A Toast to Starry Nights (41 page)

Relief soaked into me. For a moment
there, I was positive a crash was eminent. Checked the rear view mirror again
and noticed the vehicle behind me was so close, the headlights were dimmed by
being so near to my rear bumper.

“Jet, tell Dmitri I'm sorry.” I blinked
right before the jolting impact.

Then nothing.

Chapter Twenty-Two -

My head hurt. Shoulder too. Something on
my face, can't see. Can't move. What happened? Oh yeah, car hit me. Did I die?
No... I wouldn't be thinking and hurting if I were dead.

God, it's hot. I'm so hot and
fuzzy-headed. Tried stifling a moan, failed at that.

Then the scariest sound that could haunt
my ears made a grand appearance.

“Hello, Beautiful. Glad you are awake.”

I gulped as the fuzziness evaporated and
the owner of that voice sank into my mind. The sound from his mouth was enough
to make me cringe.

Mike.

He removed a blind fold made of a folded
tee shirt, so I could see my surroundings and his smirking face. I lay in a
tent atop a cot and wrapped in a sleeping bag. I couldn't move because duct
tape wound around the cot and the sleeping bag, pinned me down. A
battery-operated lantern hung from the tent's center cross-beam to provide
illumination.

Oh my fucking God, I am his prisoner.

Mike leaned towards me, cotton ball in
hand. He used the cotton to wipe at my cheek. When he pulled away, I could see blood
soaking the ball and that he sat on an upended wood round, about a foot and a
half high.

I didn't want to talk to him, but I
needed questions answered. “Why am I here?” Last thing I recall is talking to
Jet. How did I end up here with Mike?

After putting a band-aid on my cheek,
Mike sat up straight and spoke. “I was behind the big rig. Left the races
early. Saw the accident. Your Jeep spun around and was smoking under the hood.
I pulled you out before flames got you. By now your car is charred steel. I
stopped to help whomever, but saw it was you... brought you to my deluxe
accommodations so we could talk.”

“I'm hurt.” I hurt all over, and my
heart pounded with fear of the unknown. I'm trapped, I'm trapped, how do I
escape?

“Yeah, you took a banging in that
accident.”

“Take me to the hospital in town.”

“Nope. Can't take you down the mountain
tonight.”

“Why? I need medical attention, Mike.
Please take me to a hospital. We can't talk if I die from internal injuries.”
My heartbeat quickened. I needed to get back to the valley floor, back home and
back to Dmitri.

“You aren't going to die, Kay bay-bay.”

“Don't call me that.”

“This is how I know you won't die. You
wouldn't give a shit what I called you if you were seriously injured. I'll call
you what I want because I can. You are in no position of power here. Your
boyfriend can't help you and Jet isn't here to bark at me, either. Just you and
me, like in the old days. See? Away from them and you talk to me.”

What was it he wanted to talk about? How
my support net wasn't here? I tried not shivering from the thought of being
alone with my skuzz bucket ex abuser.

As soon as I closed my eyes to block the
view of Mike in jean shorts and a green tee shirt staring at me, he spoke.
“What did I do to make you hate me so much you won't even talk to me? You loved
me once.”

My eyes flew open and before I could
shut my mouth, I hissed, “You need to ask?”

Mike sat back a bit. “I'm sorry I hit
you. I was upset with shit. Wasn't ready to be someone's daddy. Especially when
the woman I loved left me beforehand with no explanation.”

Oh, that's why you socked me? Doesn't
excuse you for hitting anyone, let alone a pregnant woman.
“That's not the only reason I hate your guts, Mike. That's like saying it was
only the tippy-top of the iceberg which doomed the Titanic, forgetting the poor
quality rivets and lack of lifeboats.”

“What, you still mad about the
foursome?”

Mad? No. Mad is soo five years ago. Now
I'm bewildered and confused as to why he's sitting in a tent two hundred miles from
his home. I'm also incredulous that he would assume forgiveness would be
forthcoming. “That's a part of it. It wasn't a foursome, Mike. It was rape. I
hate you because you are you. That's why. And this,” I looked around the tent
as best I could, “doesn't really help your case.”

