My Ruthless Kidnapper

Chapter Five: Fever

      My hands and ankles were restrained in cuffs as I lay helplessly on the bed. All I could do was whimper under my breath while I was preoccupied with only hatred for that man. If looks could kill, he'd be dead right there, for the disgust stare I was giving him was more than words.

      "You see, I get along with all the men in this house because they respect me. Try and do the same. I might be able to keep you." 

      "Respect?" I scoffed between my whimpers. "You expect me to respect you? You kidnapped me, you asshole." I reminded him loud enough.

      Exhaling, he stared at me thoughtfully. "Well then, guess what? You're getting another assistant tomorrow." He ignored my fuming.

      If only I could get out of those cuffs, I would make sure I break more than his balls. "I don't need any assistance." I pulled harder on the chains, not caring how deeper they bite my skin.

      "Do you prefer men looking after you?" He amusedly asked, making my stomach flip with disgust.

      "Do I look like I needed help?" I angrily said.

      His eyes narrowed around my hands and legs when he nodded. "Cheryl, you're restraint, of course, yes." 

      "What about get me loose." I sarcastically offered.

      "That should be when your assistant gets here. I need a lookout. That is if you didn't hate her so much to get her killed, for it will be my honor to scatter her skull into pieces."

      How dare he blame me for something he did? I didn't kill Amelia and Brad. I refused to believe it.

      "What are you? Some women slayer? Killing girls make you feel like a man?" I grabbed the horns of the bull even when my body was shuddering.

      That got him, though, because he was immediately on his feet with his hand pushing his hair backward while my own bleeding heart raced. "No, Cheryl." He shook his head and approached me again. This time his tone was chilly. "I've never killed a woman with my hand, I've killed a hundred and six men, and I still have nine more on the list, which included your father. But your mother would be the first woman I kill, and you will be the second." 

      He halted above me while I tried to process everything he had just confessed. He killed over a hundred humans? He has a list of people to kill? And yes, that list consists of my entire family. 

      Okay, now that sank in. "You motherfucker, my dad is a cop, and my mom's a lawyer. You think you can get to them? I promised you my dad will be the last thing you see before you die." I yelled, pulling my skin against the cuffs. 

      Laughing small, he asked in a calm manner. "Every loving parent would protect their children, but where are yours now? If your dad is really the hero you claimed, why isn't he here by now? Is f*****g three days since you disappeared, yet here I am. Your cop of a father is quack, Cheryl." 

      I shake my head rapidly, wounded by his words. He had no right to say that. I trust my parents, and I know my dad and mom will not rest until they catch him. And then I will say to his face how much he was wrong about them.

      "You will regret this." That was all I could gather at the moment.

      He lifted his eyes and assured me. "I have no regret." 

      Swallowing the lump in my throat as my eyes became glossy. "Why don't you kill me?" 

      "I enjoy a long movie, Cheryl. What's the point of a short story?" He answered with a smirk and turned to leave the room.

      "I will never forgive you." I sputter—pulling my wrists and ankles. I'm sure my skin must be bleeding by now.

      "Don't flatter yourself. I didn't ask for your forgiveness." He shrugged before he exited the door, leaving me all alone in a tortured reality.

      He let his men kill Amelia because she helped me. They shot Brad, who only drove his girlfriend, yet why aren't they killing me already? He wanted revenge on something that probably didn't happen, and yet they brought me a box filled with expensive clothes and food like some queen. I don't understand.

      Okay, I get I'm their hostage, but it still doesn't make sense.

      I gave up trying, for the cuffs had bitten my flesh enough that it was unbearable. 

      My teary eyes halt on a lamp, and I try to remember the good days of my life, days I have everything and not dead bodies around me. That's how I put myself to sleep that night, for the faces of those two innocent humans kept coming into my dream.

      ***

      Slowly opening my eyes, the room was bright, and the curtains had been pulled back, giving the yellow sun access to everywhere. Although the windows were still locked, I could see the healthy green grassed field. 

      I rub my face with my hand, my hands? I looked to my wrists and ankles. I was freed from those biting chains that must've left numbers on my skin because I have bandages around them and a new gauze around my injured feet.

