Lulling the Kidnapper

by O. L. Gregory

  Lulling the Kidnapper

  O. L. Gregory

  Text Copyright ©2013 O. L. Gregory

  All Rights Reserved

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

  This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. It may not be resold.

  To that marina that used to exist,

  Before the condos, the smart phones, and the need of the internet, there used to be a little marina full of small trailers and campers.

  Family, friends, and summers have come and gone since those days spent catching catfish and steaming crabs.

  But in the minds and hearts of those who loved the way life on that small plot of land used to be, it still exists.

  Table of Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter One……….A Clean Beginning

  Chapter Two……….“My Mia”

  Chapter Three……….Revelation

  Chapter Four……….One Step Closer to the Loony Bin

  Chapter Five……….The Litmus Test

  Chapter Six……….I Still Exist

  Chapter Seven……….Lapse in Patience

  Chapter Eight……….“Do. Not. Laugh.”

  Chapter Nine……….Boat Trip

  Chapter Ten……….Bad News

  Chapter Eleven……….Moonlight Rendezvous

  Chapter Twelve……….Erica

  Chapter Thirteen……….“That’s my girl.”

  Chapter Fourteen……….Caught Red-Handed

  Chapter Fifteen……….Homecoming

  Chapter Sixteen……….I Wasn’t the Only One

  Epilogue

  Prologue

  That old Lincoln Town Car is back again. I wonder what the dude is looking for.

  That’s what I had been thinking as it rounded the corner and drove by a second time. I usually don’t notice cars, much less be able to tell you what kind of car something is. But my grandmother used to own one when I was little. Cars were made kind of boxy back in the eighties, and Grandma had kept hers long after car designers had begun to round out the corners. That’s the only reason why I had noticed that car in the first place.

  Plus, I was kinda bored sitting on the curb, waiting for my dad to get off work and come pick me up. I was done working my shift at the craft store and didn’t want to wait inside. For January in Pennsylvania, it was a beautiful day. Sure my butt was cold, but I wasn’t going to waste the chance to sit in some sunshine, who knew when the next semi-warm day would be? I could have sat along the backside of the building, where the parking lot was, but the sun wasn’t shining there. That’s the only reason why I chose to sit out front, along the main road.

  The craft store sat in a strip mall, on a steadily busy stretch of road. I was doing a bit of people watching, in between text messages going back and forth between me and my boyfriend of the last two years. There was a girly movie in the theaters that I was trying to sweet talk him into going to see with me, and I’d just about worn him down.

  I was seventeen, a junior in high school with an excellent GPA, a plan for college, a plan for after college, a part-time job that I liked, and a long-term boyfriend that I loved and my parents adored.

  Life was good.

  Nah, scratch that, life was great.

  Or at least it had been great… right up until that Lincoln Town Car rounded the corner for a third time.

  Chapter One

  A Clean Beginning

  I hate being tied up in the trunk of a car.

  My muscles were cramping, my right foot was numb from the rope tied around my ankles, I had a headache from the lack of fresh air, and a panic attack kept threatening to overtake me.

  The endless darkness I was staring into threatened to suffocate me, to the point that I had to force myself to keep breathing.

  And this wasn’t the first time the asshole had done this to me, either.

  That’s what I call him when I’m thinking about him. My brain refers to him as ‘The Asshole’. It’s an injustice to him, really. He’s not an asshole. He is, at least, a whole ass.

  Asshole had also stuffed me in the trunk of a car when he kidnapped me about a year ago.

  I’ve heard a few times over the years that if someone ever stuffs you into the trunk of a car, you should kick out the tail lights and wave your fingers through the hole to get the attention of the driver in the car behind you. Yeah, I did that the last time. No one paid enough attention to see my frantic efforts. Maybe they had seen it and didn’t care enough to report it. Or, maybe they did report it and no one was able to keep tabs on that Lincoln Town Car long enough for the police to catch up with me.

  Either way, it didn’t work. And Asshole had been pissed about the obvious damage to his stolen car. He hadn’t liked the idea that the police would know a kidnapping had taken place when they found the car later on. Oh, damn, well.

  The idiot holding me hostage might be an idiot, but he isn’t stupid. He never makes the same mistake twice, especially when he was using his own car. This time he had tied my hands behind my back, tied my feet together, and then tied my feet to my hands. All of that makes it a bit difficult to kick anything out. And I was supposed to express my gratitude because he’d been thoughtful enough to place a pillow under my head for comfort. Gee, thanks.

  He kept rotating his antique collection of cassette tapes into, and out of, the car’s stereo. - Buddy boy sure seemed to have a thing for cars made in the eighties. - He’d claimed that he would be blaring the radio throughout the trip for my benefit. Right, because I’m so sure he was willing to give himself a headache for me. It was more likely that he was using the loud music to keep himself awake throughout the long journey.

  Or maybe he was doing it in order to add another consideration for me. That seemed to be his way of justifying his actions. In his mind, he was doing nothing wrong so long as he tried to make me as comfortable as possible while he did it.

  Yeah, he tended to use that logic a lot.

