If you read the first chapter, then you want to jump right into the next one. So without further ado, here's the next installment of "The Politician's Pawn"...
2 – The
Unknown
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“S
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hut her up!”
Who said it, she
wasn’t sure, and not because she wasn’t looking. Because she was. Her eyes were
open and she was thrashing around, one minute reaching for one door and the
next trying to open the other.
The reason why she
had no knowledge of who shouted the words was because, in that moment, she
didn’t care about such insignificant details. All she cared about was getting
out of the car and far away from the terrifying men and wherever they planned
to take her.
“Keep driving!”
Someone else commanded, having to shout to be heard. “We’ve got this! Just keep
driving!”
The SUV rolled on
down the alley.
Kayla kept on
screaming, visions of undesirable fates filling her head and her heart and her
stomach and every iota of her being so that she couldn’t think straight. Even
when the first man – the one in charge – wrapped a thick arm around her neck to
restrain her, she kept screaming. Even when he tightened his hold enough for her
to lose her breath, she kept struggling.
He was telling her to
calm down. To quiet down. That it would all go a lot easier if she didn’t make
a fuss.
What he didn’t
mention, she recognized, was that she wouldn’t get hurt. Sure, he had given his
word on the subject back at the apartment, but that very recent past barely
made an impact on her overwhelming present. Instead, she found herself
concentrating on the lack of guarantees coming out of his mouth now. There were
no more pledges that she wouldn’t end up with a bullet in her brain. Just that
she could make things worse if she didn’t cooperate.
It wasn’t a
comforting thought. And so Kayla didn’t back down, didn’t stop fighting until
she actually lost consciousness.
She knew she wasn’t
out for very long since she still recognized where they were when she came to.
They were on Route 695, not five minutes down the road from where she lived in
Catonsville, Maryland. Dark though it was, she could see familiar landmarks and
signs out the window. Plus there was only one road close by that had five
lanes, even for just a few miles.
That was what she
noticed first. It took a stupid second longer for her to understand that her
wrists and ankles had been bound with thick grey strips of duct tape. Another
piece had been placed across her mouth.
Kayla brought her
arms up against her chest and started crying. Behind the gag, the noises came
out more like a bunny’s squeals than any sound a grown woman should make.
“See, this is why I
don’t like doing girls,” the man on her right grumbled. “They cry. I hate it
when they cry.”
“Stop crying. You’re
going to be okay,” Blue Eyes told her, his voice firm and oddly gentle at the
same time. It was like he was talking to a distraught toddler.
Regardless, his order
didn’t make her stop. It couldn’t make her stop. She was too scared and felt
far too small.
The underling who’d
declared his aversion to feminine tears slid his large calloused hand around
the back of her neck. He couldn’t completely circle her throat that way, but
that didn’t seem to be his intention anyway. Leaning in close, his breath sent
a series of wretched thrills down her skin.
“He said stop
crying,” he growled. “Or I’m going to give you something to cry about.
Understand?”
The words and his
touch made things so much worse. Kayla tried to lean forward out of his grip. And
when he wouldn’t let her go, it threw her into that much more of a panic attack.
Her tears came out that much faster and her hindered screams that much louder
behind the gag.
“You’re an idiot,” the
blue-eyed man snapped. “Stop it.”
The other man
scowled, his fingers hesitating for one more second in their grip before he
released her.
Her whole body still
heaving, Kayla tried to bring her knees up to her chest. It would have been an
entirely useless act of protection even if she could have managed it, but she
found it impossible with her ankles restrained the way they were.
The first kidnapper
peered down at her with seeming sincerity. “Hey, hon.”
She barely glanced at
him.
“Lucy, look at me.”
It was the second
time he’d called her that, a decent indication that he thought it was her
actual name. The realization made her tilt her head his way, her eyes big and
watery.
“Nobody’s going to
touch you, okay? Not like that, I mean. And not at all if you just calm down
and do as I say.”
“Speak for yourself.”
The driver paused to leer into the rearview mirror. “She’s prime picking if you
ask me. I like ‘em bigger than a twig.”
“Shut up! That’s an order,”
her consoler snapped. He seemed genuinely disgusted and even angry before he
turned back to Kayla. “Ignore him. He’s all talk. That’s not what any of us is
here for. Our job is to get you from Point A to Point B alive and as unharmed
as possible. That’s it. Alright?”
He paused to let her
nod or shake her head.
Kayla did neither, though
she did quiet further except for a sniffle every few seconds.
