Held, Pushed, and 22918 (3 Complete Novels)

by Kimberly A Bettes

  “You were just saying that I shouldn’t be promiscuous.” I reminded him. I said it lightly and quietly, hoping that if said in the proper tone, it wouldn’t send him into a rage.

  “That’s why I like you so much. You keep me on my toes,” he said and leaned into me.

  I stood there, naked except for my socks and panties, and he gently kissed my neck. Had he been my boyfriend or husband, this would’ve been nice. But he was a madman who’d kidnapped me, and it was horrible.

  Over and over, he kissed me softly on the neck, still holding my right wrist in his left hand. I wanted to cry, but was sure that if I did, he’d show his angry side. So I bit my lip and held it back. When I felt him cup my left breast, I nearly lost it. But somehow, I managed to keep it together.

  After a few minutes of that, he pulled away from me slowly and smiled.

  “Time for bed.” He reached behind me and pulled back the comforter. I felt him tossing pillows out of the way.

  I was frozen. All I could think about was how it would be to have his large body atop me, raping me. I was too scared to move.

  “Come on,” he said. “Get into bed. I’ve got a lot of things to do.”

  He pushed me backward until my knees gave and I fell onto the bed. Amazingly, he still held my wrist. He turned me around so that my head was on the pillows. Then, he got up on his knees beside me on the bed.

  My heart raced. This was it.

  He pulled my arms up over my head and clasped the handcuff behind a bar of the headboard and around my other wrist. I was shackled to the bed now.

  With my arms held above my head by the cuffs, he didn’t have to hold onto my wrist. He sat up on his knees and drank me in with his eyes. When he leaned down toward me, I nearly screamed. As he kissed each of my breasts, I squeezed my eyes shut and pretended I was anywhere but here.

  The movements of him getting off the bed made me open my eyes. I was afraid that I would find him standing beside the bed undressing. Instead, I found him walking to the end of the bed where he pulled off each of my socks. He then, pulled the comforter up on my body, covering my exposed breasts. I relaxed a little. I was sure that at some point, he was going to have me, but it didn’t look like it was going to be tonight.

  “Sleep tight, Nicole.”

  He smiled and turned, flicking off the light before leaving the room. He left the door open, which I didn’t care for at all. I would’ve preferred it closed, so as to have some sort of warning if he sneaked into the room in the middle of the night.

  Alone now, I saw no reason to keep holding back my tears and my panic, so I let loose. I cried silently so as to not alert him, but I cried hard and long. I was crying when I heard him walking down the steps to the basement, and an eternity later when I heard him coming back up the steps, I was still crying.

  The tears weren’t just for me. They weren’t tears of self-pity. At least not all of them. They were tears for my husband, Wade, and for my son, Mason. Mason was only one year old. One year and one month. He wouldn’t even remember me if I never came back. Wade would have to teach him about me from photographs and stories. It made me sad to think that I might not be there for all of his firsts. His first day of school, losing his first tooth, his first girlfriend, it all made me sad.

  And Wade. How long would he grieve for me? How long would he wait before he went on and found someone else? Would he pick someone like me? Would she love Mason as much as I did? Would she love and take care of Wade as much as I did?

  I cried myself to sleep that night, and it was to be the first of many nights like it.

  8

  When I woke the next morning, I was startled by Ron’s presence. He stood at the side of the bed, hands in the pockets of his khaki slacks, staring at me with a smile on his face. It was creepy.

  “Good morning,” he said. “I trust that you slept well.”

  I tried to rub the sleep from my eyes, but of course I couldn’t. My hands were handcuffed, and as if that wasn’t bad enough, my arms were asleep.

  “Here, let me help you.” He placed a knee on the bed and leaned over. He removed the handcuffs from my wrists and brought my arms down. The pain was sharp and sudden and made me gasp. My shoulders were stiff and sore from being in that position all night. “Do you need a moment?” he asked.

