Kidnapped by the Bishop Brothers

Forget Me Not

Blythe

The feeling of déjà vu overwhelms me when I open my eyes.

The room is bright and I assume it's sometime in the late afternoon. I vaguely remember reaching the house on the hill, panting, sweating, screaming for help as I pounded on the door. I hadn't even heard the footsteps behind me and by the time I was grabbed it was too late. Like an insect in a spiders web, I was caught.

But who had grabbed me?

I don't move right away, feeling lightheaded. Whoever grabbed me had drugged me again. The effects feel worse, more disruptive. I tingle unpleasantly all over, mouth and throat dry like I've swallowed a mouthful of sand. My eyes sting. Beth crosses my mind. I hope she's safe. I hope someone has found her by now. Above all, however, I hope she's managed to call the police and tell them what has happened.

I turn my head to the side, wincing as my neck cracks. On the end-table nearest to me is an unopened plastic bottle of water. I pull myself up, ignoring the way my head spins, grab the bottle and crack it open. It's lukewarm but I don't care. I drink the whole bottle in ten seconds flat. By the time I'm finished water is dripping down my chin and I'm gasping.

I screw the cap back on and replace the empty bottle on the end-table. I feel a little better now but not by much. I'm still dizzy and I have to close my eyes for a moment to collect myself. I need a plan. But I need to be smarter.

I scope the room again. My options are limited—finite. I can't pretend that I'm still unconscious if my abductors walk in because the empty water bottle will prove otherwise. I don't want to take my chances sneaking out of the window again because I'm sure at least one of them is playing watch-dog.

But I also don't want to just sit there idly waiting.

I hear a door close from somewhere outside of the room. My head snaps to the right wall, heart racing. I don't know what to do next. Do they suspect I'm awake? I lean over, looking at the alarm clock. It's just past four. They must. It's been over nine hours.

Feeling that I'm on a time-crunch I know I have to improvise quickly. A plan comes to me suddenly; one that's conspicuous enough to possibly work.

The window is closed, a detail that is now crucial. I stand up on the bed, facing it before I crank it open again. I continuously look at the door as I hear both of my abductors conversing, making sure they don't walk in and catch me in the middle of what I'm doing. Once the window is cranked open all the way, I crouch down.

I've made it just in the nick of time. I hear footsteps approaching the room. I quietly step onto the floor, lifting up the skirting as I roll underneath the bed. I share the space with my suitcases and dust. I place my hands over my mouth so I can breathe without coughing or sneezing. The door opens and my anxiety is through the roof. I can hear a grunt of confusion as footsteps enter the room.

I clench my eyes shut, biting my lip, just as a voice shouts, "what the f**k?!"

I hear more footsteps running into the room. A third voice, one I haven't heard yet, says, "what? What happened?"

"Were you watching the window?" He yells. I hear angry footsteps approach the side of the bed I woke up on, ruffling the skirting against my thigh. Doubt creeps into my mind that this won't pay off and I become very, very afraid.

"Yes, I was watching the window—" the other man answers defensively.

"Clearly not f*****g hard enough," the man by the bed says. I'm holding my breath, heart in my throat. I hear him punch the wall and I jerk. "Did you see her but fail to mention anything out of spite?"

"Hey f**k you, man. I'm just as much involved in this as you are," He sighs, exasperated. I don't miss the tenor of resentment. "She couldn't have made it far. There's nowhere to go."

"We're going to look for her and when we find her I will tie her to this bed myself to make sure she never escapes again," the man who stands by the bed retreats just as angrily as he encroached. "Never."

Both men exit the room but I don't move until I hear what sounds like the front door opening. Once they're no longer in earshot I let out a breath and creep out from underneath the bed. I sweep the dust off of myself as I walk across the space, peeking out of the threshold. Directly outside of the room to the right, past a wall, is a small kitchen fit for a bachelor and beyond it is a large living room fit for a family.

To the left is a dim hallway and a few doors. I look both ways again as though I'm crossing the street before I step outside of the room. An odd feeling of displacement washes over me as though daring to enter the rest of the house is illicit. I know there is a third man, I just don't know where he is.

I decide to turn left. I tiptoe, still wary about making too much noise. There are three doors on the right side of the wall, two doors on the left, and one straight ahead. There's a window on the door straight ahead of me. Beside it, on the wall, is a key-rack that hangs above a coat-rack. I assume it is this door that leads into the garage.