“I wanted to make sure you wouldn't bolt
on me before I had my say.”

Does that mean after he speaks his
piece, I can go home? Dmitri must be frantic by now if Jet called him right
after the accident. Fuck, she probably heard the grinding metal from impact. I
need to let Dmitri know I'm alive. What could Mike possibly have to say to me?
“We aren't talking until I'm free,”

Mike smiled down at me. “Don't be making
demands you can't back up, Bay Bay.” He stood for a moment and retrieved a
canvas backpack from the tent's corner closest to my head. From somewhere deep
inside the satchel, he reached in and pulled something out, all the while
smiling. It was his '
I'm about to be an asshole
' smile. “You and I are
going to have a powwow.” He put whatever it was he took from the backpack into
his pocket.

“Thought
powwow
meant we were
equals agreeing to be non-hostile.” Three thousand wild horses wanted to drag
me over the cliff's edge to the Land of Insanity. I wanted to freak out,
scream, cry and hit things. Frustration and fear. Especially fear. Deep breath,
and I reigned in those crazy ponies.

“I'm not the one being hostile. You're
the one making demands.” Mike's voice accused me of such horrible misdeeds.

“I won't run.” I don't think I could run
if I wanted. My knee throbbed in a way it hadn't since I was fifteen and got
hit by a car when riding a bike.

It took every fiber of my being not fall
into pieces. Sore everywhere, I tried to focus on one achievement at a time.
First needed to get out of the sleeping bag, then away from Mike. Baby steps to
my goals.

“Not many places you can run to where we
are, Kay. Just you and me up in these woods.”

No, that didn't sound
at all
like
a serial killer's placating words to a soon-to-be victim, did it? “Please let
me go, Mike. I don't want to wet your sleeping bag because I can only hold my
bladder so long.”

A look of surprise lit his rounded face.
“Oh. Yeah, I don't want you pissing in my sleeping bag either. Not unless you
want to give me a golden shower.” Cheesy grin with yellowed teeth.

Um, no thanks. Way no thanks.

“I really have to pee, Mike.” My bladder
felt full almost to the bursting point and gave me a valid excuse to wheedle
him for my freedom. I wanted out of the sleeping bag that reeked of Mike.

He reached into his backpack again, this
time pulling out a folded knife. With a flick of his wrist, the blade emerged
from the handle and locked into place. Mike bent down to the cot and with deft
moments, cut the tape along the zippered seam. After folding the knife and
putting it in his pocket, Mike then unzipped the heavy sleeping bag. My skin
tingled with the sensation of cold air making its acquaintance. Like jumping
into a cool stream on a hot August day. Felt so good.

I tried moving my legs from the sleeping
bag and groaned. In the lantern light, I could see scrapes and scratches
running the length below my cut-offs as my limbs emerged from the down-stuffed
bag. “Is there an outhouse around?” Outhouses in National Forests get checked
on by the Forest Service. Means we're not too far from a main road.

“No. You'll have to squat behind a tree.
I do have toilet paper, though.”

Mike gave me a helping hand so I could
stand up. Lightheaded and wobbly, oh how it hurt to maneuver upright. As soon
as I was erect, he unzipped the tent's door and led me outside. Full moon
tonight, and the woods were lit up fairly well. Didn't need a flashlight to see
the landscape. We were on a patch of flat ground surrounded by conifer-clad
hillsides. Mike led me around to a semi-circular stand of Lodge Pine trees.
With a pointing finger, he showed me where the outdoor toilet resided, a roll
of toilet paper hung as a white flag from a dead branch.

I limped to the toilet paper, mindful of
where I stepped. “You don't need to watch, Mike.”

“I want to make sure you aren't going to
run off.”

My bladder, nearly to the rupturing
point, won the argument. “At least turn around.”

Mike did so, saying, “You weren't always
this shy, Kay bay-bay.”

Tried concentrating on peeing, but it hurt
to squat. “I wasn't always this kidnapped, Mike.”