  I had an MRI once. The technician had me lie down on a hard table and then slid me into the tunnel of doom. It was claustrophobic in there. I’d had to close my eyes because it bothered me to open them and see the wall of the small tunnel two inches from my nose. I hadn’t been allowed to move as the huge magnet made all of its clicking noises, and then the banging had started. This was a lot like that, except my eyes were open and the dark was more disturbing than being able to see my close confines. You can’t close your eyes to the darkness like you can light, because closing your eyes doesn’t give you a break from the sight you don’t want to see. There’s no mental escape available in here.

  This time, he’d put me in the trunk as soon as the sun had gone down. There was less traffic on the road that way - and less light for anyone behind us to see wiggling fingers. Even still, if I thought I had a snowball’s chance in Hell of being seen, I’d give it a try. But given my present circumstances, I’m not willing to risk the punishment I’d get for attempting another escape. Been there, done that, thank you.

  As it was, I could tell from the feel of the car, and the lack of exterior noises around us, that he wasn’t putting himself in a position to get caught. He’d taken as many back roads as he could to get to the interstate. - At least, I assumed it was an interstate. We hadn’t stopped for traffic lights, and it seemed as though we were moving along at a good, steady rate of speed. - Now that we were on an interstate in the middle of a winter’s night, I was willing to bet my college fund that there weren’t many cars around. And whatever cars there might be had plenty of room to go around us. Who drives close enough to see wiggling fingers when you had the e
asy ability to just go around the car in front of you?

  We’d been driving for what seemed like hours upon hours. I had no idea where we were headed, and I didn’t know where we had left from, either. He’d never told me where he had originally been hiding me. I’d only ever figured out that it was probably somewhere hours north from my southeast Pennsylvania home.

  Winters had been snowier, and the days shorter, than I was used to. The summer had been milder, less humid, and the days had lasted longer. But I couldn’t have told you how much farther north I had been. And I had no way to know if I was east or west. The only thing that I was fairly certain of was that he had kept me in the United States. I never heard him have a conversation with any kind of border patrol. What I wouldn’t give to see a Canadian Mountie right about now…

  And, yes, we had stopped for gas. Twice he had pulled off, probably into abandoned weigh stations, and grabbed gasoline containers from the back seat and filled the tank. From what I could tell, with all the shuffling noises going on inside the car, he’d had luggage covering the evidence of the gas cans that lined the floor below. Heaven forbid he should chance stopping at an actual gas station or truck stop, where the girl in the trunk might start screaming for help.

  All I knew about this journey was that we were moving to a different state. - State, he’d used that word, not providence. I viewed that as further evidence that he hadn’t smuggled me across a northern border. - He’d gotten hired by a different company, for a better job, and he had bought a new house.

  He’d set the expectation that this new house was a small scale of my dream home. Really? Because right now my dream home would be located next door to the local police station. And just inside a window that overlooked our house, would sit a bored police officer’s desk, and that police officer longs for mysteries to solve and likes to gaze out windows.

  He eventually took an exit ramp and the starting, stopping, and turning began as he navigated slower roads with either stop signs or traffic lights. He turned the radio down, and the feel of the road beneath us changed. I held my breath as I listened again… It was dirt… With rocks that shifted under the tires… I took it as a sure sign of seclusion. Great. On the upside, it probably also meant that we were getting close to the end of this ride.

  A short distance later, he turned the car to the left and he slowly began to make his way along, what now sounded to be, a gravel road… A driveway maybe?

  He hadn’t driven far before he brought the car to a halt and turned off the engine. I could hear him groan as he got out of the vehicle. I imagined him stretching his arms over his head and rolling his shoulders after the long drive. Then he’d twist and turn his head, stretching neck muscles, before he finally ended with cracking his knuckles. - Yeah, I’d gotten to know him pretty well.

  I heard his booted footfalls crunching on the gravel as he approached the trunk, and then the metal scraping against metal sound as he inserted the key. The whoosh of fresh, and decidedly warmer, air washed over me when he popped the lid. The sun had barely risen enough to make an impact in the sky, yet it was enough to sting my eyes as I looked up at him. He stood there, looming while I blinked at him, with an expectant grin on his face. “Did you have a nice ride back here?”

  I forced a gentle, sleepy smile, “Yes, it was smooth and relaxing.”

  “Excellent, I had the rear shocks replaced just for you in preparation for this trip.”

  “That was very thoughtful, thank you.”

  “And the pillow?” he asked. He always fished for compliments and reassurance.

  I ignored the stiffness in my neck and nodded, softening my expression, “It was just what I needed.”

  Satisfied with my answers, he flipped open his pocket knife and leaned down into the trunk to cut through the ropes and untie me.

  He kept that opened knife in his hand the entire time that he lifted me out and placed me on my feet. That knife remained his hand’s companion as I stretched the kinks out of my own muscles and tapped my foot against the invisible needles as blood began to flow freely again.

  The measure of his nervousness about my actions could, nearly always, be calculated by how close he kept that pocket knife to his hand. That, and the presence of his steel-toed work boots. Seeing those boots on his feet reminded me that if I tried anything, he’d cut first and kick second.