  With my arms at my sides, I nodded. Moments later, as the blood began to circulate through my arms and hands, the tingling started. It was painful, feeling as if millions of needles were being poked into my skin over and over.

  I tried not to show that it hurt, but I winced and gasped more than once, giving me away.

  “I’m sorry about that. I would like very much if I didn’t have to do that, but I’m afraid I can’t trust you. Maybe tonight we can figure out another way that will cause you less pain.”

  I lay there waiting on the tingling to subside and hating the thought of spending another night, another day, even another second in this house with him. But I saw no way out.

  “Okay, let’s go,” he said, holding my wrist. “Let’s get up and shower and get ready for the day.”

  Slowly, I slid myself to the edge of the bed and stood. I brought my aching arm up and rubbed my eyes as I followed Ron down the hall to the bathroom. He turned on the light and stepped aside, letting me enter.

  “I’ll leave you alone, but I’m right outside this door. You should have everything you need. If not, let me know.” He smiled.

  I went into the bathroom and shut the door. Instinctively, I reached for the lock, but there wasn’t one. At least there was a door between us, even if I couldn’t lock it. Looking around, I saw my clothes, folded neatly and stacked on the counter beside the sink. My bra was on top. I picked it up and brought it to my nose. Inhaling deeply, I smelled a laundry detergent that I didn’t use. He’d washed my clothes.

  Beside the clothes were many personal hygiene items. A towel, a washcloth, a toothbrush, a tube of toothpaste, and a comb.

  After peeing, I slipped out of my panties and carried the towel and washcloth to the bathtub. There was no towel bar, so I draped the towel over the shower curtain rod. I stepped into the tub and pulled close the curtain. I looked to the shelf in the corner and saw a new bar of soap and a bottle of shampoo. He’d thought of everything.

  I washed thoroughly, making sure to wash twice where he’d touched and kissed me.

  After the shower, I stood in front of the sink and put on my bra, then my t-shirt. I had been debating whether I wanted to wear my panties again, but when I saw a fresh pair of panties lying on my jeans, I knew I didn’t have to. I pulled them on, and then my jeans. Once dressed, I brushed my teeth and combed my hair.

  When I opened the door, Ron was standing there, just as he’d said he would be. A madman of his word.

  He smiled at me, took my wrist in his hand, and snapped the cuff around it. I followed as he led me to the kitchen and once again hooked the handcuff to the underside of the table.

  “I’m sure you’re hungry,” he said. I watched as he pulled items from the refrigerator and carried them to the counter by the stove. “Do you like scrambled eggs?”

  I thought of not answering, but decided I was too hungry to ignore the opportunity to eat. “Yes.”

  With his back to me, he nodded. “Good. While I cook, I see no reason we can’t continue our conversation from last night, do you?”

  I rolled my eyes, knowing that he couldn’t see me. “Sure,” I said, unenthusiastically.

  “Very well. Did you attend college?”

  “Yes.”

  “In what field do you have a degree?”

  “I don’t have a degree. I didn’t finish college.”

  He glanced back at me over his shoulder. “You didn’t finish? Why?”

  “My mom got sick and I had to go home and take care of her. After she died, I wasn’t interested in school anymore. I never went back.”

  “That’s a pity. You said you were married. Where did you meet your husband?”

/>   “He was the friend of a friend. I met him at my friend’s birthday party.”

  “How innocent. When was that?”

  “Seven years ago.”

  “Do you love him?”

  “Of course. Why would I have married him if I didn’t love him?”

  “I’m not saying you didn’t love him at one time, but many people fall out of love. I was just inquiring as to whether you still loved him, after seven years.”

  “Well I do. More now than then, in fact.” It pissed me off to have this asshole asking me personal questions, but if it kept him calm, I would suck it up and push through. Besides, I knew there were far worse things he could be doing to me other than prying into my personal history.

  “Do you believe that he loves you as much as you love him?”

  “Yes.”

  “Do you think he’s searching for you right now, as we speak?”

