When the Storm Ends

by Jillian Anselmi

  He continues, walking around me in circles as he touches me. My skin crawls where his fingers scrape across my skin, but I won’t give him the satisfaction of knowing. I grit my teeth and try to detach my mind again, taking my thoughts somewhere else—somewhere happy.

  Without warning, he pries my legs open, then covers my body with his. I pull on my restraints again, my eyes wild and muscles tensing, and let out a choked off cry when the rope tears at my skin. The burn from the rope is a small distraction from Armond reaching in between my legs and I press my head against the mattress, biting my lip hard, trying to use every ounce of relief the pain offers.

  Reaching underneath me, he palms my breasts, gentle at first, but his touch turns rough and painful as he pinches and slaps my skin. I squeeze my eyes shut and fresh tears break free, falling down my cold cheeks. Armond’s sweat-soaked body glides up and down my back as he continues his assault, moaning in my ear. I choke down the bile rising in my throat and barely manage to taper off the gag. After a few loud grunts, he stills, his weight suffocating as he lays on top of me. “Now, that wasn’t so bad, was it?” he whispers, brushing my tear-soaked hair away from my face. I let out a silent sob, pleading with whatever God is out there for this to end.

  A few minutes later, his weight shifts and I release another sob, this one louder, in relief. “I’ll be back in an hour, don’t go anywhere,” he laughs as I hear the door open and close. The relief I felt only seconds ago fades away as painful sobs rack my body.

  I’VE BEEN HERE four days. Four different men have come and gone, one each day, just as Armond promised. Some multiple times a day. Some at the same time. Armond was right; he was gentle compared to a couple. One of the men brought me food, then left, locking the door behind him. Once I eat, they’ll come back and I’m not sure how much more I can take. I need to find a way out.

  I finish picking at the sandwich he left me, then take a shower. Turning the water up as hot as I can stand, I lather up a washcloth and scrub every inch of my skin raw, but nothing helps. It doesn’t matter how hard I scrub, how hot the water is, or how many showers I take, I still feel dirty, like small insects are crawling under my skin. I don’t think I’ll ever be clean again.

  The man they call Desmond is waiting when I exit the bathroom. “Lie face up on the bed,” he instructs me. My mind and body numb to the abuse, I do as he says, moving to the bed like a zombie. He ties my hands just like the men before him and I test the strength of it. His knot is looser.

  Hope blossoms within me for the first time in days. As he crawls on top of me, I wiggle my wrist from left to right, pushing through the pain. They’re raw and bloody from days of being bound, but each tug brings me that much closer to freedom. Desmond takes his time and I use that to my advantage. Since his attention is elsewhere, he doesn’t notice me tugging at the bonds.

  I cringe as pain lances through me, but manage to free one of my hands. Gritting my teeth and utilizing all my strength, I take advantage of the burn from the rope to spur me on and free my other wrist. Just as he’s about to finish and his eyes roll to the back of his head, I roll him off me and slam his head against the wood floor, rendering him unconscious.

  Praying there’s no one else here, I rummage through his rumpled up jeans, searching the pockets for the key. Once I find it, I find the t-shirt and sweats I was taken in and throw them on as fast as humanly possible.

  I tiptoe barefoot to the door and place my ear against it, listening for any movement or close voices. After a few moments, I unlock the door as quietly as possible, opening it just enough to peer out. When I don’t see any movement, I close the door behind me, locking it once again, and walk along the wall down the hall. Coming to a staircase, I listen for any movement or sign of life. When I’m satisfied no one’s there, I creep down the stairs one step at a time.

  My toe touches the last step on the bottom of the second flight and I stick my head out beyond the wall, finding I’m on the main floor. The doorway to freedom rests right in front of me and I force myself not to make any sudden moves. The faint sound from a television carries through the air, but nothing else. With ease, I walk toward the door, glancing at my surroundings to ensure I’m still alone. My fingers grip the knob and I turn it slowly, pulling the door open just enough for my body to slip through. As soon as the almost silent snick sounds behind me, I take off in a dead sprint as fast as I can toward the woods surrounding the house.

