This is I'm afraid a long story, and self edited. There will be mistakes. If grammar is important to you, then perhaps this one isn't for you. If you do stick it out. I hope you find a small level of enjoyment.
*****
Oh god it felt good to be out of the house. The fresh air filling my lungs my legs stretching out. I loved my evening run. After a hard day in the office, it was just what I needed. With my muscles now warmed, I stretched a little harder. Oh god yes, that felt good. My worries easing with every stride, the stresses of the job fading. What had been a fairly shitty day was now starting to feel a whole lot better.
With Chelsea Williams, new album echoing around my head, the new headphones, damn they were a good deal, so much better than my old el-cheapo's.
There weren't many people out today, I felt like I had the road to myself, under Glade Arch, I had to zig zag around a few people coming into the park. I was on the home stretch now, through the stone gate, out onto 5
th
Avenue. I turned right, past Sabretts hot dog stand.
Enjoying the freedom of light traffic, I managed to keep reasonable pace. Approaching East 74
th
street, I was about to cross, but my world exploded into turmoil. I heard the screeching tires even with the headphones. Twisting my head to the sound of the screeching. Blackness engulfed me. "Hey, what the fuck!" I screamed into the burlap sack now covering my head. Arms grabbed me as I kicked out frantically. "Help!" I screamed again. "Somebody help me."
I felt the world go wonky as I was hoisted high and thrown. I felt the pain as my hips collided with something, a vehicle Must be big, a van. I reasoned as I kicked and flailed my arms.
"Hey, help, help me." I screamed at the top of my lungs. "Help me." I tried to kick whoever had me, Just then the vehicle sped off at speed. I felt the hefty weight of somebody crashing down on top of me. The wind driven from my lungs.
Trapped on my back I couldn't move. "Stop fucking squirming you bitch." I heard somebody yelling, then I tasted something cold on my lips, and the world went black. The obsidian world of unconsciousness enveloping me.
*****
Why did my head hurt? I groaned. My eyes fighting the heavy weight holding them closed. My mind mushy and thick.
Slowly I wrestled my eyes open. God, why did I feel so drowsy, my eyes squinting painfully at the intrusion of what felt like blinding light. My mind working like a machine slowly coming to life. It was slow though, like walking through a deep snowfall. Flashbacks slowly trickled in, memories. The van... startled at the recollections, I tried to sit up, but couldn't move.
My hands were handcuffed to a steel bedhead, my feet to the base. I wriggled until the pain proved that was a wasted exercise. The harder I snatched and pulled on the cuffs. All I got for that effort was more pain, and now there was blood seeping from a cut the handcuffs opened on my wrists.
I lay back on the bed, my eyes taking in my surroundings. An old farmhouse was my first thought. Much like ones I'd seen time and again in movies. The windows, were big, the battens nailed across them did filter out some light. The room was shabby, flaking wallpaper, mold around the corners of the ceiling. It smelt musty, as if it hadn't been used in a very long time.
In the corner sat an old child's cot, again unused. Well not for a long time anyway.
I had far more urgent needs, if I didn't get to a toilet quickly, I was going to embarrass myself.
"Help, somebody please. Help, me." My screams grew in intensity, my bladder straining to hold.
The bedroom door burst open, and a large burly man burst in, the door slamming back against the wall. "Shut up, nobody can hear you."
"I need to go to the toilet."
He nodded, his dark eyes peering out from the narrow slit of his balaclava. He reached for his belt, and pulled off a set of keys. As I sat up, he pulled the sack over my head, and led me down what must have been a passageway.
My hands were handcuffed to a rail. The guy snarled loudly. "The toilets behind you. I'm closing the door. Call out when you're finished."
I fumbled around to find the cool porcelain bowl. My bum barely touched the rim when my bladder let go. Ah, what relief, with my head in my hands I sighed in total confusion. What the hell was going on. Funny how with your senses limited, others take over. I smelt the cleaning compounds, the shampoo sitting somewhere off to the right.
Fumbling around I found some toilet paper. "I'm finished." I called out as the toilet flushed. I heard the door open and in that moment, I heard what sounded like a TV, I smelt food cooking. Then hands clasping firmly around my forearm, dragging me out.
"Why are you doing this?" I cried. "What's happening?"
"Shut up." The answer came back loudly. A gruff male voice. The accent unfamiliar. "Either be quiet, or I'll leave the hood on."
The cuffs closed over my ankles. Then he snatched me by the wrists and pushed me back onto my back and slipped my hands back into the cuffs. Once secured, he lifted off the hood, and I reeled under the intense light.
"What are you doing, why am I being held prisoner?" I cried, trying hard to restrain the tears.
"I said be quiet." He snarled, as he turned and walked out, leaving me cringing at the smell of stale cigarette smoke on his flannel shirt. It wasn't just the smoke, there was aftershave, and soap.
Terror seeped into every fiber of my being. All I felt were the icy cold tendrils of fear gripping me tighter and tighter. Was I going to be raped and tortured? What else could it be? Tears streamed down my face as I lay there. Fear, I had never in my life experienced anything like it. I could hear people, or a person walking around, it was an old house, and the floorboards responded as you would expect. Creaking and groaning under the duress.
The door opened, and a woman walked in carrying a tray of food. Our eyes met and she looked away. My heart leapt for joy, she felt shame for what was happening.
She put the tray on a rolling desk, and wheeled it over beside the bed. Reaching up, she removed the cuffs off my right hand.
Again, our eyes met, and this time she spoke. "Are you all right?"
"I just need to know what's happening. Why am I here?"
"I'm not supposed to talk to you. Jeremy ain't gonna be happy if I talk to you."
Her voice sounded so warm, she spoke slowly with a slight accent. "I'll leave your right hand free so you can feed yourself. I'll be back in about half an hour, and I'll dress your wounds. Please. Don't hurt yourself."
She was gone before I could say anything else. Damn, the food looked as good as it smelled. It tasted even better, maybe because I was starving hungry. Normally, I pick away at my food, always worrying about the calories. Today, I left the plate empty, apart from some bones.
The woman's clothes had been clean, but hardly fashionable. An apricot smock finishing just above the knee, her fluffy brown slippers were well worn and tatty. Her fingernails were odd lengths, no polish. She had never had a manicure, that's for sure.
She returned a while later, bringing in a soda. I called her petite, but it was more like waifish. She was skinny, her legs long in proportion to the rest of her torso.
