Broken Road (39 page)

“No, it’s not fine. I don’t want time wasted—”

The detective interrupted Willie by saying, “Mr. Skyler, as I said before, questions such as the one I just posed are basic protocol. Based on experience, no one is ever ruled out in a situation such as this. For me to do the best job that I possibly can, I need as much information as I can get my hands on.”

“Detective, I have no problem whatsoever with you asking me these types of questions,” Jarrod said. “In fact, feel free to follow up and check things out. I have nothing to hide. The only thing I ask is that whatever time or man power that is put into verifying what I’ve told you, you put the same amount of time and manpower into other possibilities or options. My girlfriend is out there right now, terrified and alone, possibly even hurt, and I don’t want everyone wasting precious time verifying my whereabouts, when they can be putting their time and effort to better use in finding her.”

The detective instinctively felt Jarrod was telling the truth, but unfortunately he had been wrong more than once in the past when relying on his instincts and he wasn’t about to risk the life of young woman by doing so again. He would have one of his men look into it.

“Not to worry,” the detective said. “We will look into all possibilities.” Just then a police officer knocked on the detective’s door and motioned for him to step out. He did as requested, closing the door behind him. A minute later, he returned and informed Jarrod and Willie that Morgan Billings was now in the interview room and that he needed to question her immediately. He also informed them that he might be tied up for awhile, so they should consider returning to their hotel, and he would contact them with any news and updates.

They refused, saying they preferred to stay and would wait in the reception area. Seeing that they were resolute in their decision, he offered them the use of his office. They thanked him, and the detective left the office, stopping first to speak to a plainclothed officer before continuing on to meet and question Morgan.

Morgan sat morosely in the chilly, dank room. An armed officer stood by the door with both his hands folded in front of him. He did not speak; he did not look at her. He stood there frozen and unyielding, staring directly at the wall in front of him. He reminded her of one of the sentries standing guard outside Buckingham Palace, minus the uniform and funny hat. She looked down at her lap and scowled at the sight of the orange jumpsuit she was forced to wear. Orange had never been her color. She could possibly get away with coral or apricot, but never orange.

Suddenly the door opened and a gentleman entered. Without saying a word, he motioned for Officer Gloom Face to leave, which he did.

As he sat across from Morgan, he pulled out a notebook and pen, as well as a tape recorder. All that separated them was a small wooden table made of solid oak. After pressing the Record button, he said, “My name is Detective Lieutenant Jerome Roberts of the Gainesville Police Department.” He went on to state the day, date, and time before adding, “Please state your name.”

Morgan softly said, “Morgan Billings.”

“Please speak up,” the detective said.

“Morgan Billings,” she said louder, inadvertently leaning toward the recorder.

“Ms. Billings, you are here on your own volition. Is that correct?”

“Yes. I turned myself in.”

“For what reason? Why have you turned yourself in?” he asked for the sole purpose of the recorder.

“I helped plan the kidnapping of my cousin, Angelise Skyler.” She wiped away an errant tear.

“Where is Ms. Skyler now?” he asked.

She cleared her throat and whispered softly, “Shiny Star Motel off of Archer Road. Room 241.”

As Detective Roberts wrote the address down, he said, “Once again, please speak up.”

Nervously clearing her throat, she stated loudly, “Shiny Star Motel off of Archer Road. Room 241.” Within seconds, the detective stood up and quickly rushed toward the door, grabbing his notebook, pen, and tape recorder. “I’ll be back. We’re not done yet.” Officer Gloom Face was immediately back at his post.

Soon after, two additional armed police officers entered the room. They instructed her to stand up and when she did, they placed handcuffs on her and escorted her out of the room and back to the holding cell.

Chapter Thirty-Nine

A
ngelise awoke in a panicky state. Her eyes were still covered, her mouth still gagged, her hands tied behind her back with rope that connected to her ankles, binding her so that she was incapable of defending or protecting herself. She was able to determine that she was either lying in the backseat of a car or in the trunk of one, based on the uneven motion she was feeling. Due to the position she was in, with her hands and feet bound, it was almost impossible to feel above for a trunk hood. Twisting and bending as much as she could, which was not an easy feat, she finally felt something hard above her. She was definitely in the trunk. Beginning to worry about running out of air, she stopped her movements, wanting to take some time to think and figure out how she could get out of this mess. Her thoughts kept bringing her back to the identity of her abductor. Make that plural: abductors. She was certain at least two people were involved in this kidnapping: the man who held her captive and the woman Ileana had spoken to on the phone. If this woman was not involved, then why was she breathing heavily, characteristic of the Stalker Dude, when Ileana had picked up?