“You’re just going to
get yourself hurt if you struggle. We’re four, specially trained men against
one little girl. So do yourself a favor and stop fighting. Can you do that for
me?”
Kayla didn’t care
about doing anything for him or his friends. But now that someone was speaking
calmly to her without threatening her within an inch of her life, it was
possible for her to see the ridiculousness of fighting them right then.
They were barreling
down Route 695, coming up on the lower of the 95 splits. Even if she could manage
to open one of the doors, there was still no way out alive. So she might as
well just save her energy for a better opportunity. If it came along.
“Lucy, can you do
that for me?”
She did nod this time.
Maybe, she thought, she could explain to them that she wasn’t Lucy once he took
the tape off her mouth. She could make them understand how they had taken the
wrong girl. That they’d meant to snatch a different blond who couldn’t quite
comfortably fit into her size-ten jeans after one too many stressful shifts and
subsequent brownie binges.
“Good girl.” The
words were patronizing, though the tone was matter-of-fact.
She swallowed hard
and sniffled again.
He reached into his
pocket to pull out a little packet of tissues, holding one up to her. “I’m just
going to wipe your nose. Is that alright?”
It was such a simple
question with a whole host of potentially rotten ramifications.
He gave her a small smile of understanding.
“Don’t worry. I like brunettes.”
Kayla stared at him
for a moment, trying to figure him out. On the one hand, he was the only one in
the car being nice to her. On the other, he was still part of a gang that had
barged into her home and kidnapped her. And he was the only one of them who had
choked her into unconsciousness.
For all she knew, he
was one of those sickos who got off on convincing women he was their friend,
then chopped them into tiny little pieces.
But she did have a
trickle of snot sliding down her nose in a particularly irritating manner. So
she nodded. He might be one of those sickos. But he also might be the opposite:
someone who liked to think he was a good guy even though he wasn’t.
That kind of person
could be manipulated if need be.
“You’re so soft,
Evans,” the man on her other side chuckled.
Holding the tissue to
her nose and gently cleaning it up, Evans didn’t so much as deign to glance his
way. “That’s funny coming from you. Weren’t you the one just whining about not
being able to take girls crying?”
He pulled the Kleenex
away and shoved it into his other pocket, then reached for a new one. “Your
eyes?” He asked, holding that one up for her to see too, as if by doing so he
could prove his pure intentions.
Her eyes filled with
more tears, the thought of him wiping them away almost undoing her all over
again. Her hesitation may not have been conducive to using him later on, but
she couldn’t help it. She was winging the whole situation as best as she could,
trying to cope with each new dreadful decision as it came along.
Maybe if someone had
warned her in advance – if she had gotten the chance to prep for being
kidnapped in a ridiculous case of mistaken identity – she could have conveyed
gratitude with convincing sincerity. But since nobody had bothered to train her
for such absurdities, she could only handle herself so well.
It took some effort,
but Kayla managed to pull herself together enough to nod again, giving him
permission. Yes, he could wipe away her tears.
She steeled herself
for the contact, sweeping her lashes down and pressing her arms in more tightly
to herself. The movement made the spot ache where he had gripped her before,
but she gritted her teeth and otherwise kept still.
Evans’ touch on her
face was light but not too light. There was nothing suggestive or scary about
the way he dabbed at her eyes and wiped at her cheeks. That was except for the
fact that he was a thug with a mask and a gun who had kidnapped her. Other than
that, she didn’t feel uncomfortable with the experience at all.
He didn’t linger,
dabbing at a few tears that had made their way down her chin, and then once
again pocketing the used tissue.
That was it, but it
was enough.
Kayla shivered in the
resulting silence, watching him as his mouth twisted in a telling way. It was
almost like he wanted to say something encouraging but wasn’t sure what would
work under the circumstances. Ultimately, he gave up trying to find the right
words, so she never found out one way or the other.
As the minutes turned
into miles, she found it utterly impossible not to contemplate the dozens of
ways they could kill her. She’d blame her occasional foray into crime dramas
for those morbid musings, but something told her that her imagination would be
running wild regardless, even if all she watched were Disney movies and
musicals.
Bad things happened.
It was part of life. Inescapable really. Any semi-sane adult knew that.
But normal bad things
were supposed to happen to normal people like her. The nuisance of a stubbed toe,
the embarrassment and financial stress that came with losing a job, even the
pain and misery of cancer. Those were to be expected to some degree or another.
