimmy. She can’t talk,” he says and laughs like it’s the funniest thing he’s ever dealt with. “Isn’t that what every man wants? A bitch who can’t talk back.”
“Shut up, asshole.” They stop way too close for comfort and I’m forced to peel back my fingers and look at the room. My eyes blink repeatedly, adjusting to the light. I rub them but it doesn’t help. They fill with water when I blink more.
“Who are you?” I ask, my voice scratchy and dry. This the first time I’ve used it since waking up. I contemplated screaming for help, but I didn’t want to alert anyone else I was awake. Now I wish I’d screamed.
My two captors are complete opposites. One tall and lanky with dark brown hair and a deep voice and the other short, blond, and fat.
“Looks like she can talk, Jimmy,” the short one says. A set of keys jingle together as they hang from his hands. He moves closer and unlocks the metal cover on my leg.
Without thought my body moves into action. I scramble back as far as possible and stand with my back against the cool concrete wall. Muscles protest from lack of use and I curve in on myself arching over to not fall down.
Jimmy saunters out from behind his accomplice, a gun pointed in my direction. After that all I see is the glittering metal of his weapon. “Let’s not get too feisty. We’re here to get a job done and then you’re free to go. My little friend here,” he laughs around the world little, emphasizing it, “will take video. A couple minutes to help motivate your friends to pay for you with a nice big bag of cash.”
“I’m not worth anything,” I say, trying to catch my breath and feeling like I’ve run a marathon. There’s barely $1,000 in my bank account.
Jimmy rolls his eyes. “You may not be. It’s typical Eddie to grab the only poor one in the group, but your friends have bank accounts big enough they won’t even notice the missing money. And if you’re as close as you pretend, Finn will have no problem paying to get you back.”
I suck in a breath, my hands going to my chest even though it does nothing to stop my racing heart. If I have a heart attack will they take me to the hospital?
“You plan to ask Finn for money?” My friends dealing with a ransom for me is worse than me being ransomed. I would be the one to get taken off the side of the street and used against my friends.
My brain refuses to admit I watched someone else gets shot. Someone very close. There’s absolutely no time to process the fact Hudson could be lying dead on the sidewalk in front of Cosmo’s. Why didn’t I listen to him?
If I survive, I plan to schedule a nice long panic session, but for right now it’s immediate needs only. Those parts of my story get packed away into a neat little box. Locked up tightly.
Both men step closer, caging me against the wall. The short one reaches out, running his hands in my hair and picking out pieces of wood chips from the tangles.
“Leave it in,” Jimmy says.
He stops and stares at my face. I shudder in revulsion. “She’s still pretty. We need to muss her up.”
I press my back against the wall tighter, even though I can’t get further away than I am.
“I don’t give a fuck how pretty she is, we want her to look dirty and in distress. Take off her pants.”
“No!” I cross my hands over the top of my pants and try to make my body as small as possible.
“Get your fucking camera,” Jimmy says pushing the other man to the side.
“Please, don’t do this. You can’t do this. I have a family,” I beg. The tears I managed to hold off the last hour sitting alone now run freely.
Jimmy laughs. “Make sure you get her begging on camera.”