Who were they and why two people? If it was just one person, then the stalker theory was plausible, but with a woman involved, it just didn’t make any sense. What did she have against her?
Okay, enough of that
, she thought. First things first; she needed to find a way out of the trunk. How, though? Even if she were able to open the trunk, how would she be able to escape, with her being tied up tighter than a Thanksgiving turkey? By the time she was able to get herself into a position of jumping, the abductor would realize what she was up to and put a halt to the escape. And even if he didn’t notice, she couldn’t just jump out. She was blindfolded, so she’d have no idea what she might be hurtling herself into. What if she were to leap into oncoming traffic in the middle of a highway? She had to think of a way out. Think, think, think…

And then it dawned on her. She had once read an article in a magazine that said the safest thing to do, if one were to find oneself in that type of situation, is to kick out the back taillight. It could be done from the inside of a locked trunk, and then all she would have to do was stick her hand out the opening, and hopefully someone would see it and call 911. It was that simple. Well, at least the article made it seem so. Reality proved to be a different story. She wriggled, twisted, lifted herself, knocked her head four or five times on the top of the hood, lost about ten pounds in perspiration, turned herself around, and finally got herself into a very uncomfortable position to break the light. It took about ten attempts to do so, but she did. She kept waiting for the driver to stop the car to see what the ruckus was about, but he never did. He must have assumed she was just struggling to get loose. It was to be expected.

She lay in that extremely painful position for God knows how long. She was only able to get four fingers to stick out, and she kept wriggling them trying to attract someone’s attention. It was obvious the author of the article hadn’t ever been in the same exact circumstance that Angel now found herself in; otherwise the “jumping out of the trunk” theory may have been recommended instead. The pain was unbearable. She was feeling spasms in her back, and both her legs and her arms were so numb that if someone were to stab her with a thousand needles, she wouldn’t feel a thing. She was fearful to move out of the agonizing position for the simple reason that she wasn’t confident she’d be able to get back into it.

She wondered what time it was. It must be daylight by now. Even if she could turn herself around to look through the hole, she wouldn’t be able to tell due to the damn blindfold. Someone must have noticed her disappearance by now. Jarrod was supposed to meet her to retrieve his cell phone. He would look into it. She just knew it. He must be so worried. She pictured his beautiful, handsome face smiling down at her, and she felt a sudden sense of peace. He loved her. He would do something to find her. She needed to hang on to that hope. It was enough to keep her fighting for her survival. She just needed to be strong enough to get through this so that in the end, he would be there waiting for her, waiting to hold her safely in his strong, powerful arms and kiss her, pushing her past the point of sensibility.

Suddenly the abductor must have driven either over a large pothole in the road or a small tree log, because the car jolted and bounced a hard jerk, jostling Angel out of position. She cried out in pain. Her body was terribly sore from being in that awkward position for so long, and the sudden hard bounce caused every muscle to scream out in agony. She allowed herself a few minutes to be in another position before attempting to get back into the old one. She could feel he had made a left turn and was now on a more remote road due to its bumpiness and winding feel. They must have been on a highway before. Good thing she didn’t attempt the jump theory after all.

She was attempting to get back into position so she could place her hand back in the broken taillight, but found it much more difficult with all the turns he was making. Where was he taking her? She was almost at the point of giving up due to pain and exhaustion when suddenly he began to slow down. Angel stopped and wiggled her body away from the back light, hoping and praying he wouldn’t notice it was broken. She felt him bring the car to a full stop, turn off the ignition, and then open and close the driver’s side door. She listened for his footsteps to come closer, but they didn’t.

He opened another door and she heard his footsteps as they faded away into another direction. A few minutes later, he repeated the entire process. He did this a total of three times before she heard him approach the trunk. He must have been carrying what she assumed to be supplies because she was almost certain she heard what sounded like the crinkling of paper bags. She began to recite the Lord’s Prayer in her mind, over and over again.

The trunk suddenly opened, and she felt him bend over and pick her up, throwing her over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. She moaned in protest, but he ignored her. He carried her about thirty feet and then began to climb one, two, three steps. Three steps that might possibly lead her to hell, if she wasn’t already there. She needed to remember every little detail in case the information was to come in handy later. He tried readjusting her while he struggled to open what she presumed to be a screen door, based on the sound of the slam when it shut behind them. He walked another ten or fifteen feet before depositing her gently on a couch. She instinctively stretched out as much as she could. It hurt to do so, but her body begged for extension. She groaned from the pain.

“Sorry. I’m sure it was uncomfortable b-back there in the trunk, but I had to do it. I couldn’t place you in the backseat and take a chance that you raise your body up into a sitting position. Imagine what the other m-motorists would have thought at seeing you sitting there b-blindfolded and gagged.”

Grunting, writhing, and twisting so hard while trying to free herself, Angel fell on the floor with a loud thump.

“Now, now, Angelise. You need to stay calm. You m-might hurt yourself,” he said as he came over and lifted her up, placing her on the couch again, this time in a sitting position.

Why did he call her Angelise? Nobody called her that except for the professors at school and her cousin, Morgan.

Morgan
.

Oh my God! If she were able to open her eyes, they would have been wide enough to accommodate the entire Grand Canyon. But she couldn’t. The damn blindfold was on so tight this time, she couldn’t even open them to blink. Morgan? No. It couldn’t be. No. Impossible. She wouldn’t.

Or would she?

“Angelise, I need you to be a g-good little girl again, okay? Can you do that for me? Nod if you can.”