  I imagined Wade and what he must be going through. I had no doubt that he was devastated. We’d never been apart. I’d never failed to come home, nor had he. We went to bed together every night, and we woke up next to each other every morning. We didn’t fight, we didn’t argue, though from time to time, we disagreed. My heart sank as I thought of how sad he must be.

  “Yes, I do.”

  “Do you think he’ll find you?”

  I could tell by the way he stopped what he was doing and studied my face that my answer would be pivotal. Quickly but carefully, I weighed my answer. I wasn’t sure what to say, but I felt that I should say no. Ron thought he was smarter than other people and if I said my husband would find me, he would be furious, feeling as though I thought he was too dumb to outsmart my husband. He may even move me to another location, one not nearly as nice as this one.

  “Probably not,” I said.

  He smiled and nodded. I sighed, relieved to have answered his question correctly.

  He carried two plates to the table and set one in front of me. The aroma of the eggs and buttered toast made my stomach rumble. He sat across from me, and we began to eat. I didn’t have to ask why I was eating my scrambled eggs with a spoon and he had a fork. It was obvious. A fork was a weapon. And though I supposed I could possibly put out one of his eyes with the handle of the spoon if I got really lucky, I knew that wouldn’t happen. Even if I did manage to cause him sort of damage with the rounded utensil, I was still handcuffed to the heavy table.

  “Is it my turn to ask you questions yet?” I asked after the first bite.

  “I suppose that would be fine.”

  “Where were you born?”

  “Milwaukee.”

  “Is that where you were raised?”

  “No. My family moved around a great deal, so we were never in one place for long.”

  “Was your father in the military?”

  “No.”

  “Then why did you move around so much?”

  “My father was a criminal and always on the run. Milk?”

  “Yes. Did your parents fight a lot?”

  He was quiet for a moment as he poured us each a glass of milk. I thought he wasn’t going to answer, but as he handed me a glass and returned to his seat, he said, “My father seemed to think of my mother as a punching bag. He beat her more days than not, and never for a good reason. It was always something like her spaghetti was too dry or her hair was out of place.”

  “Why didn’t she leave him?”

  “A mother of six? Not likely to happen. She had no way to support so many children, so it was easier for her to endure my father’s beatings than try to make it alone in the world with such heavy baggage.”

  He took a couple of bites without saying another word.

  “Did he ever beat you?”

  “Yes, many times. He beat each of us. Except the girls. Their punishments were far worse than a beating.”

  I knew what that meant so I left it alone.

  “Were you a good student?”

  “Yes, as good as one can be with a home life such as mine. I studied hard and made good grades. I had no friends. I was never one place long enough to make any.”

  “Did you go to college?”

  “No. I was too busy working to support my family. I had barely enough money for us all to eat, much less waste on college.”

  “You seem pretty educated, though. I mean, you talk better than most people.”

  He nodded. “Yes, I suppose I do. That’s years of hard work and practice. I learned a long time ago that if you want people to take you seriously, you can’t walk around looking, acting, and talking like you have no proper upbringing. I may have been raised in a poor, abusive household, but I certainly don’t want people to look at me and see it.”

  I opened my mouth to ask him something else, but a scream stopped the words from forming.

  Looking at Ron, I couldn’t tell if he’d heard it or not. Surely he had. There was no way he couldn’t have. It was loud. It wasn’t until he shook his head slowly while staring at his plate that I realized he had.

  “Is that the woman in the basement?”

  “I’m afraid so.”

  “Why’s she screaming?”

  “Because she hasn’t learned her lesson yet,” he said with a hint of anger. “I’ve told her many times that I can’t have her screaming like that. If the neighbors were to hear her, I could get in a lot of trouble. Yet she insists on screaming. I suppose I shall have to punish her again.”

  Afraid to know but more afraid not to, I asked, “By punish her, what do you mean?”

