“Don’t worry, Simi. I’ll get the door for you.”
“Oh … okay.” I start to open my purse, but before my hand is inside, he reaches back and snatches it from me. “I’ll take care of that for you.”
“What?” My heart’s pounding so hard, I can feel it in my ears. “What are you doing?”
“You need to understand the rules.” He smiles, but it’s a creepy smile, and his gold tooth gleams eerily in the green light coming from the dashboard.
“The rules?” My mouth is dry and my hands are starting to tremble.
“Yeah. When I let you out of the car, don’t you even think about running.” Now to my horror, he slips a shiny gunlike object out of his jacket and points it directly at me. “This might not look too intimidating, but trust me, a stun gun like this packs a big wallop. If you try to run or scream, it’s gonna hurt. A lot. And you don’t wanna get hurt, do you?” His grin is vile.
“What’s going on?” I ask in a shaky voice. “Where are Marcia and Bryce? Why are you acting like this?”
He chuckles as he opens his door. “Don’t you worry, pretty girl. You’re about to meet the dynamic duo.”
As he walks back to open my door, my mind is whirling. Fueled by fear and adrenaline, I must think of a way out. I’ve heard if you’re abducted, your best hope of escape is to make a fast break before your captor gets you to an isolated place. But I’m already in an isolated place. All I can do is pray — dear God, please, help me! Please, please, help me!
The door jerks open and he reaches in to grab me by the arm, roughly pulling me from the car. “I know you wanna run or maybe scream for help.” He shoves me in front of him, still holding tightly to my arm, twisting it behind my back so hard that I think my shoulder might dislocate. “They all think they can get away. But none of them make it.” He twists my arm tighter. “Believe me, you won’t be the first.”
I stumble forward into the dark space with wobbly knees and teetering heels skidding on the cement. But he is holding on to my arm so firmly, it’s like he’s propelling me forward. It smells oily and dirty in here, like maybe this is an old garage. My head is spinning and I’m afraid I’m about to faint or throw up. Everything feels so unreal — like this is happening to someone else, or perhaps I’m starring in a horror movie.
Suddenly I wonder if all this might actually be a prank. Is this the agency’s way of seeing what I’m really made of? As badly as I wish that were true, I know better.
This is for real.
… [CHAPTER 6]………………
My eyes have adjusted to the darkness, so I can see we’re going toward a sliver of light that looks like the bottom of a door. When we reach the door, Rod stops and pulls something from his pocket, then grabbing my other arm, he binds my hands together behind my back. “Just to be safe,” he tells me. And the next thing I know, he pulls a paper bag over my head.
“Are you going to kill me?” I ask desperately.
He chuckles evilly. “I hope it doesn’t come to that.”
This is only marginally reassuring. “What are — ?”
“Shut up! If you want to survive this game, you better learn how to keep your mouth shut.” And now I hear a door open and I’m shoved into another space. I can see light through the paper sack and I look down to see dirty yellow linoleum beneath my feet. It smells like old pizza and stale coffee in here.
“There you are,” a woman says. “Right on time.”
I can tell that it’s Marcia, but it makes no sense.
“What are you doing to me?” I demand.
“Shut up!” Rod yells. “Didn’t you hear what I said out there?”
“That’s right.” Marcia’s voice remains smooth. “Children are meant to be seen and not heard.”
“Well, this child is definitely worth seeing. Nice find, Marcia.”
I recognize Bryce’s voice, but I know better than to say anything now. Instead my mind is racing, trying to think of a way out of this hellish mess. Somehow I have to outsmart these creeps. But what are they doing? Why am I here? What is their game?
“Turn around,” Marcia says.
I just stand there, not sure who she’s talking to.
“I said turn around, you stupid girl,” she snaps. “Now!”
Rod gives me a push and I slowly turn around, nearly stumbling over my own feet and wishing I hadn’t worn high heels. I could so use some running shoes or steel-toed boots right now.
“She’s got good legs,” Marcia says.
“And a great bod,” Bryce adds. “I like the little black dress, too. Nice and classy.”