I waste no time in speed-tiptoeing over to the door stationed directly in front of me. When I look out of the window, however, I see that one of the men, one of my abductors, has entered the garage from a door outside. I can't see his face because his head is tipped to his chest. My breath hitches as I watch him weave between two vehicles—each of them new and luxurious. Neither of them, however, is the vehicle that was used in the ambush last night. They are both cars.

I turn to leave just as the man who entered the garage begins to climb the stairs that lead to the door. I don't know where to go, feeling that it's best to return to the bedroom until I hear him leave again. But just as I'm about to exit the hallway I hear footsteps coming from the living room. Unintentionally they are closing in on me.

I whip my head back and forth, eyes wide with horror as I grab onto the first doorknob I can get my hands onto. I'm flooded with gratitude when the door opens, allowing me to slip out of sight as I close it. I enter a stairway that leads down into a furnished basement suite. I assume it is unoccupied because it's quiet and there are no lights on.

I walk down a step, eavesdropping as the men discuss their plans outside the door. You take your truck and go this way, I'll take my car and go this way amongst other schemes to recapture me. I listen carefully, trying to get an insight on how far they intend to go. I know they are leaving behind one car. I need to know which routes to avoid.

Once they've finalized their plans they begin to disperse. My ear is pressed to the door as I listen to their footsteps. However, as I listen to the footsteps outside of the door, I neglect to acknowledge the ones behind me.

A hand is clasped over my mouth before I get the chance to scream. I'm pulled back into a chest just as another hand reaches past me to open the door. Again, like I had against my sisters car last night, I kick us back.

The man behind me yells, "f**k!" as he collapses. He lets me go and before I can stop myself, not that it matters anyway, I finally release my scream.

We tumble over one another until we both splay, with painful impact, on the hardwood flooring. I land first on my knees then the rest of me follows. I ache, definitely scoring some bruises but luckily no broken bones. I know the man who grabbed me receives the brunt end of it all. Yet, somehow, he recovers quicker than I do. I don't even have the time to clear the hair from my face.

As I'm about to stand he grabs my wrists, pulling me so I fall onto my rear. I don't have the time to get my bearings as he begins dragging me to the staircase. I'm screaming although I know it's pointless. None of the men here are going to help me. I have no allies.

I kick against the stairs as he pulls me up them, trying to stand but he tows me too fast. I can hear talking in the threshold of the door but it's impossible for me to interpret what they say over my screaming. I'm certain in this moment I terrorize myself more than anyone else.

Once the man has finished dragging me up the stairs he tugs me to my feet. Again, however, I can't get my bearings as he pushes me into a tall body. My head is spinning, affecting my clarity as arms are wrapped around the back of my thighs and I'm lifted over a shoulder. I begin to sob, still screaming as I'm walked back into the bedroom I ran away from.

"No! Please! Let me go, please!" I beg, knowing my pleas fall onto deaf ears. I kick in the air and pound my fists against his lower back. "Don't kill me, please! I won't tell anyone, I swear!"

Once he's taken me into the bedroom he kicks the door shut and walks over to the bed. He stands at the foot of it before dropping me onto the mattress. My hair impedes my vision but I don't bother to fix it as I crab-walk back until I collide with the headboard. Only then do I brush it away from my face with trembling hands.

My breathing is rapid, chest heaving as I stare at the man before me. All at once I stiffen, overt horror silencing. My eyes are wide, mouth falling open. I know this man and I know him well. I can't believe what I'm seeing, blinking a few times, mortified. It's worse than being in the room with a complete stranger.

I'm face to face with someone who was once close to my family—someone we had all trusted at one point. Someone I had trusted. Someone who lost that trust by straying off the beaten path.

My sisters ex-husband. My ex-brother-in-law.

I press a hand over my mouth, shaking my head slowly. I'm crying still. I can't comprehend what's going on, regressing dangerously close into denial territory. Seeing him feels like a bad dream. This is all just a misunderstanding. He'll let you go. But given the trouble he has gone through to get me here I know that's not true.

"Long time no see, Sunshine," He says, using the nickname he had gifted to me years ago.

Terrence

She's inebriated with shock.

Blythe doesn't want to believe what she's seeing. I can tell by the way she looks at me that she's trying to detach. It's not as though she's staring at some maniacal, psychopathic stranger. She is staring at someone she knows. It's just as terrifying, sure, but there's also a distinct feeling of betrayal.

She looks hurt as though we've gotten into an argument and I've said something insulting. When I call her Sunshine her eyes dim like I've called her a vile name.