  He looked up at me and chewed slowly. “Are you sure you want to know? It isn’t pleasant. I wouldn’t think someone as beautiful and innocent as you would be interested in such atrocities.”

  I wanted to know and I wanted to tell him as much, but I also didn’t want him angry at me for being something other than what he thought I was. I got the distinct feeling that it would send him into a rage like none I’d seen so far. Besides, I probably didn’t want to know.

  “You’re right. I don’t want to know.”

  He nodded and said, “I thought so. Let’s just hope you never have to find out.” Seeing the look on my face he added, “When I brought you here, I had every intention of putting you in the basement with her. But I so enjoyed your fire that I decided to keep you up here with me. The basement is no place for a woman like you, a woman I like so much.”

  “Has she always been down there?”

  He nodded. “From the moment I brought her here. I didn’t even want to bring her home with me, you see. She kept insisting on it, so finally, I brought her with me. I knocked her out when I pulled into the garage, and I carried her downstairs. When she woke, she fought a good fight. It excited me, I have to admit. She’s got spunk, like you. But her spunk is only to benefit herself. She only wishes to be free. I’ve tried many times to strike up a conversation with her, such as we’re having now, but she’ll take no part.”

  My appetite was fading now, and I ate slower as I listened to him talk.

  “I do miss good conversation. It gets so lonely around here with no one to talk to. I have so many ideas and no one with which to share them. I’m so glad you’re here.”

  “If you long for companionship, why don’t you marry?”

  “I was married. To a wonderful woman. But she didn’t understand me. She wasn’t a very good conversationalist anyway. Not nearly as good as you. She wanted to talk about shopping and hair and clothes. I care nothing of those things, and I certainly don’t want to waste hours of my day talking about them. Not when there are far more important matters at hand.”

  The woman in the basement, Stephanie, screamed louder and louder until Ron couldn’t take it anymore. He threw his fork onto his plate and stood. As he stomped his way out of the kitchen, threw open the door to the basement, and pounded his way down the steps, I wished there was a way I could warn her that he was coming. Better yet, I wished there was a way I could help her escape.

  Moments after the screams abruptly stopp
ed, the doorbell rang.

  My heart pounded and I opened my mouth to yell for help. That’s when Ron’s hand came from behind me and clamped down over my mouth. He whispered into my ear, “If you say one word, I’ll kill your husband and child. Do you understand?” Slowly, he took his hand from my mouth.

  “You don’t know where I live,” I said with the fire he liked so much. “So how can you kill anyone I know?”

  He smiled, and in an even voice said, “In your purse is a driver’s license. On that license is an address. At that address resides your husband and child.” He went through the kitchen and into the living room to answer the door, leaving me at the table where I sat silently until he returned. I would do nothing to jeopardize my husband and son. He knew that. This was how he was going to hold me here.

  When he returned, I asked, “How do you know I have a child?”

  “Seriously, Nicole. You’re a smart woman. I find it very unattractive for you to pretend to be dense.” He washed his hands at the sink. While drying them on a paper towel, he turned to me. “You really don’t know how I know?”

  I thought for a second, but I couldn’t find a way he could’ve known.

  Tired of waiting for it to come to me, he said, “In your purse lies a pacifier. Either you have a bizarre obsession or you have a child. I choose to believe the latter. Am I wrong?”

  I shook my head.

  “I thought not. I believe I’m right about you, Nicole. We are going to do great things.”

  I was afraid of what he meant by that.

  9

  For the next month, my days were filled with the same routine. I was released from the bed, allowed to shower, fed breakfast, and spent the day trapped in conversation and cards. Sometimes we played board games, but mostly just cards.

  Ron had changed the way he handcuffed me to the bed. My arms were no longer straight above my head. Instead, they were angled outward toward the corners of the headboard. It was better, but every morning, my shoulders and neck were stiff and sore, and ached for the biggest part of the day. I didn’t complain about it. After all, I was being held captive. If that’s the worst thing I went through, I’d consider myself lucky.