Coffee (8 page)

“There.
Now we’re set. You comfortable?”

Etty
screamed through her nose, and squirmed to release her hands. She
bashed up against the door, and screwed her shoulder into the door
handle trying to release it.

“Settle
down now. You’re not getting out, and you won’t get
hurt as long as you relax.” Bart twisted the radio knob to a
country station. They bounced along, avoiding Hanover center on side
roads.

Etty
glared at him above the silver tape on her mouth. Kidnapped! How
could this be? Who was Leeson?

He
talked mercilessly, on and on about how she should feel proud to
have the head of all security sent up to personally escort her to
Global, about his track record as an ace security agent, and about
other personal exploits. Etty drowned him out with panicked
fantasies of her fate, unable to satisfy her need for air through
her nostrils. Bart noticed her wide open eyes.

“Oooh.
You look scared. Hey, I’m not going to hurt you. I’m
just taking you to Texas. You’ll be fine, just fine.”
Her breathing intensified, forcing mucus to drip across the tape and
onto her chin. Bart pulled a handkerchief from a pocket and reached
to wipe it clean. Etty jerked away her head with a loud grunt.
“Suit yourself, Ma’am. You’d think a pretty girl
like you wouldn’t want a bunch of snot on her chin.”

Etty
kicked her left leg up around the stick shift, and pounded her heel
into Bart’s thigh. He grabbed her ankle and shoved it back.
“Ouch! You little shit!”

He
snatched a small black case from a breast pocket, and flipped it
open to expose a loaded syringe. “I was going to wait for
this so we could get to know each other a little better.” He
plunged it into her upper arm. “But, I can see we’re
not getting along. That’ll cool you down.”

Etty
felt a warm flood rushing through her chest. She managed a last
scowl before her eyes rolled back and she fell unconscious.

Bart
studied her pleasant figure, now able to look freely up and down her
body. He noticed her odd watch, and quickly turned the jeep around
with an idea.

- Chapter Six -

Etty’s
head pounded so badly, she did not dare open her eyes. It felt like
an anvil was balancing on her temple. She lay as still as possible
on the hard bed. She tried to dig facts out of the blur. ‘Stopped
my car. Global Growers. Tied up. Injection. Drugged. Oh, please
stop pounding.’

She
cracked her lids apart and tried delicately to scan the room.
White. Everything white. Bright. Head splitting. A white shelf.
A door. Cabinets. No door handle, just a lock. Looking around, no
windows. Florescent lights. Looks like a hospital room.

Slowly
she edged her legs over the side of the bed and propped her self up.
Sitting up created a waterfall of pain, causing her to bow her head
slightly with her eyes closed, waiting for it to pass. Again she
peeked through a thin slit between her eye lids. No chairs. A
small sink. A toilet in the corner. The bed attached to the wall.
A cell. She was locked in some kind of prison.

She
wanted to scream out, jump off the bed, pound on the door, but she
couldn’t move from the ledge. Just sit. Need time to
recover, she thought.

She
finally opened her eyes half way. She looked down at herself.
Bruises on her thighs. Small round blue spots. She touched one,
painful. She wore a front only gown, and realized her bottom and
back were naked. She reached around behind her, and felt more
sensitive spots. Probably ten places. What were they? What have
they done to me? How did they get me here? Who undressed me?

The
horror of her situation finally seeped through the haze.
Uncontrollably, she began to cry. Etty was not a crying type. She
prided herself in staying in command of her emotions, but now the
tears flowed freely. She wanted to stop, wanted to get up and do
something, but couldn’t. Her head bobbed slightly, and soft
whimpers escaped her lips.

Then
she thought the unthinkable. Did they? Here she was, virtually
naked, having been totally knocked out for who knows how long,
around men of obviously vile intentions. She pulled aside the gown
and reached between her legs, probing with two fingers. No
soreness. No odd secretions. She looked and saw no unusual
redness. At least one positive.

Finally
she was able to get off the bed. The crying cleared her mind, and
the pounding subsided slightly. She tried the door. Locked from
the outside, only a push button combination lock on her side. To
its left, a small intercom with a call button. She pushed the
button, and started yelling.