At least, considering national statistics, she should have had a much better
chance of being diagnosed with a malignant tumor than getting kidnapped.
Then again, the
problem with statistics was that they only gave best-guess guidelines about the
future. They didn’t ensure anything. Someone could go into surgery for a
routine operation, one with a near-hundred percent survival rate. And yet they
could still end up falling into that ridiculously small percentage of people
who ended up dying of some unexpected complication.
What were the
statistics of a kidnap victim being released alive and unharmed? Kayla’s mind
raced to find something even remotely comforting.
Fifty-fifty?
Sixty-forty? Worse? Better?
She seemed to recall
hearing something about the odds of survival increasing based on a few
different factors. Like the age of the victim, their race, and whether a
hostage negotiator was involved or not.
At twenty-eight, she didn’t
think her age was going to play any sympathy cards for her. Twenty-eight year-olds
got killed all the time. Stabbed. Shot. Beaten to death. Their corpses found in
dumpsters and in their apartments or out in the woods.
She read the news.
She knew how it could be for the unlucky few.
Stop
going there!
She couldn’t go
there. It wasn’t productive.
Though exactly what
would be productive, Kayla had no clue whatsoever. Bound the way she was, she
didn’t have many options to begin with. Nor would she even if she was free to
move her arms and legs and lips in the space left between one scary man and a
slightly less intimidating criminal.
Then there was the
fact that any attempt on her part at compliancy might mark her an easier target
still for unwanted attentions. Yet not being on her best behavior could make
them think twice about releasing her.
It wasn’t as if she
had seen any of their faces. Even the unmasked driver was largely obscured from
her view thanks to the low lighting both inside and outside the Suburban. She
would have no helpful details to tell the cops if she was set free right then
and there. No features, no license plate, no names other than Evans. And a name
like that wasn’t very helpful anyway, even if it wasn’t an alias.
She could only hope
they understood all of that. As far as she could tell, there was no reason to
kill her. Not unless they were a lot dumber or more sadistic than they appeared
to be.
Kayla wished she
could ask them where they were taking her and for what. She had no idea from
the details she’d gleaned so far.
She was already
certain they were a professional team though. Military grade. Not any normal
gang of thugs.
Just one clue
pointing her in that direction was how they had kidnapped her out of an
unassuming Baltimore County neighborhood, hardly a bastion of illicit activity.
There might be the occasional stabbing or shooting just across the Catonsville
line, a few miles down by the seedier apartments in her general area. And it
hadn’t been that long since the FBI arrested a high-school student who,
recently converted to Islam, had sought to set up a bomb just a ten-minute
drive away from where she now lived. That had been before she moved in, but she
had heard about it from secondhand sources just a month ago.
Kidnappings, however,
weren’t Baltimore’s style as a general rule. Not of non-kids anyway.
Kidnappings were too sophisticated for the gangster and gangster-wannabes who
trolled even the nicer streets looking for unseemly opportunities. Ambushing
wandering pedestrians with makeshift clubs and beating them into a pulp: That
was more the city’s speed.
Her kidnappers didn’t
appear to be from Baltimore anyway, judging by how they kept driving away from
it. Though Evans had called her “hon” before, a definite Baltimorian term, they
were already past the Columbia exit down Route 95 South. If they kept at it, it
would be hard to conclude she was going anywhere but D.C., a place where both
sophisticated and common thuggery abounded.
She didn’t know how
correct her conclusion was, but going to the capitol felt like one more
indication she was in the middle of something far bigger than a criminal jaunt.
Otherwise, she rationalized, they would have done whatever they planned to do
with her and then dumped her somewhere simple. Someplace convenient, or at
least closer.
The sound of sirens
split the relatively silent commute outside. The four men tensed up, as did
Kayla, all of them thinking the same exact thing, though with two very
different viewpoints.
She found herself
praying that she was about to be saved. For all she knew, someone had seen her
shoved into the SUV after all and reported its plates.
“Don’t get your hopes
up.” Evans shot her a strange glance she couldn’t quite read. “Those sirens
aren’t for you. There’s no way they could be.”
But he still brushed
his hand beneath his coat to where she assumed his gun was. He must have
stashed it away during the brief moment she was unconscious.
Kayla gulped in fear
and acknowledgment, though the threat wasn’t enough to completely squash her
dream of rescue.
The sirens increased
in volume, louder and louder still. She could see the red and blue lights
flashing wildly as the two cop cars drew closer. They were racing down the far left
side of the four-lane highway, prompting what traffic there was to get out of
the way fast.
