“Sour candies help with panic attacks. It distracts the brain from negative thoughts,” a deep male voice whispers in my ear.
He picks up and points to the box again, urging me to comply. Never have I ever thought eating candy would be such an unwilling task but here I am… secured to a couch and eating sugar on the floor, with a muted kidnapper who may or may not hurt me. Against my better judgement, I take the box from his outstretch hand. He watches me from the chair, as I eat slowly. One bite at a time. I don’t take my eyes off him. Steadily, I started to feel better. My heart rate slows a bit, my breathing levels, while my mind becomes clearer by the minute. Is… is this my stalker? I dropped the box between us.
“Are you… him?” I ask.
No answer. He remains sealed off, unmoving, facing me in the rolling seat like I’m his evening entertainment. I free my legs from their cramped quarters.
“HELP!” I holler. “HELP!” I try again to pull my hand free, kicking aimlessly toward my captor.
Unfazed, the man stands to his full height and pulls something black from the back of his holster. It wasn’t shaped like a gun. Was it a weapon? Oh god… it’s a taser! I’m fucked if I don’t get out of here!
I begin screaming louder and flailing my legs to keep him away, when the earbud starts speaking again.
“Do you have anything dangerous on you, Miss Mari?”A baritone male voice says.
Too busy figuring out how to get the hell out of here, I didn’t realize he had his phone in hand again. He must be using one of those ‘text to speech’ apps, changing the voice option. I’m familiar with the program.
I shook my head feverishly at his question.
His hold tightens on the black instrument.
“Please…” I beg. “Let me go. I don’t have any weapons, I promise.” He points to the couch.
I shake my head, refusing his request. I try to position myself farther back in the safety of my corner.
“Lie on the couch,” the voice demands.
Each time he has to type into his phone for the message to read in my ear. Why won’t he just speak? Is it because he knows I would recognize his voice? Maybe it could be…
“Eamon?” My voice comes out shakier than I mean.
He leans toward me, each forearm resting on his wide-open legs. Inches from me, he types another message.
It whispers in my ear, “Follow directions. I won’t hurt you.”
Awkwardly, I stand and twist my body back into the position I had been in when I first woke. Wishing I could shake myself from this ‘Jigsaw-like’ fever dream. I lie back down on the couch, close my eyes, and force myself to stay calm.
I can still hear him, the Kevlar of his uniform shifting and tightening as he positions himself, kneeling before me on the couch. A soft click sound comes from the item he holds above me.
I jerkin response. With his gloved hand, he takes my free hand and places the item in my palm. I watch as he guides my hand to one of the carabiner clips on his uniform. The smooth item in my hand vibrates suddenly upon contact and I startle. He does it again, guiding my hand away and closer to the hook. It’s not a taser! Is it a metal detector? He’s showing me it’s not going to hurt. Just like he said he wouldn’t.
“So… you want to look for something, like what, a weapon? Are you one of those ‘rent-a-cops’ who take their job too seriously?”
No response. I thought my stalker was funny... what if he wasactuallylaw enforcement? I huff out a breath and submit to the search. When I listen, he usually leaves me alone.
Taking the vibrating metal detector back into his own palm, he starts at the crown of my head, scanning my hair… for what I’m not sure. Gradually, he moves down my neck, barely hovering the device above my skin. It pulsates against my clavicle, and he stops. His masked face turns slightly, as if curious.
“It’s my necklace.” I blurt out.
He studies me then proceeds down my arm, rotating and patting the loose jacket as he goes. Next, he sweeps my other arm before progressing, across my chest and down my middle. I stopped breathing. Willing my chest to cease rising and falling as he skates just above my breasts. Moving down my body painfully slow on the outside of my leg before reaching my shoes. He actually removes each boot, checking the inside for anything that could be seen as dangerous, I suppose.
“Satisfied?”
He shakes his head no.
The first form of communication I’ve received from him besides text to speech. After retying my laces, he presses the handheld device just above my footwear, on my inner leg. I can’t help but lift my head somewhat, to watch as he glides the plastic casing up my thigh, till it’s at my center. The device vibrates. I’m instantly mortified!
“It’s not a weapon!” I’m… umm, it’s…ya know?”
