I pull up into the driveway, the stereo turned up loud, somewhat disappointed that my time alone has come to an end. I had been enjoying the rare opportunity to relax and think only of myself for a change. I close the sunroof and take off my sunglasses, tapping my fingers on the steering wheel, waiting for the song to end. I climb out and head to the door, already making my mental 'to do' list. At least I have the house to myself for now.
I turn the key in the lock of the back door, step into the mudroom, and hang my purse and sweater on the hook beside the door. I step out of my sandals and walk barefoot into the kitchen, the tile cool against my bare feet. The kitchen is dark, even on this sunny day. Why does he always insist on closing every blind in every room? Doesn't he know I hate a dark house?
I reach into the refrigerator to grab a bottle of water, and the light from within illuminates a quick movement behind me. In that instant, before I can even form a complete thought, I am slammed forward into the refrigerator door. A large hand clamps against my mouth and nose and stifles my shriek of shock and fear. An arm wraps around my chest and traps my arms against me. My water bottle flies out of my hand and across the floor. I find myself strangely mesmerized by the movement of the bottle as the water sloshes back and forth inside it.
I am suddenly broken from my reverie by the movement of my captor as he pulls me back against him. A quick gasp reminds me that I cannot catch much of a breath against the hand across my face. I kick backwards, trying to make contact, but a leg captures mine, pulling me closer against him. I am off balance, my mind racing. "Please, can't breathe…" I beg behind his hand. His hand loosens enough to give me room to take a shallow breath. I strain to turn my head, trying to get a look at his face, but he twists my head the opposite direction.
"Don't scream, or I'll tape your mouth shut," he says, his hand tightening against my face again. I nod, unable to speak, trying to place his voice, racing to come up with a plan, any plan.
"I'll do anything, please, do you want money? I have cash in my wallet."
"Shut up," he mutters. He loosens his arm around me, and I take the opportunity to raise my arms and bring my elbows back into his chest. I find contact, and hear him grunt, and he is knocked backwards. Just as quickly, he shoves me forward onto the kitchen table, his weight against my back, knocking the breath out of me, bringing my arms back behind me and pinning my hands against my back. I cry out with the sudden wrenching pain.
"Don't fight me. You'll lose," he says into my ear, his breath hot on my skin. His hand comes away from my mouth, and I gasp for more air.
"I won't, I promise, please stop, you're hurting me," I whine, losing my composure, tears starting.
"Come," he orders, pulling me up off the table, and I wonder if he thinks I have a choice in the matter. I am not a small woman, certainly, but he most definitely has the advantage in this situation. His size and his strategy has me overpowered. One hand holds my wrists together tightly behind me, and the other is clamped over my face again. I follow his directive as he pulls me backward and pushes me into the living room and up the stairs. I take the stairs slowly, gingerly, trying to avoid the shooting pain as he tightens his grip on my wrists behind my back.
We reach the top of the stairs, and he steers me toward the bedroom. Did he walk the house while he waited? How did he know exactly where to go? As he pushes me toward the bed, I see a black bag on the dresser. I shudder in fear. He has been here, he's been here, he's been waiting for me...the thoughts race through my head.
He deposits me on the bed with one hard shove, and I try to catch myself with my arms, which tingle and ache as the blood flow returns slowly. I hide my face, crying and shaking. I begin to pull myself toward the head of the bed, but he catches my ankle and pulls me backward. I fight against it for a moment, then give in, afraid to find out what he plans for me, but afraid to anger him.
"Turn over." I hesitate, and he repeats himself. "I said, turn over. Now."
I roll over, afraid to look at him. I look toward him, and am surprised that he stands over me, undisguised and openly examining me. He is tall, probably over 6 feet…or perhaps it's my vantage point making me think that? Black hair, cut short. Do I know him? Have I seen him before? I don't think I do. I would have noticed him. His eyes are dark and piercing. Why does he want me to see his face? The thoughts that rise up inside of me scare me more than anything that's happened so far.
He has set the black bag at the end of the bed, and he reaches into it. My eyes follow his movements as he pulls white rope from the bag. His hand grabs my ankle and I jerk back against his touch, which quickly tightens against my resistance. I kick at his hand with my other foot, but he anticipates my move and grabs it before I can make any contact.
"Stop. Now." I obey. He wraps the rope around my left ankle, quickly tying off and fastening the rope to the leg of the bed frame. He ties off the other ankle the same way, and I pull myself as far back onto the bed as the ropes allow, trying to get as far away from him as I can. He reaches into the bag again and pulls out a roll of duct tape. He stands still, watching me intently. Waiting, it seems. I look down at the bed, the blood rushing in my head. Unsure as to what my response should be. I think about screaming, but know that won't help me. The nearest neighbors are a half mile down the road, and no one will hear me.