The SUV was already
in the furthest lane to the right, inconspicuous in both its appearance and
speed. And so it escaped notice while the police officers raced past Kayla en
route to save somebody else.
Evans shot her a
somewhat sympathetic glance, part guilt, part relief.
She despised him in
that moment. The others, for all she could tell, might be sociopaths. But he
seemed to have at least some degree of human feeling, which he was directly
disregarding. It made her wonder how he would like it if positions were
reversed. If he was the one being held captive with no say over what happened
to him, would he be craving pity or just hoping for release?
Kayla doubted he
would appreciate the meaningless show of sympathy any more than she did. And so
she hated him for not acting on the nobler sentiments he had to possess.
“No need to worry.” The
lecherous driver’s voice was once again cocky. “I told you I’d get us away
clean.”
Kayla wanted to punch
him. And then get away from him as fast as possible. Out of all of them, he was
the one scaring her the most so far, despite how she hadn’t even seen him hold
a gun, much less wave one in her face.
“We’d better be. I’m
not going to jail for this,” the man up front with him said.
She couldn’t help but
notice how pragmatic his voice sounded. Despite the sentiment he’d just
expressed, he sounded nothing short of calm.
“We’re not going to
go to jail,” Evans assured with wry certainty. “And even if we did, we’d be
tried in Maryland, a state that’s notoriously lax on its criminal element.”
Kayla took note of
the words he used. They weren’t the kind of vocabulary someone without at least
a high school diploma would throw around. If she had to guess, she’d say he had
a college education to some degree or another.
“Yeah.” That was the
driver again. “But I don’t see a bunch of Caucasian ex-military types going
over well in a Baltimore court with Baltimore jurors.”
She stowed all that
away too. They were more details she could possibly use to make sure her
kidnappers got what they deserved, which was exactly what they were so
determined to avoid. Though she also recognized, with a painful twist of her
stomach, that they could just as easily be details that got her killed. The
more they knew she knew, the more of a liability she became.
Evans must have been
thinking something similar. “Rod, you really need to learn to shut up.” The
words were cold, as was the delivery.
Kayla risked a glance
at Rod’s face in the rearview mirror. She could just see his brown eyes and the
bridge of his nose, but she could tell he went into an immediate snit at being
told off. Glancing into the mirror himself a second later, he caught her staring.
And while she looked away as soon as she realized that connection, it was too
late.
“What are you looking
at?” He snapped, adding in one particular choice term. He directed his next
words at his team leader while still distinctly glaring at her. “Can someone
blindfold her already?”
The way he said it,
he sounded like he was about two seconds away from ordering cement slippers for
her.
Evans threw a few
insults right back at him, ending with, “She’s looking at you because you’re
making an idiot out of yourself.”
Kayla cringed even
more at the harsh language. The last thing she wanted was for any of them to
get angry. Though it did cross her mind that, if they started fighting among
themselves, she might have a greater opportunity to get away.
Reality body-slammed
that hope in the next instant, knocking it out cold. Her earlier observations
about them being a fully functional team hadn’t dissipated, argument or no
argument. There was still an obvious leader who knew exactly what he was doing.
And his men seemed well-trained in the art of taking commands, making the
larger unit that much more dangerous.
“She can’t see any
more of you than she can see of us,” Evans continued. “So close your stupid
trap and keep driving.”
With a final bitter
glance at Kayla, Rod did as he was told. He shut up and refocused his attention
on the road. But she had a bad feeling that, if there was going to be any
backlash, it wasn’t going to be aimed at his leader. She was going to get the
brunt of it somehow, someway.
Another shudder.
Another tear. Another sniffle.
Kayla had to wonder
what in the world she had done to get herself into this mess. Was there
something she could have done differently to avoid being trussed up with such
people? How had she managed to give the impression that she was Lucy, who she presumed
was their actual intended target?
She reviewed the past
week inside her head, but no single encounter jumped out at her. Life had
seemed normal up until the four masked men came crashing into her life. Normal
and even a bit boring.
With both her
boyfriend Cory and best friend Rachel out of the country, Kayla’s last few days
had been filled with little more than work, sleep and lounging around on her
couch. She’d considered calling up a friend a few times, but had chosen the
comforts of temporary social hermitage instead. So her phone log was empty
overall.
