Abduction (26 page)

He stared at me intently, looking to see if he had made his point. He gave me that smile, that soft, warm smile that seemed so out of place with what he was doing and which tricked my mind a little every time, making it seem, for a tiny moment, that we were just going for a ride. We drove on, jolting over the rough dirt road.

A little more than an hour later we made another turn, off the dirt road, onto virgin terrain. He was driving very slowly, taking my little car gently over the rough ground.

The more remote our destination began to appear, the sharper my terror. I had to get away from him. At this speed I could jump out without killing myself, stick to the woods, hide among the trees but run back along the road, find help.

I tried to keep my eyes straight ahead, gage him with my peripheral vision, trying not to let him suspect what I was about to do. He seemed to be intently studying the path ahead, carefully navigating the narrow trail. I took my chance.

With one hand I clicked open my seatbelt, with the other I pulled the door handle in and shoved the door open with my elbow, and leapt out. I was still weak, stiff from hours of sitting, and I fell. In a dead panic I scrambled heavily and clumsily to my feet and ran, stumbling, as fast as my stiff, sluggish body would go. I already knew it was hopeless. I was nearly blind and deaf with panic, forcing my body ahead. I didn't even hear him before I felt his arm snatch around my waist and drag me to a halt.

I screamed, fear, hate, loss of hope raging in a screech into the night. He had me wrapped in his arms, my own arms pinned at my sides, my body pulled tight against his.

I sobbed, hysterical, still screaming, struggling futilely, weakly against him. He let me go on, struggling and screaming until I'd exhausted myself.

"Shhh," he sighed in my ear, rocking me slowly in his arms with a gentle twisting motion. "Shhh. It's all right. You're all right."

The fucking schizophrenic psycho was being so gentle, his voice so warm, his imprisoning hold softening to a tender embrace, I felt my frail grip on reality letting go.

Nothing made any sense. I went on bawling, not knowing why this was happening.

"Come on, Devan. Let's go back to the car. We're almost at the cabin, and we'll get you settled and rested."

Rested? Was he fucking kidding?

"Come along nicely to the car. I don't want to drug you again. All right?"

There was nothing I could do. I was still weaker than I'd realized. I couldn't fight him, or run from him. Numb and hopeless I let him lead me back to the car, put me back in the passenger seat, and close the door. When he moved to circle back to the driver's side the impulse to run again made my hands and legs twitch, but I knew it was useless.

I promised myself I would get another chance.

We crawled on into the night of the forest until, nearly an hour later, a building materialized in the beam of the headlights. A cabin. It was dark—a miserable, gloomy prison. He killed the engine.

"Kindly stay put a moment."

He gave me a warning look, then got out of the car, walked around to my side, and opened the door. He gestured, and I got out. As he led me toward the cabin, I felt like my death warrant had been signed. I was trying not to cry. I was finally beginning to feel awake and aware, and as we stepped into the cabin the desperate reality of my position was beginning to fully dawn on me.

"What are you going to do to me?"

I had to ask. He grinned.

"I'm going to take your girlhood, and give you womanhood."

I had been sure he would rape me, but hearing his words I couldn't help crying.

He pulled me into his arms. I was terrified of his touch, but I passively let him embrace me and stroke my hair. Once again he surprised me with his tenderness. I think he was trembling.

"I can guess what you're imagining, Devan, but I promised you before that I would never hurt you, and I'll keep that promise. I'm talking about an awakening, not a violation."

He let me out of his arms, watching me with a strange expression. Concern mixed with eager anticipation. Then he gave me a warm smile.

"Are you hungry, Devan?"

I didn't answer.

"I'm famished. I made some lovely leek and swiss soup last night—I'll heat some up, if you'd like."

"No," I said, mainly to shut him up. The thought of food made me queasy.

"Are you thirsty? Would you like some water? Or juice?"

I was silent.

"All right then, if you don't need anything, I'd like you to have a shower."