“Yeah. We could use some classy in this outfit.” Marcia’s laughter sounds vile.
“It’s too bad,” Bryce says. “She might’ve actually made a good model if she’d connected with a real agency.”
“Bite your tongue,” she tells him.
“Just saying.”
“Don’t even go there. As it is we should get top dollar for her. Top dollar.”
“Just make sure we keep her in good condition,” Bryce says. “I mean you, Rod. Do not mess with her. No damage to her face. And no bruises, cuts, or scrapes. Do you understand?”
“Yeah, yeah, I got ya.”
“At least until she meets Mr. T,” Marcia injects. “We want to present the goods in tip-top shape.”
“I think you should jack up the price,” Bryce says. “Has Mr. T seen her photos yet?”
“He’s seen them and approved. But I think you’re right. A pretty little ‘good girl’ is a real rarity these days. I’ll send him a message.”
“Tell him we’ve got a bidding war going on.”
“Yeah. Good idea.”
“So you better keep her looking good until she’s delivered,” Marcia says. “If she’s damaged in any way, not only will you not get paid, we will expect you to make it up to us. Understand?”
“I get it,” Rod says. “I just don’t get it now.”
“After Mr. T, well, we’ll just see how cooperative she wants to be,” Marcia says this for my benefit I’m sure. “Even slightly used, she’ll still be a valuable commodity.”
“We have big plans for you, Simi,” Bryce tells me. “However, you are no longer Simi Fremont.”
“Give me her purse,” Marcia says. I hear Rod walk across the room, and then I’m sure Marcia is going through my things. “Great. Here’s her phone. We know about her mom and Trista and the twins. But we don’t know Michelle’s last name or where she lives yet. You get all that information.”
“I’m already on it,” Bryce says.
“Get rid of the ID. And dump the phone in the usual place.”
“Yeah, yeah … hey, her girlfriend’s last name is Diedericks. With an unusual name like that, it’ll be a cinch to get her address.”
“Why do you want that?” I demand.
“Who said you can talk?” Rod shoots back.
“Never mind,” Marcia says. “And really, I don’t care if she knows why we want this info. It’s all a matter of security, Simi. We want to make sure you don’t mess things up for us. Your mom and your friends are simply our insurance that you’ll cooperate fully.”
“If you care about their welfare, you’ll do what you’re told,” Bryce adds.
“Are you threatening to — ?”
“It’s all up to you,” Marcia says in a calm but chilling tone. “Your mom and friends, even the dear little toddler twins — everyone will be just fine as long as you play along nicely. But trust me, doll face, the minute you break the rules, your mom and friends pay the price. Do you get me?”
I’m speechless. How can this be real? How can people be so evil?
“Do you get me?” she growls.
“Yes,” I mutter. “I think so.”
“Good. And don’t think I’m not serious. Rod, maybe you can fill her in on how you’re willing and able to carry out our orders.”
“That’s right. I got no problem going after your mom and your friends. Might ev
en be fun. Especially if mom’s a looker like you.” He lets loose a wicked laugh that makes me feel like vomiting.
I can feel myself swaying now, getting dizzy. “I … need to sit — ”
“Catch her!” Bryce yells.
I feel Rod grab me.
“Get her a chair,” Marcia snaps.
I’m shoved down into a chair and I slump forward and the bag slips off my head. I remain down, pretending like I’ve fainted, but I’m peering through my hair that is over my face, seeing their feet as they hover around me.
Marcia has on ugly beige orthopedic-looking shoes and her ankles are swollen and pouring over the edges, which tells me she’s older. And not exactly the fashion icon I’d imagined while talking on the phone yesterday. Bryce is wearing shiny black loafers and jeans, which leads me to believe he’s somewhat more stylish and younger. They seem a strange pair.
They continue talking about how they plan to trick Mr. T with a bidding war as I sit slumped over. No one seems particularly concerned about me, but I can tell they just think I fainted. Finally I act as if I’m coming to, but before I can sit up, the paper bag is pushed onto my head again.