There were no strange
calls she could recollect, no odd run-ins. Even the hospital where she worked
had been quiet her last four shifts, which said something. There was usually
some drama happening there on a weekly, if not daily, basis. If it wasn’t a
meddling relative, then it was some prescription mix-up between the sometimes
arrogant doctors and the overworked, unsympathetic in-house pharmacy.
Or a patient had escaped
from the psych ward.
That last kind of
occurrence didn’t happen too often. The psych staff was usually very well
organized. But according to what she’d been told, it wasn’t altogether unheard
of, and there was always the possibility of it happening again.
Thinking about it, an
encounter with even one of the less stable mental patients sounded like a much
more desirable experience than the one she was living out. She wished to God
that someone had given her a choice in the matter. The way she’d been left out
of such a major life decision made her angry.
Very angry, in fact.
Kayla seized onto the
new emotion with a tenacity not unseen in her hospital’s mental institution.
Anger was a much more preferable feeling than her all-encompassing panic. If
she was furious about her current situation, she wouldn’t be quite so quick to
wonder what was still up ahead for her.
But
what is still ahead?
The single question
melted her fury away, leaving her alone and defenseless once again. Kayla
forced herself to take a deep breath through her nose. It was a calming
technique she’d counseled more than one patient to use for just about every
possible reason.
Afraid of needles?
Look away and take ten breaths. Nervous about the lab results coming back? Same
thing. Need to clamp down on that anxiety the next time hubby or wifey or mama,
or that dratted nephew who’s just waiting for you to die and bequeath your inheritance,
walks into the room? Rinse and repeat.
The trick had a
strong track record no matter what the issue.
Now it was her with
the fear of getting stuck. And what kind of a nurse would she be if she didn’t
abide by her own advice? A hypocritical one, that’s what. And who wanted to be
a hypocrite? Certainly not her, she chided herself with little effect.
Still, she closed her
eyes and breathed. In and out. In and out. Four times. Five times. Six.
The SUV swerved,
jarring her out of her attempted meditation.
Rod swore. Evans and
the other men reached for their guns and, heart racing all over again, Kayla
craned her neck toward the window to see what had just happened. But in the
relative black of the winter night, she couldn’t make out much.
Rod cursed again,
adding some unflattering descriptors about Maryland drivers and their
parentage.
Then everyone settled
down again.
Since none of her
forced car-mates were swearing at their own driver, Kayla could only determine
that the near collision had been the other vehicle’s fault. She couldn’t help
but wish some damage had been done.
Local drivers were
known for their reckless behavior behind the wheel, so much so that they were
often ranked on various lists of the country’s top ten worst drivers. So why
they couldn’t live up to that expectation tonight when she needed them to, she
didn’t know.
She’d even suffer a
concussion and some lacerations if it meant the car would stop. She’d suffer a
lot more if she could just take in some fresh air, unhindered by the faint but
distinctive odor of four men enclosed in a small space.
They were fast
approaching one of those huge, green road signs that stretched up above
incoming traffic, and she stared at it despite knowing what it was going to
say. Stay in the two left lanes, and they’d be heading toward Washington and
Richmond, Virginia, on 495/95 South. If they kept to the two right lanes, then
they were off to Silver Spring or Bethesda on 495 West.
Depending on their
final destination, it didn’t much matter. They could get to D.C. either way,
she knew. And either way, they were taking her further and further away from
her comfort zone.
She’d been to the
capitol once or twice, checking out various museums and seeing some of the
sights. But that didn’t mean she felt comfortable navigating it.
If it was a matter of
escaping, and she did somehow manage to give her captors the slip, Kayla might
have a fifty-fifty chance of getting somewhere safe. That left equal
opportunity to wind up dead in a back alley instead of dead in a Suburban or
dead wherever they planned to take her.
D.C. was a
fascinating city with plenty to do and see, but it could be every bit as
dangerous as delightful, especially in certain areas at certain times. When it
came down to it, she really wasn’t sure she didn’t feel safer with the present
company. Everyone within a hundred-mile radius understood how severe Washington’s
crime statistics were, against women in particular.
Rod didn’t budge from
his lane, steering them toward Silver Spring.
Kayla had a friend
who lived there. It was a cute little town on the edge of the capitol, though
still within the Maryland line. Since moving down to Baltimore, she’d gone to
visit a few times, taking long walks through the main thoroughfares, wandering
into this shop to peruse the merchandise or that bar to shoot some pool.
