Chapter 3
1310 Words
The first time Abigail ever indulged with alcohol, it had been by her boyfriend’s insistent pleading. Fred had made such a fuss about her refusal to celebrate his birthday with alcohol like everybody else at the party.
She would have drank the entire bottle just to shut him up and please him, and she had. By the end of the night she had consumed her fair share of cocktails and shots, enough to pass out and wake up ten hours later with no recollection of the night’s events and the devil tap dancing on her head. All to Fred’s amusement and her humiliation.
Abigail remembered that hang over like it was yesterday. She remembered the feeling of her mouth too dry and bitter, her eyes hurting from the light that entered the room from the windows. She remembered the heaviness in her limbs and the foggy state of her brain as she had tried to process why she was on the floor in the same clothes she had worn the night before.
It had been the worst morning of her life, but this was far worse. This wasn’t the devil tap dancing on her head, this was the devil driving a twenty ton truck over her head repeatedly. It felt like her head would split open at any minute. She almost wished it did so that it would maybe stop aching.
She groaned and pressed her hands to her head, trying to ease the suffering. Any effort to open her eyes made the ache worse. She remained perfectly still and took deep breaths, hoping the worst of it would pass soon.
The only other time she had experienced such an intense hangover-like feeling aside from that drinking night, was an experience she did not want to think about. She was even more upset with herself for even letting that thought come back to mind.
Determined to get rid of the bad memory that threatened to rehash itself like a nightmare that never ends, she forced her eyes to open.
The light hurt but after a few blinks, she was able to finally see clearly. And what she saw gave her a pause.
She was in an empty room with one small window, high up almost touching the ceiling. She realized the light in the room did not come from the window, but rather a fluorescent tube just above where she lay.
She looked around again slowly. Her heavy foggy brain was still trying to process what she was seeing.
The room was completely empty, it made no sense to her why. Gingerly she tried to sit up on the bed where she lay, except it wasn’t a bed, only a very thin mattress on the floor in the corner of the room.
It wasn’t until she tried to move her legs, that she realized her right ankle had a metallic cuff around it attached to a chain.
Panic jolted through her and the room tilted. Her breathing was erratic. She closed her eyes and prayed it was just a bad dream.
Seconds ticked by, she could hear nothing else but her own breathing. She opened her eyes again and looked at the cuff that had not disappeared as she hoped. It was not a dream.
Trying to think as hard as she could, she still could not remember how she had gotten there. The last thing she remembered was getting to her father’s house and not finding him, then going to bed.
She still had the same clothes on, but her shoes were missing, so was her belt. Her pockets were turned out, so there wasn’t even a point to check if she had anything in them.
She sat on that mattress watching the door, waiting for whoever was behind this to make an appearance and give her an explanation. But after what felt like hours, no one came.
Frustrated and angry, she finally rose from the mattress. She inspected the chain and found that it was attached to a ring on the floor. The ring did not look to be improvised, it looked more like it had been put there for exactly the purpose it was serving.
A shiver ran through her body, what kind of people built houses with rings in the floor to chain up their captives? She wasn’t sure she really wanted to find out the answer to that question.
The chain was heavy, and made noise when she dragged it, but she wanted to see how far it went. She was not shocked to realize the chain did not reach the door. Neither did it reach the wall with the window.
She had been given just enough chain length to reach a bucket, which she guessed would be her toilet and the mattress.
She returned to the mattress and sat staring at the door. Her head felt better, she realized. Even the pain in her abdomen had somewhat reduced, or she was too shocked at the situation she was in to pay it much attention.
She was sure more hours went by, but still no one came. When she could take it no more, she began to shout.
“Hey!” She waited for a response or the door to open. Neither happened.
“Hey! I know you can hear me. This is illegal!” She almost laughed at her own words, she doubted anyone with a room prepared to hold a hostage needed to be told how illegal the act was.
She waited again, becoming agitated. “You stupid son of a b***h! I deserve some answers!”
She was breathless and weak after that, reminded that it had been hours since her last meal. She wasn’t even sure how long she had been asleep, coupled with the hours long before she reached her father’s house, she could only assume she had already gone more than twenty four hours without food.
“s**t,” she mumbled to herself under her breath.
“Hey!” she screamed again. “I will scream the whole house down if you don’t answer me,” she threatened.
She held her breath and waited. Finally she heard the sound of the key turning in the door, she was suddenly anxious. Had she made the right choice to scream and threaten when she was at such a disadvantage?
It felt like minutes before the door finally opened. Then a man entered. She did not know what she was expecting, but the sight of the man, shirtless and covered in tattoos was not it. Make matters worse his face was bare of any mask and he just stared at her.
Abigail always believed a criminal that covered his face had every intention of letting you go, but one that showed you his face, knew you would not live long enough to identify him.
She swallowed what little moisture she had in her mouth and asked. “Why am I here? What do you want from me?”
The man stared at her and said nothing. The expression on his face did not change even a little.
“Won’t you answer? Why did you kidnap me?” Her voice was beginning to c***k.
The man remained perfectly still. When a minute went by without her asking more questions, the man finally leaned out of the door and grabbed something. Abigail’s breath caught in her throat, terrified of what may be coming next.
The man straightened and held a bottle of water and a loaf of bread in his hands. After a beat, he tossed them at her, landing on the mattress where she sat. Then he turned and left the room.
She heard the key lock. She let out a breath and stared at the water and bread. “Well at least they won’t let me starve to death,” she whispered.
- Writer
