Acts of Desperation(43)

“It’s nothing fancy, a peanut butter sandwich, but I bet you’re hungry,” he said.

“I am. Thank you,” I said. I told myself to be nice—the sweetest, nicest person I could imagine. “Could you untie me please so I can sit up? I won’t try anything, I promise. This is just really uncomfortable.”

“I’ll untie you, but I’m warning you, if you do try anything, you’ll end up being more uncomfortable than you are now. I’ll tie you naked to one of those trees outside. There’s lots of wild animals out here, and I’ve been putting out scraps of meat to lure them closer to the house. I’m sure you’d smell really nice to the coyotes and wolves sitting next to a couple of steaks. Bet it could take a couple of days for them to eat—” He closed his eyes and shook his head “You understand me?”

It goes without saying that playing out that scenario in my mind was not appealing. When I did make my move, I would have to strike hard and strike fast. “I understand,” I said and nodded.

He leaned over me, untying my left wrist first. I got a strong whiff of the cigarette stench embedded in his clothing, and I closed off my nose while he undid the rest of my restraints. I rubbed the chaffing on my wrists first and then wriggled my feet and ankles the second they were free. I scooted myself up and leaned back against the headboard holding the sheet close to my chest.

“Thank you,” I said. “Could I have a shirt?”

“No. I think keeping you like this reduces the chances of you trying to run out of here, wouldn’t you agree?” He feigned a smile. “Here,” he said, thrusting the food onto my lap.

“Ok.” I tucked the sheet into my armpits then picked up the sandwich and took a bite. As far as peanut butter sandwiches go, I think it was the best one I’d ever eaten. I gobbled the whole thing in under three seconds. I gulped the cold water down and leaned back. I could have easily eaten another three sandwiches, but it was enough for now. He grabbed the plate and put it on the timeworn chest of drawers next to the door.

As he walked, I thought back to one of my college courses taught by a retired prosecutor. We researched into the minds of serial killers—not that that was what I was dealing with hopefully—but still information I drew from that I thought would be useful in this situation. I’d chosen to research Ted Bundy. One fortunate girl had been recorded, recounting her tale of release. She told Ted Bundy personal things about herself and tried to get him to relate to her and feel sympathy. She spoke to him about a Spanish test she had in the morning and about how worried her mother was going to be when she didn’t return home. It struck a chord with him, and she was set free. She was one of the lucky ones. I never would have thought I’d have to draw from that girl’s experience to implement my own escape from a psychopath.

I said, “I saw her picture. She was really pretty.”

“What are you talking about?” He snapped his head around and glared at me.

“There was a picture of her in a book. I heard she wanted to be a writer,” I said. I softened my voice to make it sound more like that of a little girl.

“Yeah, what do you know?” he said.

“I wanted to be a writer too.” Ok, it was a stretch, but if there ever was a time to bend the truth. “I chose to get into law though, but it does involve a lot of writing. Did Grace ever talk to you about what she wanted to write?”

“Stop. Saying. Her name,” he said, freezing me with his icy stare and creeping toward me.

“I’m sorry. I won’t do it again,” I said.

He went to his chair across the room and began to rock then lit a cigarette. His shaky hands went calm with the first drag, and he slumped back in his chair.

“What’s your name?” I asked when I felt the nicotine had done its job of calming him.

“None of your business.” He rested his head against the back of his chair and looked to the ceiling. Half of his cigarette had already vanished.

“Well I know you know mine so…” I trailed off. “I just thought it’d be nice to know your name.” I forced a genuine smile.

He chuckled then turned to light another cigarette.

“Do you know that I have a sister too? And my parents…they’re all probably worried sick about me. If you do something to me…I’m sure you can imagine how they’d feel. I’m sure you and your parents have been through a lot. Plenty of people will get hurt, not just Jax if you do something to me,” I said.

“You think I give a shit?” The cigarette positioned between his front teeth bounced as he spoke.

“I think you might. I know I look like her,” I said. “Do you really think you could hurt me?”

He began to rock again only this time he appeared more agitated. All the color disappeared from his eyes, and black orbs stared back at me. “I can see I’m going to need to shut you up.” He rested his cigarette atop the pile of butts in the ashtray. He opened a drawer and withdrew a syringe and poked it into a glass vial. I watched as it slowly filled with a milky white liquid, then he squirted a minute amount into the air.

“Oh my God, what are you going to do? Please don’t, please,” I said as he walked toward me.

“You’re going to need to hold still now otherwise I’ll have to poke you over and over. You can try to fight it, but trust me, it’s not pleasant when you do.”