  I don’t know where I am, or what direction I’m going, I just run. Tree after tree blurs past me as I put as much space between me and that house as I can. I run until my legs are burning and feel like Jell-O. I run until my lungs are begging me to stop. I run until I can’t stand anymore and collapse onto the forest ground.

  Relaxing for a minute, I take a good look at my surroundings. There are only trees, everywhere—no path, no road, no sign of human life. I need to find a road or some type of civilization, but I could be anywhere. My feet are throbbing and bleeding, the harsh forest floor taking its toll on my soles. I fight past the pain, knowing this is nothing compared to what I’ll face if one of Armond’s goons finds me.

  The sun beams down through the trees while I struggle to catch my breath and will whatever strength I still have left to get me farther away. Glancing at the ground, I catch the direction of the shadows. I’ll need to be mindful of this as I move.

  With the fear of them already finding out I escaped, I keep moving as fast as I physically can, weaving a straight path through the trees.

  Images of Cole assault me and I almost lose my next breath. What will they do to him because I escaped? Maybe he has their money. Maybe he never planned on giving them their money. I stumble over a log and crash to the ground. Exhausted and out of breath, I try to stand. My adrenaline high is starting to crash and thoughts begin to creep into my mind. Memories I tried so hard to suppress push forward and the forest begins to spin. The horrific events of the past few days crowd my vision. A sob escapes me as bile rises in my throat. I grab onto a tree for stability before heaving as my stomach continues to lurch.

  The sobs don’t stop as I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand before gripping the sides of my head and squeezing. I fall to my knees, the visions of Armond on top of me, taking me, claiming me taking over every corner of my mind. His dark, empty eyes glaring at me, stalking me, wanting me. The memories spiral around and I have no way of stopping them. Even with my eyes wide open, I see him taunting me.

  I try to find a happy place, but I no longer have one. My life as I know it is in shambles. Everything I thought is one giant lie. Taryn is the only shining star in my sky of complete darkness. God, I miss her. She’ll know what to do, how to make everything better.

  I can’t stop fighting now—not now. Willing myself to get it together, I breathe deep, push the memories back into the deepest part of my mind, and focus on Taryn.

  As the sun slowly sinks into the horizon, I finally find a road. This is both good and bad. I can finally find some kind of civilization, but what if Armond or his minions are looking for me? I’d be a bullseye on the road for them to see. Moving toward the tree line, I creep along the road off to the side.

  With darkness falling over me and no other light source, my eyes are forced to adjust to the night sky. Just over the next hill, I notice lights and my heart rate spikes. Even though my feet feel like they’re going to fall off, I keep going, needing to know what’s over that hill. I trudge along, my muscles lethargic and stressed from walking, and what I see is short of miraculous. Houses. Rows and rows of houses. Endorphins flood through my body and I know I can make it.

  The first house I see with lights on, I run to and pound on the door. An elderly woman opens the door. She takes one good look at me and gasps. “Ma’am, could I please use your phone?” I squeak. I’m physically and mentally exhausted, but I need to be strong. I will make it home.

  “Good lord, dear! Are you all right?” Her tone is incredulous as she looks me over.

 
“No, I need to make a call. Do you have a phone?” She’s wary, not sure what to make of me. “Please, I was kidnapped and need help.”

  Her eyes go from cautious to concerned. “Yes, of course! Come in.” Without putting too much pressure on my feet, I walk through the door. She looks at me in disbelief and shock. “I think I should call the police.”

  “No!” I shout, startling her. “Please, don’t. I don’t know who these people are working with. No police.”

  “Okay, no police. You should sit,” she says, motioning to a chair. “Let me get some antibiotic ointment.” She scurries out of the room as I sit and relief floods through me. I feel safer than before, but I’m not totally convinced I’m out of the woods.

