Acts of Desperation(41)
“Liz?” I asked.
“Yeah, who else would it be?” she said, flipping on the lights then walked into the kitchen. “What the heck are you doing? It’s the middle of the night,” she said.
“Oh my gosh,” I said, sighing in relief. “You scared me to death.” I discreetly put the knife back down on the counter.
“Well you scared me to death. What are you doing?” she said.
“I think I’m spooked by the John thing more than I’d like to admit. I thought I heard a noise and couldn’t go back to sleep.”
“I thought I heard something too. I’m guessing it was you though going into the fridge.” She glared at me. “Who eats in the middle of the night?”
“Me.” I smirked. “You know how I get when I can’t sleep.”
“Ugh, gross. You’re going to eat that right out the container cold, aren’t you?” She tipped her head in the direction of my food.
“I like it cold,” I said, shrugging my shoulders. “There’s just something about eating chilled spicy food that hits the spot.”
“You’re disgusting,” she said, grimacing. “Alright, well John’s in the slammer and your dad’s coming tomorrow so there’s nothing to worry about. I’m going back to bed. See you in the morning.”
“Ok. Night,” I said.
When half the container disappeared, I folded up the lid and tossed it back in the fridge, completely satisfied. I shut the lights off in the kitchen and headed back up the steps. When I was halfway up, I heard it again, this time a discernible scratching sound. Rather than being a chicken and running to hide under my covers, I walked back down the stairs and into the kitchen toward the sound. The cardboard on the back door had come loose and was slapping lightly against the door as a breeze blew through. It was like being in a scene of a horror movie, and I expected a black cat to jump out of the shadows.
I walked up to the door and pressed the tape back into place and double-checked the lock just to satisfy my nerves—but it was unlocked. I looked at it confused and tried to rationalize it against my paranoia; I could have sworn that I’d locked it, but clearly, I hadn’t. I shook my head and locked the door—again. I tried to think ahead to my getaway with Jax, but my nerves were getting the best of me. My heart was pounding so I went up and grabbed the knife off the counter again.
I cradled the cold handle in my hand and looked at the shiny metal blade. “God Sember, take a chill pill. You’re being ridiculous,” I said and put the knife back down. I took a couple deep breaths. He was far away and locked up, and I’d be damned if I’d let him steal away my sense of security inside my home.
Halfway through the living room, I resolved to go sleep with Liz for the night and made a mental note to suggest having a security system installed.
When my foot touched the first step, my hair stood on end—I wasn’t alone. Then, I was grabbed from behind, and a cloth was put over my nose and mouth. I was overtaken by the smell of something pungently sweet. I kicked my feet and clawed at my face, struggling to get free and desperate for fresh air, but I was lifted and carried backwards.
“What were you going to do with that knife?” he said, through a throaty laugh as I slowly drifted out of consciousness.
****
When I woke up, my throbbing head was shrouded in a scratchy burlap-type material that smelled like stale cigarettes. I wanted it off. I tried to move my arms but quickly realized that I was tied to something—my wrists and ankles were both tied to something. And I was laying on something soft—a bed? I was spread eagle on a bed and felt naked but covered by some kind of a thin material, maybe a sheet. I squinted my eyes, trying to gain some kind of bearing, but the tiny catches of light filtering in weren’t enough to decipher anything—it was useless. I moved my head then groaned as sudden waves of nausea hit me, adding to my growing dizziness. I swallowed hard and fought the urge to vomit.
Panic set in, and I frantically pulled and twisted my wrists harder and harder, trying to get free, but the burns that were forming brought my attempts to a screeching halt, and I started crying. How the hell had John gotten out, and what was he going to do with me now?
A calloused laugh. “Don’t bother trying to wiggle free. I’ve got you now.”
It didn’t sound like John, unless Jax had landed a few punches to his vocal cords. “John?” I asked.
“Nooo…”
Chapter Eighteen
“Where am I?” I asked.
“Somewhere no one will find you, at least not until I want them to,” he said.
My tears were soaking into the material gathered up at the base of my chin. The humidity inside my burlap prison was mixing with the stale cigarettes and the sweet smell still lingering in my nose. The nauseating fumes were making my stomach twist. I wasn’t getting enough air and felt myself beginning to fade, but passing out wasn’t an option.
My stomach heaved, and I coughed. “Can you take this off please? I think I’m going to be sick. I can’t breathe,” I said.
“I can. It was just for the pictures anyway, but if you try anything it’ll go back on,” he said.
“Ok. I won’t.” My heart pounded as I heard his steps closing in. He lifted the sack off my head, and I felt a stabbing pain behind my eyes as they adjusted to the light. The fresh cool air rushed in, and the nausea instantly began to subside, but the dizziness lingered. “Please let me go. Please,” I begged, gulping the fresh air.