The lighthearted
memories made her wonder whether she’d ever see the place again. Not that it
made much sense, but she felt like it was a long-lost keepsake she couldn’t
bear the thought of leaving for good.
Since she was
normally a rational adult, Kayla did recognize how close she was to slipping
back into sheer hysteria at any moment. It wouldn’t take much to send her over
the edge again. A look could do it.
A touch even more so.
Of course, that’s
when they brought out the blindfold. As if they had read her mind and were
being brutal for brutality’s sake.
“It’s time to put
this on,” Evans informed her, his large outstretched hand holding a black
bandana she hadn’t noticed before.
Where he’d gotten it from,
she didn’t care. It was the fact that he had it all that bothered her so badly.
Losing her sense of sight was not something she wanted to add to her kidnapping
experience.
Calm,
Kayla. Be calm. You can do this.
You can keep yourself together.
The admonition barely
helped.
Evan’s eyes narrowed
in contemplation in response to her visceral reaction. He must have seen the
panic on her face and in her posture, how every fiber of her being was geared
to fight.
It didn’t matter that
she was restrained and wouldn’t be able to do anything but roll if she somehow
managed to get out of the car at all; Kayla didn’t want to give up that tiny
bit of control she still possessed. The ability to see a moment or two into the
future was all she had left, to gauge her surroundings and make logical
assumptions about what was up ahead.
She shook her head,
trying to force the word “please” out from beneath the duct tape.
“This isn’t
permanent,” he assured. “The only reason you have to wear this is so you can’t
see where we’re going. That’s a good thing. Keep that in mind. It means we’re
planning on letting you go.”
His words should have
made her feel better.
They didn’t.
“I’ll take it off
soon enough,” he went on, trying to coax her into calming down. “I promise.”
As far as she could
tell, he seemed sincere. But when he leaned forward again, she flinched away for
a second time. His chin came up a bit, and his eyes widened to regard her
reproachfully.
“Don’t fight me,” he told
her in the tone of someone who was used to being obeyed. The way he said it
wasn’t mean or even completely lacking in compassion. It was, however, firm.
“The only person you’re going to make it worse for is yourself.”
It wasn’t a threat
when he stated it with such factual precision. Much more like an
acknowledgment. But it had Kayla’s imagination conjuring up several unpleasant
scenarios regardless. Her shoulders shook with defeat as she braced herself to
see nothing but black.
Not just dark shadows
and masked faces. But pure, unadulterated darkness.
She closed her eyes,
which were moistening up again.
He didn’t tie the
bandanna too tightly around her head. It wasn’t a deliberately cruel pressure,
though it was quite snug.
Kayla tried to be
thankful for that while he knotted the folded cotton against her hair once, and
then once more. It constricted a little more against her eyebrows and the bridge
of her nose, though still not enough to hurt. Just enough to block out what
little light there had been left. He was obviously taking no chances in letting
her see where they were going.
She hoped that was
the only thing he was preventing her from seeing. For all she knew, they were
going to slit her throat with a razor sharp knife at any second. They might be
gearing up for a Satanic ritual or some other kind of evil act involving
off-duty nurses and black SUVs.
No.
No. No.
She had to stay
positive.
He
just showed you he’s not completely unfeeling, so you don’t need to go there. You
don’t.
That advice was
easier given than taken, so she tried again.
You
don’t. You can be calm. You can keep it together.
Kayla repeated the
mantra in her head several times, then switched to counting instead. But by the
time she got up to four hundred and fifty-nine, she could still imagine a
knife’s edge teasing her exposed neck.
Her blindfold felt
damp with more than just tears.
Forcing herself to
keep counting at a methodical pace for what felt like a very long time, she
reached two thousand. Then she gave up, wondering how long they meant to keep
the bandanna on.
The noises and
sensations indicated that they were still on the highway and moving at a decent
clip, so they must not have gone into one of the suburbs or even into D.C. She
thought they should have reached the capitol, with its traffic and overwhelming
number of stoplights, long before she stopped counting. It was difficult to
tell for sure when the only thing she had to rely on was her internal sense of
time, which couldn’t be at its best right then.
If by chance she was
right though, that meant they were taking her into Virginia. Or perhaps just
driving around to confuse her? After maybe another ten minutes, Kayla gave up
on guessing at her whereabouts, certain only that she was lost.
Lost and growing more
exhausted. Her limbs were fast falling asleep too. She kept trying to twitch
them, which didn’t help much at all.