  She comes back with some towels, ointment, and a pair of socks. “Thank you, but I really need a phone.”

  “Yes, of course.” Reaching behind her, she picks up a cordless phone and hands it to me. I dial Taryn’s number, praying she answers. When it goes to voicemail, I hang up and redial. The elderly woman sits across from me and watches. I can feel her eyes burning through me as I dial Taryn a third time, willing her to answer. I need her to answer. Just as I’m about to give up, she picks up.

  “Hello.”

  “Taryn, thank God you answered.”

  “Delani! Ohmigod! Where are you?” she screams into the phone.

  “I’m not sure. Wait,” I say, turning to the old lady, “where am I?”

  “North Castle, dear.” I repeat this to Taryn.

  “Where the hell is that?” she asks.

  “I don’t know. I don’t know anything,” I start to sob.

  “Shhh, calm down. I’ll google it.”

  “You need to come get me, they’ll find me.” My voice cracks, the fear starting to creep through, but I push it back with a clearing of my throat. I don’t want this lady calling the police. I still don’t know who I can trust.

  “Who—what are you talking about?” Taryn asks, confused, and rightfully so.

  Not wanting to reveal too much information, I take a deep breath and say, “I’ll explain later, just get your ass here fast.”

  “Okay, Google maps found you. Wow, you’re in Westchester. I can be there in . . .” she pauses, probably doing the math in her head, “about an hour—a little less if I let Dominic drive.”

  “Please, hurry.”

  “Okay, give me the address.” I ask the woman and relay it back to Taryn. “I love you, Delani. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

  “I love you, too. Just . . . hurry.”

  Hitting end, I pass the phone back to the woman. “Thank you.”

  She places it on the table, never breaking eye contact. “My name is Mary, dear. What’s yours?” Is she trying to make conversation, or stalling for time? As I dab the bottoms of my feet with a hot, wet towel, I study her expression. I wince from the pain, but her face doesn’t change. Her actions are sympathetic, but her body language screams cynical.

  “Christine,” I answer as I dry my soles, cringing.

  “Christine.” She lets the name linger in the air for a moment. “That’s a pretty name.” I apply the ointment sparingly and my feet start to feel better the second it touches my aching skin. “Where are you from?” she asks as I maneuver the socks on, trying not to brush against the tender flesh.

  “The city,” I say, biting my lip.

  “You’re far away from home, aren’t you, dear?”

  “I guess so. I don’t know how I got here,” I murmur, twirling my hair.

  “You poor thing,” she says in a condescending tone.

  “Thank you for the socks. My feet feel better already,” I say, my eyes on my feet as I continue to twirl my hair to the point of pain.

  “Oh, think nothing of it.” She stands, taking the ointment and towels with her into another room. I hope Taryn lets Dominic drive; I need to get the hell out of here.

  I look around the room, trying to find a clock, and my eyes are drawn to the window. Shadows of light shine through, then disappear. Turning my head to look out, I see headlights from an approaching car. Along the curb, the car slows to a stop and two men exit, one coming toward the house, the other moving to the house across the street. Shit. I duck down and crawl across the floor toward where Mary had exited.

  “Mary,” I whisper, “where are you?”

  “In here, dear.” I follow her voice to a room toward the back of the house where she’s placing the towels in the washing machine.

  “They’re here. I have to hide,” I plead, choking out a whisper. My heart thunders in my chest. They can’t find me. I can’t go back. My body begins to tremble, my face flushing. Armond’s dark, empty eyes flash before me and a sob escapes.

  “Follow me,” Mary whispers, her eyes wide. Leading me to another room, she moves a throw rug, exposing a small hatch in the wood floor. Lifting the small egress, she ushers me down a ladder. “This will keep you safe,” she mouths before closing me in.

  I’m in complete darkness, huddled on the cold cement floor. Wrapping my arms around my knees, I sit and wait. Creaking floorboards from above signal Mary is walking away and my body starts to shiver, from both the cold and my nerves.

