My Ruthless Kidnapper

Chapter Two: Awake

        "Is somebody here? Someone, please help me." That was my first instinct call when my eyes popped open.

        The funniest thing about darkness is, you don't know what is by the four corners of your sides. Was it safe to take a step forward or backward? What could be by the left or right? Darkness comes with a dreading fear of the unknown, the kind that leaves you alone with your racing heart. It comes along with the scariest quiet, letting you suffer from the tormenting sound of the throbbing in your hearing. 

        What am I doing here? What am I going through? What was my fate? Were the essential questions, but everything came up in my head just like the wind before a hurricane.

        I didn't know for how long I've been here since after the last time I got my eyes on the wall clock just before a human was shot—killed behind me.

        I didn't remember eating or drinking anything since the last water I took at Declan Carter's kitchen. Declan! I wondered what trouble he was going through back at home. I know my dad won't spare him any chance to explain, knowing Declan constantly bullied me throughout my days in school.

        I felt drained and weak. I had not the energy in me to resist any longer. I knew I would pass out again, anytime. 

        Accepting whatever was coming for me, I stared at the door opening slowly and two huge shadows approaching through the darkness. However, everything lightens up just like the last time, for I believed no human should be in darkness while alive, only for me, the considered captured animal, laying on a soft king-size bed at that time. 

        I wondered how I got there for a second, but then maybe those merciless, inhuman faces tucked me beneath the comfy covers. Though, it was hard to understand what feels comfy when you knew you were kidnapped.

        Once again, two different men in identical suits and wires walked in, but this time they seemed friendly. One had a tray in his hands, and the other was pulling a silver trolley bag.

        "Afternoon, Miss Cheryl. I hope you had a great sleep." The first man with the tray said. My once green eyes that I was sure at that time looked swelling reddish, concentrate on the two men, consternated, with anticipation of alarming waves in my whole body. 

        The closer he attentively approached, the more I feared they were up to something. 

        Miss Cheryl? They knew my name, so this was a setup. Referring to me as Miss? Another whole level. Without thinking—I begin throwing the redundant pillows from the dressed bed towards the first man. It took him by surprise because the tray let loose from his hands to the tiled floor, spilling some kind of yellow juice and slices of fruits with other things considered as food everywhere. I still didn't care. I continued my attack, throwing over everything nearest to me that came to sight; the telephone by the nightstand and even the lamp beside me. 

        I might look like a mad woman, but I didn't care. I didn't know what to do to defend myself. If I were home, I'd use the pepper spray or even aim an unloaded gun just like my dad taught me. If this is a public matter, I might file a report, and my mom, as a lawyer, would work on the case, but this was a different situation. I've been kidnapped. I was defenseless; I was all alone without my parent to protect me, and trying to escape leads to gunshots in my ears. My present life is a b***h.

        Luckily, my craziness worked, and I succeeded in pursuing them out of the room, with the lights still on. For the first time in a long time—I smiled. I even almost laughed at their faces when they slammed the door shut. 

        I pushed my dehydrated body down the bed and took cautious steps across the room to the thick curtains, where I found probably automatically locked windows. 

        "There's no escape," I mumbled to myself.  The busy well-manicured field enough for a golf course was endless access to safety. There were men just like those I've come across, my stay here, roaming around the yard, only those outside were more prepared or trained for the guns in their hands said no hope for me. My eyes burn with tears knowing I was trapped. I was trapped in the middle of danger. 

        Hopelessly with no more energy to give, I turned back to the luxurious fancy room.

I was far away but face to face with the mirror. 

        I learned I was still in my black pants and orange blouse even though they didn't look like I just bought them a day before Declan Carter's party. Right now, visible bloodstains were everywhere, and I felt disgusted knowing it was from the man who got killed inches behind me. My hair looked messily rough, like a lost human cuffed in chains. My under-eye bags were deep and purplish, my dry, chapped lips evident, signaling I might die soon.

        My eyes were to the mirror when the door opened, and just like the second time, those three men showed up, three men who could possibly shot a gun anytime without warning. The only difference is the middle one was wearing a long sleeve black shirt. That's all.

        My throat tightened, and my pulse began to race. Among everyone, I despise much that younger person. He was fierce, the monster of remorseless cruelty. He pulled the trigger and held no pity in his light brown eyes.

        Right there, his brown-almost black eyes were fixed on me though that was after they've scanned the mess I made of their room. I stood across the room, trying to act strong, trying to lift an empty armor while I shuddered in between my shaky suspires. 

        His two fingers were pointed to the door, and the men behind him spun and shut the door behind them, leaving me with the murderer, standing wordless opposite me. 

        I looked everywhere for something to defend myself; nothing pickable came to sight until my eyes finally landed on a piece of glass on a carpet, I was sure from my earlier violence.

        When I lifted my eyes back to him, he seemed to notice my target because we ran at the same time aiming for the weapon. Albeit he was stronger and healthier, he made it first, sliding the glass far against the wall and pinned me on the bed bench before I could react. 

        His hands tightly clasp my wrists by both sides of my head, and his legs straddle mine while we both pant heavily, our faces an inch away. 

        "Let me go." I cried—choking on my breath. The last thing I wanted was this proximity with a monster among men.

        "You are not going to do anything stupid." His voice was commanding, and that cleared how much it wasn't a question.

        "Get off me." I struggled for an escape, but he was stronger that I couldn't wiggle out of his grip. The tears were freely pouring while I kept my hateful stare in his eyes. At least if I couldn't retaliate, I could show him how much I hate everything that is happening to me.

        Although he smells great and looks good apart from the scold on his face, I supposed that's probably what every human with freedom would smell and look like.

        "I repeat, you are not going to do anything stupid." He barely closed his mouth when I went for my sudden instinct. I gathered all the strength in my body and shot my leg right between his, colliding my hard knee bone with his balls.

        I knew it worked, for he released his hold, and I was able to push him off me with my palms while he grunted in pain and immediately fled his hands to his middle. 

        Wincing to the pieces of glasses making a home in my foot as I scurry to the door and turn the doorknob. I stand in the middle of an extremely decorated long hallway. Serendipitous finding it empty, though. 

        Having no idea where to follow, either my left or right. I respire slowly and rub my hands over my face. If I had to escape, I needed to be awake, I need to have courage, I had to fight for myself, or I will die alone in a place I knew no one, in the hands of ruthless people. 

        So I did the thing anyone in my position would. I did the rhythmic count-out game.

        With my unsteady index finger and cracky hoarse voice. "Ip dip doo, cat got the flu, chicken got the chicken pox and out goes you." 

        My finger pointed to the left, so I took the risk and followed the path leaving trails of blood from my injured feet on the cold tiled floor. 

        I could barely see, but I pushed myself to keep going forward. I had to make it out of there. I had to. 

        After the end of the hall, there goes another. That's how I went again with my lucky rhyme. "Ip dip doo, cat got the flu, chicken got the chicken pox and out goes you."

        I took a left once more, and I only walked for seconds when I found a double grand staircase leading to the down floor and another single staircase leading to the floor ahead of me. 

        Swallowing, I walked down the hall. Breathier, almost slipping on my own blood. My lids were almost closing when I took each step down the long golden staircase. 

        Knowing I was on the last floor for I could see from distance windows how leveled the green grass were. I took the last step and halted in my track when more than thirty men in the same uniform suits and prepared armors looked directly at me. None among them said a word nor moved in their track.

         s**t! I'm screwed.