My Ruthless Kidnapper

            "I'm gonna go get some water," I screamed over the loud music playing in the background.             "Alright, mind getting me a bottle?" Mal bats her healthy eyelashes, her lips pull into the most innocent of smiles.             Slightly stumbling, for I had downed three shots in the span of five minutes. I strived to steady myself while I sauntered towards the occupied kitchen. If I were not utterly intoxicated and thinking clearly as I always do, I'd be disgusted at the messy environment.              But right now, I cared not. I pushed my way to the fridge, where some glued couple aiming to eat up each other's throats decided to position themselves. Unable to call their attention, I gave up and grab a probably used plastic cup and placed it beneath the faucet.              My dad will be very disappointed in me for sneaking out through the window despite the fact that I'm grounded, but in my defense, Mal induced me. The school had been complaining about how I've been alienating myself throughout three years of high school.             And the truth is, my dad, the detective of Eureka Springs, had me under control and not in his watch would anything happen to me. To stay with him, dad promised the same to my mom, who abandoned us for her new family in Washington.                Eureka Springs was known for its safety for a long extended time until five years ago when residents started waking up to the bodies of their neighbors dropped by the doorsteps and two simple alphabets written on the corpse's forehead with their own blood. It became the most confusing yet scariest letters. It was nothing but. 'FH'             Mom had always insisted we move out of the town, but with dad as the longtime detective and him being alone, I always assured her we would be fine. At least I was finishing my senior year in the next three months, and I was hoping to get into WSU. That is, I will be closer to mom and my stepdad.             After I took a long swig of water, washing down the dryness in my throat—I made my way to Declan Carter's bathroom. I can't count how many times I had to pee that evening, but it kept coming, and I didn't blame my bladder. Actually, my mouth kept consuming liquor.              The corridor was filled with intoxicated bodies leaning against the narrow walls, barely breathing. Luckily, not in line for the bathroom. From my perspective—they all seemed solely dead.    Shaking my head to stay awake, I pulled open the small empty bathroom, making sure I closed the door behind me to avoid drunk intruders.    I lowered my pant and pantie and bent my waist to a seating position on the toilet, loosening free of my filled bladder.              That was when it all began. When a tall, brawny figure in an all-black outfit slides through the shower curtain and stands before me. I couldn't study his face with my dilated pupil, for he had none, or maybe because my heart was throbbing hundred times in my chest that my pee involuntary paused.              All I could remember was I tried, I tried to escape the strong arms that held me firmly and placed a piece of cloth over my screaming mouth and breathing holes. With that, everything began doubling and spinning. My struggling muscles slackened, and before a blink of an eye—everything went black.