“Your new name is Serena Delray.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means from now on you will go by Serena. How is that not clear?” Her voice drips in irritation. “Are you really that stupid?” She shoves my purse back into my lap. “Your new ID is in there. Not that you should need it. But just in case.”
“We like to cover our bases,” Bryce says.
“And now it’s time for you to go,” Marcia announces. “Rod? Please see Serena to her limo.”
He chuckles. “You got it.” Now he jerks me to my feet.
“Easy does it,” Bryce says. “No bruises.”
“Yeah, yeah.” Rod is a little gentler as he pushes me to the door.
“Don’t let us down, Serena,” Marcia says. “Your dear mother and friends are counting on you.”
“Bon voyage, Miss Delray,” Bryce calls out cheerfully as Rod leads me out of the room and back into the dark garage. Bryce’s farewell makes me wonder if I’m going on a boat. And if so, to where? Out of the country? As unbelievable as it is, I suspect I’ve fallen into some kind of human-trafficking scheme. I remember a woman who spoke at our school a couple of years ago. She talked about how human trafficking was on the rise and how it wasn’t just foreigners and street kids anymore. But really, how can this be happening to me?
I hear what sounds like a metal door sliding open. “Step up,” Rod tells me. “High.”
I lift my foot but only hit my shin on hard metal. Rod cusses, then picks me up. I expect him to throw me into whatever this is, but instead he gently puts me down on what feels like a mattress and blankets. And then he slams the door shut.
The bag slips off my head, but it’s even blacker in here than in the garage. I open and close my eyes, trying to adjust to the darkness, but it’s useless. It’s pitch black. And now I collapse on the musty-smelling blankets and just cry. I’m sure I’m in the back of a truck, and it’s not long before I hear an engine start and eventually the truck is moving.
I try to gauge the time it takes to get out of the warehouse and how long it takes to get out of this sleazy neighborhood. And finally, when the truck stops at what I hope is a stoplight, maybe at an intersection where people could be outside and standing around, I get close enough to pound my feet on the door, and lying on my back, I kick it as loudly as I can and scream for help. Then the truck is moving again. Each time it comes to a stop I do this again. But eventually I can tell by the sound of the tires that we’re on the freeway.
And now all I can do is pray. I pray and pray and pray. God, please send the police to rescue me. And please make the truck break down or get a flat tire or run out of gas. When that happens I will start banging on the metal door and screaming all over again. And hopefully someone will hear the noise and get curious.
What would I do if I heard sounds like that coming from a truck like this? Would I even notice? And if I did, would I do anything? I pray that whoever hears me will react and that they will call the police.
Praying is comforting, but eventually I tire of repeating the same words over and over again. So now I sing praise songs from our church. And then I repeat scriptures I memorized in youth group.
God is my lifeline and my anchor. God will get me out of this. I believe that he will rescue me. Hopefully before this day ends. Hopefully before I’m handed over to this nasty Mr. T person. I don’t even want to imagine how horrible that would be. “God is my refuge and my strength,” I say aloud, “my stronghold in a time of trouble.”
Eventually my voice becomes hoarse from singing and praying and crying — and from thirst. It’s hot in here … I’m guessing more than ninety degrees. And I’m so exhausted and thirsty that I feel myself drifting into sleep. But even as I’m slipping away, I’m holding on to God. He is my deliverer. I believe it.
I wake up to the sound of metal grinding, and it takes me a moment to figure out where I am and what happened. Then I blink into the bright sunlight, hoping to see policemen who will let me out of here and take me home. Instead, I see a wicked smile and a glistening gold tooth.
“Thought you might be thirsty,” he tells me as he hands me a plastic cup.
I grab the cup and quickly drink the tepid water, and then he slams the door shut and it’s not long until the truck is moving again. But it’s not long before I feel like I’m getting dizzy, like everything is spinning, and I can tell something is wrong. Something was in that water I so eagerly gulped down.
I’ve been drugged. And now I feel myself slipping … tumbling … spiraling … down, down, down.