  My ears pick up a second set of footsteps and muffled voices from above go back and forth. I bite my lip hard, trying to hold it together. The last thing I want is for someone to find me because I’m sobbing. The footsteps get closer, until they’re over my head, and stop. I cover my mouth, not wanting to make a sound. Seconds go by, minutes, perhaps hours. I’ve lost all concept of time. More muffled voices and the footsteps go back the same way they came.

  I stay silent, my body frozen in place, not wanting to attract any unwanted attention. Closing my eyes, I pray—pray whoever it is left, pray Mary is okay, pray I’ll be okay. Footsteps again, coming toward me. Oh God. He knows. I scoot as far back as I can, away from the opening above, huddle into a ball, and wait.

  The opening above creaks, light pouring in. “It’s okay, Christine. He’s gone.” Mary. Is he really gone? Is he holding a gun to her head? I stay put, not sure whether I should move. “I promise, he’s really gone.” Her voice is soft and smooth, not nervous. He really is gone. I peek up, seeing her head in the opening. “C’mon, now. It’s all right.”

  I make my way up the ladder, taking my time. Peering up, I see nothing but Mary. A sob escapes me again, but this time, I can’t control it. Laying on the rug that covered my sanctuary, I cry from a combination of relief and terror. Covering my head with my hands, I curl up into a fetal position and let it all out. Mary makes no effort to move. She stands above me and waits.

  Once my outburst is over and I’ve exhausted myself, I look up. Mary’s eyes are full of compassion. “C’mon, sweetie. Stand up.” She extends her hand to assist me. Leading me into the sitting area, she helps me onto the couch. “I’m sorry,” she says.

  “Why are you sorry?” I ask, sniffling.

  “At first, I didn’t believe you. I thought you were some strung out kid who got mugged for drugs.”

  “That explains the strange vibes I was getting from you,” I say, relieved. “What happened up here?”

  “A man came by saying his niece ran away and needed her medication, said she was schizophrenic. He had an accent, nothing I’ve heard around here before. I told him no one was here, but he insisted his niece was wily and could have snuck in. I told him to feel free to look. Once I saw a gun hiding underneath his jacket, I knew he was lying.”

  “I’m so sorry to have involved you.”

  “Nonsense, dear. There was no way I was letting him find you,” she says, an edge to her tone. “I let him search. He appeared satisfied, thanked me for my time, and left.”

  “Thank you again. You saved me.”

  “I think you’ve been through enough.” Her words are kind, but sad. Lights catch our attention outside and we both spin to the window as a car pulls up out front. Fuck. I duck down and Mary stands to get a better look. After a minute, she asks, “What
does that friend of yours look like? Long hair?” Taryn. I spring up and dive toward the window. Taryn is here. God, what if Armond’s men are still lingering?

  “Mary, let them in. I’m going to hide in the back room just in case those guys come back to investigate.”

  “I’ll pretend she’s my granddaughter. What’s her name?”

  “Use a fake one. Any one. They know her name too, I’m sure. Tell Taryn what’s going on, she needs to know,” I say as I limp away.

  “I’ll call her Jenny,” she calls out as I disappear behind the door.

  Maybe I watch too many crime shows. They should be long gone by now, but something in my gut is telling me to be extra careful. Damn you, Law and Order. I crouch behind the door and wait—again.

  Taryn’s voice slices through the silence. “Delani, where are you!”

  “In here.”

  She tears open the door, finding me crammed into the corner of the room. “Ohmigod, Delani!” She jumps on top of me, her arms open wide, giving me a bear hug.

  “Taryn,” I breathe as she releases me.

  “What. The. Fuck?” She squats next to me.

  “I’ll explain later. Right now, you have to go back inside and pretend that’s your grandmother.”

  “Why?”

  “Please, just do it. I’ll tell you the entire story on our way home.”

  She narrows her eyes, not liking this idea at all. I silently plead with her and she sighs, her shoulders relaxing. “All right. I don’t like it, but I’ll do it.”