Took an opportunity to check for the
cellphone in my bra. Still there. I didn't want to get Mike's attention, so I
didn't take it out. Didn't need him destroying my only means of communication
with the outside world yet. GPS locating is an option. If Jet or Dmitri
reported me as missing, at least the police could track my cell's location. A
very reassuring thought. I don't know how much Jet heard of the impact, but
when removed from the Bluetooth radius emitting from the receiver on my Jeep's
visor, there'd be silence on her end.

“Better hurry up, bay-bay. There's been
helicopters flying at night around here, you don't want pack of spooked coyotes
biting your ass.”

It hurt to pee with my bladder so full.
Being tense about the situation didn't help. I needed a distraction. “Why are
you up here? Thought you viewed camping as voluntary homelessness.”

“On the job, Kay. Gotta stay up here and
protect my boss' property.”

“We're in a national forest... there's
nothing up here you'd want to protect, being the city-boy you are.” Finally,
bladder relief.

Mike reached into his pocket, then put
whatever it was up to his lips. A flick of a lighter later and the acrid scent
of burning cannabis assaulted my nose.

“Please don't smoke that shit around me,
Mike.”

“Powwow, Kay. This is my Peace Pipe.”

I sighed. “Do you have any sort of hand
wipes or soap and water?”

“Why?” Mike turned around and got an
eyeful of me squatting amidst ferns.

“I'd like to wash my hands. You know...
personal hygiene.”

“Follow me.”

After finishing and hitching my britches
up, I followed Mike to a small creek with fast running water. “Here.” He tossed
a small bar of soap my way. It seemed to glow in the moonlight.

My knees hurt as I knelt to wash my
hands. The water, icy cold.

Mike took another puff off his pipe and
held it out for me as I stood back up. “Peace Pipe, Kaylis.” He blew smoke into
my face.

“No thanks. I won't run, I won't argue
and I won't smoke pot with you, Mike. You should know better.”

“I don't have any aspirin, Kay. If
you're hurting, this will help, promise.”

“I'm fine.” I lied and he knew it. My
gimpy limping a dead giveaway.

“Suit yourself, more for me.” Another
puff and exhale in my general direction.

Mike guided me past a camp kitchen with
a propane stove and mini grill. A five-gallon bucket held a pot and cast iron
fry pan. Hung from a nail in a tree trunk, a black trash bag. It looked like
camp had been here a while.

In a mock-chivalrous gesture, Mike held
the tent door open for me. As I stepped inside, I could see hidden among
shadows, a large rifle underneath the cot. Not a hunting rifle, like Grampa's
30.06, but something that looked like a paramilitary member would have for
shits and giggles, banana clip and all. I swallowed, unnerved by the presence
of such armament. I grew up around guns, helping Grampa clean his collection.
Dmitri even took me out to the firing range and let me empty the clip in his
Glock a couple times. I'm not shy about firearms. But with Mike, the scenario
did not improve. Why would he need such a gun? There are no elephants running
around the Mendocino National Forest, I'm pretty certain about that. I sat on
the cot, acting as though I didn't see the weapon.

Must get home.
Now.

“I would like to know when I can go
home.” Irked, I tried to be civil. Nothing to be gained by pissing him off.
Hard to contain my anger, though.

“When I'm done talking. I've got a
couple years worth of questions for you.”

I sighed. “After I answer, you take me
home. People will be looking for me. You don't want a kidnapping charge over
your head.”

“I'll take you home when we are done.”
His answer did not comfort me. Almost evasive. I wanted to hear,
yes, I will
take you home when we finish talking
.... his usage of 'done' veered toward
the vague. And he didn't deny kidnapping. Sigh.

“Then please, by all means, start the
Inquisition. I would prefer to sleep in my own bed tonight.”

“It's not your own bed. You share it.”

Ah, the crux of the matter. “Yes, with a
man who isn't you. Now you don't have to worry about making my body disappear,
and I don't have to worry about you smothering me in my sleep. Works out for
everyone, doesn't it?” Pain brings out my bitchy side and what do ya know? I'm
sore all over.