      I remembered running down the longest backyard I'd ever seen to escape from the ruthless men in this house. I remembered the stinging feeling, each step I took, only to escort Amelia to her dead.

      What have I done? She should've been alive today if I hadn't agreed to go with her. Suppose I wasn't so selfish for my own good. 

      The thought shoots a sharp ache in my head, but I force myself to sit up immediately after the door opens.

      A man came in, holding a tray, I didn't attempt anything. What could I do, though? I was helpless. I just sat there and watched him sit the tray on an end table before he traveled the table next to me.

      "You should eat. You must be hungry." The voice was loud and almost scary when he turned to leave.

      I am still on the bed, confused. What do these people want from me? I didn't buy the revenge thing anymore. Why will you feed someone you're willing to kill with a tray filled with breakfast I've never had my whole life. 

      "Can I have Advil or some pain reliever?" I begged weakly when the man was at the door. "Please," I added.

      "I will send the doctor to check on you." In a monstrous tone, he said and left.

      Of course, they have a doctor. 

      I brought my feet down the bed and attempted to go to the bathroom, but my legs gave in, and I fell hard to the floor. 

      I could only focus on breathing while I supported myself gradually to stand up. The injuries hurt, even more, today and I couldn't take any step further, so I had to sit back on the bed. 

      The red wine, strawberries, and some sauce and jelly, my eyes trained to, made me realize I couldn't swallow anything on that tray. I only wanted to throw up. Everything resembles Amelia's dead figure, and I couldn't take the picture out of my head. 

      I couldn't run to the bathroom because my foot once again let me down, and I ended up pouring my throat out on the polished tiled floor.

      By the time the doctor came in, I was lying exhaustedly on the cold floor, my breathing labored and hot and my body drenched with sweat. I couldn't move. I felt numb.

      My body was lifted in some strong arms, and that's what I could remember before the sudden shot pierced into my flesh that left me wincing until my lid closed. 

      ***

      "She will be okay but needs to eat." Someone suggested.

      "Okay." Another voice agreed.

      "I will check on her later." And a door opened and closed.

      I felt the side of the bed sink beside me, and fingers began examining my wrist cautiously. I immediately knew who it was; we've been in dangerous proximity that I know how he smells. My eyes flew open, and I pulled away, staring at him.

      "You had a mild fever break, but you are going to be okay. You need to eat and get some rest." He said to me. That time there was something I could call emotion in his eyes.

      I stayed mute. I didn't have words for him. Nothing was going to change his mind, so no negotiation was needed. I'm a hostage. That's what I am.

      He lifted a different tray filled with food and sat it on the bed. He began to make peanut butter and jelly. All I did was watch him. I watched him make me my favorite.

      "Here! eat this." He commands.

      Instead, I refused. "Can I have water?" I asked.

      He stared at me for some seconds before he handed me a cup of clean water. I gulp down the whole thing and ask for more.

      His eyes didn't leave me when he did as I asked and added some water to the cup.

      I rejected anything he offered, and he even looked worried a bit. Like I care.

      I still didn't eat anything when he picked me up in his arms and took me to the bathroom. I avoided his intense gaze as he sat me on the toilet.

      "Can I have some privacy, please?" I asked weakly.

      He turned around and walked out of the room, leaving me alone. 

      By the time I was done, he helped me back to the bed. I don't understand his behavior today; I know he's up to something. Maybe he's killing me today. Now I'm terrified. 

      I couldn't look over at him. God knows I hated him more than I've ever hated anything in my life. I know I was sitting feet away from a murderer. 

      "I'm sorry, I know I'm late, but my mom's a pain in the ass, as you know, she made me bake seventy cupcakes for her customers. I wonder what a person will do with seventy cupcakes. Right?" A girl around my age scamper through the door, babbling about her life. She was wearing an orange jumper and a backpack over her shoulder.

      "Glad you made it." My kidnapper said to the girl.

      "Soooo—this is Cheryl?" She had hands on her hips while her eyes observed me.

      "Yup." He nodded, also staring at me like an object. I felt alone and afraid at that moment. The sudden urge to hug myself reacted before I could stop myself.

      "Don't worry, go do your thing. We'll manage here." She smiles at me. 

      That's when I swallowed. I knew I was helpless. He recruited someone on his side.