After what felt like
an entirely unfair amount of time, they pulled off the highway and onto a much
slower road, one with stop signs and stoplights. She could tell the two apart
based on how long each took, an obvious ability that helped her stay somewhat
rational for some reason.
Kayla didn’t bother
to determine why.
Then they were
decelerating even more, crossing into some residential area, she imagined. Either
that or to a garbage dumpsite. Her bound hands twitched with the almost uncontrollable
urge to pull at her blindfold. For all she knew, she was living out her last
moments.
Her heart started
beating out an impossibly fast time inside her chest again, and it managed to
pick up tempo further when the Suburban came to a stop altogether.
Her legs and arms
were shaking badly all over again. Her brain was just as active, taking sharp
note of how the engine stayed on.
“This will just take
a minute,” Evans told her. “Sit still for now.”
He wrapped one large
hand around her arm below her elbow, making her jump at the unexpected contact.
If she only had the ability
to speak, she was sure she would have asked why they were stopping, albeit not
very calmly. Since she had no such option, however, she communicated her
thoughts and feelings in the single way she could.
She struggled. It was
a pitiful jerking motion that got her nowhere.
“You need help with
her?”
It sounded like Rod,
and it came from the driver’s seat, both good indications that it was, in fact,
her horrible chauffeur offering to get up close and personal with her.
That increased her
anxiety levels by an exponential amount, making her fight with even more
desperation, if her inconsequential movements could be called fighting. Maybe
it should have been a cue for her to cease and desist so as not to invite his
assistance any further. But after sitting still for what she was sure was more
than an hour in an overall silent car with her kidnappers, she was filled with
far too much nervous energy to rein her movements in so easily.
“I got it.” The
leader of the group didn’t quite sound bored, but he also didn’t sound like he
was breaking a sweat restraining her.
Both car doors on her
right opened, one after the other. Kayla could feel the seat beneath her shift
from more than just her struggles, indicating that the man on her other side
had gotten out. He shut her back in with a sharp thud, which was followed by a
second one. And still Evans was holding onto her arm.
Kayla tried
screaming. It didn’t make sense but neither did anything else about that
evening. Combined with her racing pulse, the gag and her pointless attempts to
get away, she now found she had a severe lack of oxygen.
She had never been an
asthmatic, so she had nothing to compare the present experience to. Not yet
ready to stop fighting, her lips parted instinctively to suck in much needed
air. When that didn’t work for obvious reasons, she tried to jerk her hands up
to rip the duct tape off her mouth.
Whether because
taking it off was out of the question or because he still thought he was just
restraining her, Evans kept her arm exactly where it was.
Unable to get the
necessary oxygen through her nasal passage down her restricted throat and into
her lungs, Kayla was running out of breath. It forced her to quiet just enough
so that she could move her head down to her fingers. She had to rip the tape
off, or she was certain she would suffocate for the second time that night.
He must have figured
she was just twisting away from him again, so she managed to hook a thumbnail
between her skin and the adhesive strip before he caught onto her actual intentions.
With the added addition of her pointer finger, Kayla pinched the tape and
whipped her head to the side, freeing her mouth so she could gasp for breath.
The relief was so great that she barely felt the burn of grated skin around her
lips.
It took another
second for Evans to realize what was really going on.
“Are you okay?” He
asked when she didn’t scream, just gulped down intakes of air.
It made sense that he
was speaking to her, though she couldn’t tell for sure when filling her lungs
was such a top priority. Just in case she was right, she nodded, still inhaling
deeply.
“You’re going to be
okay,” he continued in a gentle voice. “Take your time and get yourself
together. We can wait here a minute or two.”
She heard the words,
which might or might not have had a positive effect on her racing pulse this
time. Her throat still felt far too restricted, but it wasn’t quite so bad as
before. And while the tape was still sticking to her hand, it was off of her
mouth, which helped calm her down a little further too.
Kayla was almost
feeling physically normal when one of the Suburban doors opened again.
“It’s clear.” It was
the man who had wrapped his hand around her neck, she thought. The one who
didn’t like to see girls cry.
A pause as he swung
himself into the seat and shut the door again. “What happened?”
“Panic attack. She
couldn’t breathe,” Evans explained like it wasn’t any big deal.
“Oh.” Silence again,
as if the other man was thinking. “Are we going to put the tape back on?”
“Do we have to put it
back on?” Evans’ tone was just as mild when he addressed Kayla again. “I’m
going to leave it up to you. If you promise to behave, I’ll keep it off and you
don’t have to worry about asphyxiating again.”