My heart started banging. It was beginning. This real part of his plan. The rest had been logistics. The numbness that had dulled my fear evaporated. I knew I could not get past him, flee the room, run for help. I was shaking, panting, tears blurred my vision.

"I…I don't know your name."

I was stalling. I wanted to try to reason with him. I could see plainly from his face that he knew just what I was doing. But patiently, like a kind father with a child delaying punishment, he indulged me.

"Conrad, love. Sorry, I'd forgotten to properly introduce myself."

He was looking at me salaciously.

"Conrad. Please. I'm so tired. I'm not feeling well after all that time in the car.

Please. I'd like to just go to sleep."

"You'll feel better after your shower. Come along with me."

He walked me over to the bathroom.

"There's no window in there, so you're welcome to your privacy, and feel free to take your time. I've fixed the door so you can't lock it from the inside, but rest assured, I won't barge in on you. When you've bathed, I'd like you to put these on."

He presented me with a small bag with something white inside.

"Nothing else please, just these. You'll find there is soap, shampoo, conditioner, everything you need in there. I've put a brush and some rubber bands in there as well.

When you're done, please brush your hair and put it back into those charming pigtails you wear so often."

I went in and closed the unlockable door. I turned on the shower, and as the hot water filled the room with steam, I used the toilet. My fear of his intrusion was obliterated by undeniable need.

If I didn't do what he'd asked, he'd only force me. Do it himself. So I stripped off my clothes, feeling increasingly vulnerable, afraid he'd push the door open the moment I was naked. The door remained quietly shut.

I got into the shower, relieved to be out of his presence, not seen by him, not able to see him. The hot water pounded my skin. I shampooed, conditioned, scrubbed.

Then I just stood there for a long time, not wanting to get out, wanting to remain isolated in my little beige haven of steam. But the thought that he would grow impatient, charge 233

in and yank me out, naked and wet, prodded me to get out and dress as quickly as I could.

I dried myself, wrapped a towel around my head, and opened the bag of clothes he had given me. Inside was a thin little white nightie and a pair of white panties.

Nothing else. Panic swept over me once more. He was making me take part in some fantasy. He wanted to dress me, then do
things
.

There was a way out of this, somehow. There had to be. He was tall, stronger than me, but I could get hold of something, something heavy, hit him over the head, knock him out, find my car keys, get away. Clinging to that limp shred of hope, crying, shaking, I put on his little outfit, reasoning that it was more than the towel, afraid I'd get him mad and make him more dangerous if I put my own clothes back on.

The white nightie was shockingly sheer. And the hem came down just below my bottom, barely covering the white panties. I felt so vulnerable. Shaking, I brushed my hair and did it as he'd asked. Then, forcing my body to move against the powerful impulse of instinct, making myself an automaton, I opened the bathroom door.

I'd pictured him stalking impatiently outside the door, but he was sitting calmly at the little kitchen table, gazing placidly into space as if he were day-dreaming. When he noticed me standing in the doorway he rose with a smile I'd have to describe as serene.

Totally disconcerting. With a look of tender sympathy he approached me, slowly.

"My dear Devan, you look lovely."

He seemed moved, as if I were offering myself to him by choice. As if compelled I stared at him a moment, at the beautiful face of this scary man. A moment later I snapped out of it. There wasn't much time. I glanced around the room—entry, kitchen, 234

living room all one big rectangle, sparsely furnished. Terrified, frantic, I searched for anything I could wield as a weapon. The only thing in sight was metal sculpture atop a small bookshelf a little to my right.

I felt huge, desperate hope. I'd grab it and swing it with all my strength against his head. Knock him out. Get away. I wished he'd turn his back on me, so I could hit him from behind. I feared I couldn't manage it with him walking toward me. But he was coming, and he had me in his stupid little outfit. There was no time.

I swiped the thing from off the bookshelf, and with all my strength, everything in me I swung it at his face. He caught my arm. It didn't even seem to cost him any effort.

With his other hand he pried the object from my grip and calmly set it back on the shelf.

Then, with the same cool calm he slowly pushed me against the wall and pressed himself against me.