"I'm sorry," I begin, filling the gap of silence. "That this is how we meet again after all these years."

Her shoulders quiver, the first sign of movement since she's seen who I am. She can't stop crying. Her composure is falling apart at the seams. She removes her hand from her mouth, covering her eyes as she folds over and places her face between her knees she has cradled to her chest. She can't fathom looking at me any longer.

"I hope one day you might learn to forgive me," I say honestly.

I move from where I stand. I do this only because I know it will make Blythe look up at me again. I don't like how she hides her face from me. It's been too many years since I last saw it. I need to make up for lost time. I have missed her face.

She's predictable, head snapping up when she hears my footsteps. Her eyes, the deepest shade of forget-me-not blue, trace me as I walk around the side of the bed. I sit on the left side, testing her, seeing if she will run to the door.

She jumps off of the bed and I watch her, grinning as she runs where I expect her to. But at the last second she proves me wrong, pressing her back to the wall near it. She won't run outside. She knows that there are two other villains that await.

I convinced Lawrence to come back earlier in case Blythe got any ideas. I would've called up Spencer but I want to keep him away from her as much as I can. I don't trust him around her. And as it turns out Blythe is full of ideas, as elusive as a ghost, always managing to meander into the wrong places at the wrong times.

I expect her to sink to the ground because of how violently her knees are trembling but she remains standing. She meets my eyes, rubbing her arms nervously. She knows she's trapped.

I verify it when I tell her, "there's nowhere for you to go, Sunshine. You can run for hours and hours and be no closer to escaping than you are now."

Blythe doesn't doubt what I'm saying. Her gaze loses focus and I know she's scrutinizing the entire situation. She's trying to find a loophole, a tear in the green-screen, but she comes to terms with it all quickly. Her blue eyes look right through me when she understands that she is here to stay. That blank, bleak stare.

"I haven't brought you here to hurt you," I reassure her. She flinches. "My brothers will bring you no harm, either."

I'll make sure of it.

She just looks at me, bereft of speech. There's an intensity in her stare; unwavering, unblinking. I feel like a bug beneath a microscope and I have to leave. I get off on the far side of the bed, walking around it, maintaining eye contact even though I want to turn away. I know she needs to be alone.

She wants to sink into the wall. Fear furrows her brows as I approach the door. Blythe thinks I'm approaching her, about to attempt something she can't predict. When I'm past the foot of the bed she steps to the side and scurries back over to it. She sits down on the edge, unable to run farther because her legs will give out. I turn to face her over my shoulder when I reach the door.

"I'm going to give you time to come to terms with everything," I tell her. "Don't get any ideas. It would be devastating if you fell victim to the wilderness trying to run because you most certainly will."

I place my hand on the doorknob, preparing to leave when, unexpectedly, her silvery voice rings in my ears.

"Wait," Blythe calls tremulously. Instantly I give her my attention. She rubs her neck, closing her eyes as she bows her head. "M-my sister..."

She chokes up. It takes her a few moments to find her voice again. I wait patiently.

"Do you know if she's okay?"

"I'm sure she will be," I answer. But my answer isn't good enough. Her lips part from her teeth and she's about to cry again. I make a decision on impulse and I disclose it to her right away. "I will send Lawrence to find out."

She remembers Lawrence. She looks at me, eyes bloodshot, before closing them and ducking away again. I know she's uncomfortable with the idea of it given she knows his participation in last night but she's also aware she has no other options. Apprehensively she nods.

"Is there anything else?" I ask.

She rubs her lips together, deliberating, before reaching her verdict.

"B-Beth said this is all my fault when you—" she's reliving her trauma. "When you grabbed me..."

She looks up at me just as tears roll down her cheeks. Chills ripple through me at how numb she appears.

"What did she mean?"

I stare at her for a few moments, long enough to make her uncomfortable and turn away again. She presses the back of her hand to her mouth, shoulders shuddering as she begins to sob heavily. I debate on telling her the truth but I know she's broken enough already.

"That's another story for another day."

And then I leave the room.

And I leave Blythe alone. My brothers sit at the kitchen island. They want to inquire but know better.

I turn to Lawrence and say, "get your truck and see if Beth is still there."

Wordlessly Lawrence does what I tell him to. He's too wise to argue. Spencer, feeling generous, goes downstairs without me having to ask. I'm thankful when I find myself alone, sitting on the couch, watching the window in case Blythe ignores my warnings and tries to run again. I wouldn't put it past her.

She doesn't. At least for tonight.