Another big word, her
mind registered dully. “Where are we?”
“Nowhere you need to worry
about and nowhere you need to get hurt if you just do as you’re told.”
Considering
everything, it was ridiculous of him to tell her to mind her own business. She
hadn’t asked them to go to the trouble of abducting her and carting her off to
God-only-knew where. But since they had, that made her question completely
justified.
Kayla kept that
opinion to herself since it wasn’t going to do a milligram of good, instead
choosing to ask for further assurance to his pledge. “Promise you won’t hurt
me?”
That meant killing or
anything else, she thought, hoping her gist was clear without having to be so
blatant. It was a ridiculous request since she had no reason to believe they
would keep their word, but she needed to hear some guarantee to make her feel
even a little better.
Something up in front
of the car started rumbling; a familiar noise she couldn’t quite place. It
sounded rather like a purr from a very large feline.
She whipped her face toward
the sound.
“It’s nothing that’s
going to hurt you,” Evans told her, addressing her unspoken question first.
“And you’ll be fine as long as you don’t do anything foolish.”
The answer wasn’t any
more reassuring than she had expected it to be. Then again, her choices were
limited, to say the least. Either she agreed to obey, reevaluating that choice
as necessary, or they put the gag back on.
Kayla nodded. “Okay.”
They started forward
again at a slow, smooth pace.
“You won’t act out
again?” Evans pressed, seeming to trust her as little as she did him.
She didn’t answer
right away, morbidly entranced by the seven seconds it took for the car to come
to a stop. This time, so did the engine. Behind them, the rumbling noise
started up again.
It might have been a
garage door.
It wasn’t until the
thing bumped into place that she replied. “No.”
She didn’t mean the
single syllable. The second she got a viable chance to escape, she planned on
taking it.
“We’re going to take
the tape off your legs so you can walk in on your own. We’re already inside, so
there’s nowhere to run.” He didn’t ask for any further pledges of cooperation,
though it was implied in his now brusque intonations.
Kayla nodded anyway.
She sensed him
invading her personal space before he actually touched her, so she had a split
second to brace herself. He was just moving to free her ankles, but it was
still an excruciatingly unpleasant experience: a reminder of how very helpless
she was.
As if she had somehow
forgotten.
His hands didn’t
linger on her. Not even for a second. At least she could be grateful for that.
But even when she heard his door open again and felt him get out, she couldn’t
stop shaking. Her teeth were chattering badly, and she had to forcibly clench
them as Evans guided her out of the car and onto a very solid floor.
It was a humbling
experience needing his help from the car into the house. Kayla tried to
concentrate on details instead. Details she could give to the cops just as soon
as she broke free. Details that would land her abductors in jail for the rest
of their miserable lives.
The surface below her
was hard. Treated concrete, no doubt. And it took a decent fifteen steps,
little though they were, to get from the Suburban to a short set of stairs.
That meant the garage
was significantly sized. A two-car unit more than likely. Despite her thick
socks, her feet felt freezing by the time she crossed it.
They paused there
while someone opened the door. It must have already been unlocked, because she
didn’t hear any keys jangle against each other, and no locks clicked out of
place. It was quiet enough in the room that she was sure she would have been
able to hear such sounds otherwise.
Three stairs up.
Kayla wished she had
her hands free to hold out in front of her, not wanting to accidentally run
into one of the men up ahead. It was foolish to worry about such a small,
insignificant possibility when she had so many more pressing issues to be
afraid of. Or maybe it was an act of mental preservation; by focusing on
avoiding a stubbed toe or two, she could channel at least some of her attention
away from everything else she wanted to escape.
Then she was through
the doorway, the very tip of her elbow brushing briefly against the frame. It
was thirteen steps forward from there on what felt like a very solid floor. She
was certain it wasn’t hardwood and absolutely positive it wasn’t linoleum.
Whatever the material, she got the impression that she was walking on something
expensive. Though maybe she was just projecting after the noteworthy size of
the garage.
Next it was twelve
steps at something of an angle, and then onto a strip of plush carpeting. It
was probably a hallway because they walked straight for a count of ten, turned
what she presumed was a corner, and stopped. After a dramatic pause where she
could feel someone’s self-satisfied eyes rake over her from head to fluffy blue
socks, the individual who had ostensibly orchestrated her abduction addressed
her with the smug certainty of an assured winner.
“Ah. Lucy. It is so good to see you.”