"What a naughty girl you are, Devan," he sighed in my ear.

I was quivering, almost unable to stand I was so scared.

"I was planning on being very gentle, very tender with you, Devan. Would you rather have it a bit rough, darling?"

I just stood there, crying and trying to wrench my wrists free.

"Listen carefully, now. You've no chance of getting away. And all the delicious things I've planned for you will happen. It's only a matter of how."

The next moment he was dragging me by the wrist. I fought my hardest but in seconds he had me in another room, was pushing me down. Onto a bed. Then he was on me, so fast, so strong, my arms pinned down over my head.

"We can do it this way…"

His legs forced mine apart, his body pressed down on mine.

"…or, better still, I could tie you to the bed and really take my time about it. I was careful to bring along the restraints, in case you decided to be uncooperative."

I was so terrified I barely understood what he was saying. I just knew that he'd stopped, that he had me pinned and helpless, but he'd stopped. Then what he'd said about tying me up sank in and I panicked. The thought, the certainty that I was about to be raped was absolutely terrifying, but to be tied down through it all, I thought the fear would kill me.

"But I know, Devan, that you'd rather we did things the nice way. So if you'll promise to be a good girl, I'll let go and we can start again. Will you be a good girl?"

I just lay there, mute, shaking.

"I know you will, darling," he mused as he let my wrists go and lifted himself.

The second he was off me I scooted away from him, to the far corner of the bed until I'd backed against a cold hard wall. I crouched there, panting and crying.

"Let's be clear about our little agreement, Devan. You do just as I say, tonight and during all of our time together. And that includes not trying to run off, and, if you don't mind, not bashing my brains out with abstractions in lead or otherwise maiming me. So long as you're my good girl, there'll be no more wrestling matches, and no restraints."

"However, if you become uncooperative, I'll have no choice but to tie you down, as I don't care for playing the brute, dragging and throwing you about."

"Now, do you agree? Or shall I get the ropes?"

I don't know what I was doing. Just crying, I guess. I couldn't speak, couldn't make myself consent to anything.

"I'm quite willing to give you the benefit of the doubt. Let's see how you do with my first request, shall we?"

He sat down on the edge of the bed, his body turned toward me, and smiled, as if to a lover. Intimate. Serene.

"Come here, Devan, and lie down."

Terrified but past crying, I went into a withdrawn state where I simply did what he asked, trying not to think about it too much. On my knees I came toward him. I lay down beside him, on my back, holding the hem of the nightie down, trying to keep my panties covered, knowing it was pointless. I waited, kind of knowing, fearfully wondering what he was going to do to me.

The first touch. He lightly caressed my cheek. Just for a moment. Then he withdrew his hand. The room was dim, silent. I could hear my own rapid breathing, feel the pulse of my heartbeat echo through my whole body. Then through the silent stillness came his voice, very soft, very gentle, but not to be defied, telling me to pull up my nightie. Too frightened to disobey, I lifted the hem one inch, two inches. I froze.

"A little higher. Above the top of your panties."

I complied. Every second was an excruciating eternity, me waiting, dreading the next word, the next touch. Any second I knew I'd feel him getting on top of me, ripping at the flimsy things he'd made me wear, forcing me open, hurting me…

"Now, spread your legs."

Breath speeding, heart pounding, I opened my legs.

"You've got a very pretty little mound, Devan," he said in a low voice, "and I can just discern your sweet cleft where the panties indent, very slightly."

I was mortified by the way he was scrutinizing me, the private, hidden part of me.

My face went hot. Then the mattress shifted. He'd gotten up. I opened my eyes, not realizing I had closed them. I forced myself not to scream, not to move. He was mounting the bed, his knee coming down between my legs. Then his other knee. He watched my face as his legs forced mine open. Then his eyes slid down, over my chest, only half-concealed under sheer white fabric, down to my crotch.

I wished I weren't a virgin. It wouldn't hurt so bad, I wouldn't be as scared, maybe, if I'd had sex before. For a second I felt sad. There would never be an innocent, happy first time.