  He looked me over and asked with a proud smile, “You ready to see the inside of our new home?”

  “Sure,” I said lightly. I stole glances of my surroundings. I had to be careful to not express any interest in knowing where I was. He’d specified seeing the inside of the house for a reason. In my time with him, I’d learned to appear as though I only sought knowledge that was offered. To never ask about much of anything else without, what he would deem to be, good reason.

  The house had vertical wood siding that was stained a dark, woodsy green. I believe it was done to help it blend in with the wooded surroundings. Right now, it stood out against the leafless trees. But I was willing to bet that it would almost look natural in the height of summer. The house sat in a small clearing, and if my ears didn’t deceive me, I’d be willing to bet that there was water somewhere beyond the house. He’d parked the car up close and dead-center of our new home, and I couldn’t see around the sides to know what lay beyond it.

  The only other structure I could see was a small, detached garage, off to the right. Its siding was stained the same color as the house, and its placement had it tucked back against the edge of the woods.

  He walked around me to unlock the door. Once unlocked, he held the door open for me and quickly followed me through the threshold. As soon as he closed and locked the door behind us, and turned on a security system, he folded and pocketed his knife.

  There were no lights on, but I could see around me with the burgeoning daylight. As I stepped further inside, I saw that the entire back wall of the house was comprised of windows. The thought of so many windows was astounding to me. After months in that basement… And then the months in the main part of that house, with windows mounted six feet high off the floor…

  I stole furtive glimpses, my eyes darting here and there, looking for where he’d placed the hidden cameras. Then I slapped a look of awe on my face and pretended to look through the windows, instead of staring at them. What truly had me entranced was the idea that I knew damn right well each and every window either didn’t open, or was hooked up to his alarm system. And I also knew that his alarm system didn’t transmit signals to some wonderful company that would send a police officer to investigate. Oh, no. I knew from previous experience that setting off the alarm would trigger an app on his phone, and then he’d come to hunt me down.

  I turned in a slow circle, taking stock of my new prison. Exposed beams, gorgeous woodwork, and that wall of windows went on for two stories and peaked in the center to form an A-frame styled home. The living room, probably advertised as a great room, overlooked a river. Sliding glass doors, which opened onto a large and empty porch, were centered along the wall. It looked as though the porch extended twenty feet out, and ended about fifteen feet from shore. Not a sand or rocky shore, just a retaining wall to combat erosion where the land ended and the water began. There was a small pier, extending about twenty feet out onto the water. No ladder attached, nor a boat tethered. But that wasn’t uncommon in the middle of winter. Even if the temperature had seemed warmer here and there appeared to be nothing icy floating around, people would still pull everything out of the water for the season.

  The front door had opened into an entryway. A rather large eat-in kitchen lay to the left. A coat closet was situated to the right, followed by a narrow laundry room, then a small powder room, and then the structure of the staircase - which you gained access to from the great room. The great room was huge, took up half of the downstairs, and hosted a massive stone fireplace along the wall on the left.

  Standing in the great room, I looked up to the second floor. A banister ran along
the length of the overlook, with a simple desk and chair sitting at the center. Beyond that, the walls formed a half-square around a reading area that had been set up. A small couch, with an end table and lamp next to it, and a bookcase in the corner were also situated up there. All of it sat in full view of the river below. It looked like a wonderful place to sit and work on a task that required some quiet inspiration. Four doors could also be seen at various points along the half-square.

  “Three bedrooms and a bathroom,” he said when my eyes landed on the doors. “And another full bath off of the master bedroom,” he said, beaming with pride.

  I couldn’t fault him for having pride in being able to afford this house. It was a far cry from his little one bedroom bungalow with the attic-turned-office. This house was bright, open, larger, fully furnished inside, and showed some real craftsmanship in all of the detailed woodwork.

  It was, in fact, my dream home… Damn it. Now that dream would forever be marred because he had bought it for me. But, being here would make it easier to fake my emotions for him. I’d focus on the house and smile pretty to keep him happy.

  I turned to him, time for the show. I threw some excitement and wonder into my eyes. “This is absolutely amazing! It’s like you picked the house straight out of my fantasies and spun it into reality.”

  His broad smile turned smug in the light of my praise. He relaxed his stance and lifted his opened arms to me.

  I cringed inside as I obediently walked into his embrace. “The seclusion of the woods for you, yet the openness onto the river for me, it’s a perfect compromise.” He cradled my face against his chest. “You know me so well, it’s almost scary.”

  “I just pay attention. I listen to everything you tell me and I watch every move you make. When I saw this listing, I knew you’d love it.”

  You only know what I tell you, you freak of nature. It had taken me a while to learn to not share much of the truth with him. Usually, he didn’t appreciate hearing it. But I had described my dream home to him early on, with quite a bit of honesty. He was trying to convince me that life with him could be happy and content, so I had set my expectations of a home quite high, trying to drive home the point that I’d never be happy with him. I never thought he’d attempt to deliver.