… [CHAPTER 7]………………
I wake up and, sitting up, I blink into the darkness, trying to remember where I am and how I got here. Oh yeah, the truck. And yet I don’t feel any movement and it smells different. As my eyes adjust to the darkness, I glance around to see what looks like blinds over a window. I am in some sort of a room.
I stumble to my feet and fumble along the wall until I find a light switch by the door. I almost turn it on and then remember I am being held captive. I need to think carefully.
I quietly try the door and although the knob turns, the door does not budge. I feel above the doorknob to discover some kind of a lock. Probably a dead bolt, which I assume must only open from the outside.
I reach for the light switch again and then decide that, for now, I do not want to draw attention to myself. That means no lights. And no noise. I go over to the window and quietly peek through the plastic blinds. There are bars outside of the window. That’s nothing unusual in the Los Angeles area. Most of the ground-level apartments in our complex have security bars.
I always assumed that bars were meant to keep criminals out of your house. Now I realize they can also be used to keep people in. There are spotlights outside, pointing away from the house and fully illuminating a fairly big backyard surrounded by shrubbery. And behind the bushes and trees I can spot parts of what looks like a tall metal security fence. It feels like I’m in some sort of a prison. As my eyes adjust to the darkness, I can see that this looks like a fairly typical bedroom. Not so different from mine at home.
Except I cannot get out.
Thinking of home fills me with both longing and anxiety. As much as I’ve complained about our cramped apartment, I would give anything to be there right now. Missing home makes me think of Mom. I hate to imagine how freaked she must be for me to disappear like this. How long have I been missing? Just overnight? Or was I drugged for longer than that? Does she have any way to know where I’m at or that I’ve been kidnapped by thugs claiming to be with Top Models and Actors Inc.? Are the police looking for me yet? Or will they treat me like a runaway and wait a few days before they respond? Oh, why didn’t I tell her where I was going?
I inch my way across what feels like dirty carpeting until I reach the door again. I consid
er pounding on it just in case there’s someone out there who might let me out. But I suspect the only ones out there are my captors. Or maybe it’s Rod with the golden tooth and stun gun. Whoever is out there, I’m pretty sure I don’t want to aggravate them in the middle of the night. Who knows what they might do to me? And what about Mr. T? What if this is his house? I really, really don’t want to meet him. Just thinking of this monster fills me with terror.
My head is throbbing, probably from the drugs Rod slipped me, and my mouth feels as dry and gritty as sand. But the light coming in from the window gleams upon what appears to be a water bottle on the floor by the bed. I rush to get it, hoping it’s not empty. To my relief it’s full — but now I stop myself. What if it’s drugged too?
I try the lid and the seal seems to be unbroken. But I’m so thirsty I’m not sure I care. I open the bottle and sample what tastes like ordinary water. Unable to control myself, I gulp it down. If it turns out to be drugged, I will simply escape into another long lapse of sleep, which could be a blessing. And maybe I’ll wake up to find this has all just been the worst imaginable nightmare ever.
The next time I wake up, it’s daylight outside. I have no idea what time it is, but it feels like early morning. I look around the drab room. The walls and carpet are dirty beige, the color of dust. The bed consists of a bare mattress on the floor with a cheap blanket and a stained pillow that is so gross looking, I cannot believe I slept on it. Around the mattress, on the carpet and the walls, are nasty-looking stains. I don’t even want to think about what might’ve caused them.
There are no other furnishings in the room and, besides the closet, which other than a couple of plastic hangers is empty, there is only the door and the window to break the monotony of the bare, scarred walls. I go to look more closely at the window now, thinking perhaps I can open it and at least yell loud enough to get the attention of neighbors. That is, if there are any neighbors.
I can’t see any other houses from my vantage point. But I quickly discover that the window’s bolted tightly shut. From the outside. There’s no way to open it. How difficult would it be to break this window? If I could get a hole in it somehow, I might be able to scream loud enough to draw some attention. Unless I just draw the wrong kind of attention.
Enticed:A Dangerous Connection (Secrets) Page 5