“Hey!
Let me out of here! God damn it, let me out right now!” She
jabbed the button hard again and again. “Let me out!”
The yelling caused another wave of head pounding. She turned around
and leaned back against the door, holding her head.

When
she opened her eyes again, she spotted the travel bag under the bed.
She would never have guessed her battered bag would bring such joy.
She ran and hugged it, while unzipping the side. Jeans. A soft
cotton shirt, her shirt. Warm socks. She ripped off the Johnny and
quickly dressed in as many layers as she could, wanting as thick a
barrier as possible between her and this alien world. No shoes
though. No wallet. No keys. Nothing sharp. They did allow her
one hairbrush, but she threw that roughly back into the bag with no
intention of sprucing up.

She
looked to see the time. “You took my watch! You bastards! You
stole my watch!” she yelled into the empty room. A final blow,
her most precious possession gone. She felt violated, robbed,
crushed, demoralized.

She
heard rumblings outside the door. Some voices, and someone punching
numbers on the combination lock. The door opened. Etty tensed
every muscle, and fantasized about jumping out and grabbing whomever
entered.

Bart
Maslow waltzed in, cheerily carrying a tray of oatmeal and dry
toast. “Good morning, Miss Bishop. I see you changed out of
the cute Johnny.”

Etty
flushed with anger, but kept still, knowing she was no match for
this bulky adversary. She hissed, “You bastard! You tricked
me! What have you done! Look at me, you’ve stuck me with
needles, stolen my things, thrown me into a prison! You’ve
kidnapped me!”

“Little
cranky this morning?” Bart laid the tray on the short shelf
next to the bed. “No need to use up your energy on things you
can’t control. I think you’ll agree that we call the
shots now, okay? Let’s make this as easy as possible.”
Two additional men followed him into the room, both wearing white
orderly garb, looking equally formidable.

Etty
reached over, scooping her hand into the hot oatmeal, and winged it
toward Bart’s face. A few clumps stuck to his cheeks while
the rest sprayed his shirt. “Ohhhh, still hot.” He
calmly wiped his face with a napkin from the tray. He stopped the
others from approaching. “She’ll be fine. I’ll
take care of this.”

He
sat on the bed, and helped himself to a piece of the toast. “You
have now just used up your last chance. I expected something like
this, Etty, may I call you Etty?”

“Fuck
you.”

“‘Etty’
it is then. Given the circumstances, I allowed you an outburst.
But now, Etty, it’s time to clean up your act. I will be back
in less than an hour with some people who want to meet you. Be
friendly, pleasant, and answer all their questions. These people
want to be your friends, really. You were invited here to help them.
If they didn’t like you, believe me, you’d be dead
already.”

Etty
was about to lash out again with venomous words when Bart caught her
small neck in his thick hand. He pushed her back on the bed, and
bent down with his head inches away from hers. He leaned all his
hefty weight into her neck. “Did you hear me? No more
chances.” Etty could not speak or breath, he had cut off her
air completely. “You play along with us, or you’re a
dead little bitch, you get it?”

The
pressure prevented even a nod. No air could pass her throat. “You
get it?” He waited for a few seconds for her face to turn
bright red, then let go with a shove and stormed out. Etty choked
for breath, holding her neck.



A
paralyzing stillness overcame her. She stayed flat on her back,
eyes open but unseeing. Buzzing in her ears shrilled, blocking all
sounds but her own short breaths. Incoherent thoughts whipped past,
a spiraling confusion of horrible images.

Thirst
finally pulled her back. She jumped down and buried her head in the
sink to drink from the faucet. Cool wetness rolling down her
parched throat sent a wave of revival.

She
walked to the toilet and inspected the seat for scum, but found it
clean and white. She turned her back to it, and stood for some time
deciding whether to use it. It occurred to her there may be video
cameras. Were there other rooms filled with Bart and his friends
laughing and watching her every move? The thought disgusted her.
She squinted and slowly turned her head, inspecting each corner,
every light, every switch, anything that might be a device. She
even checked inside the bowl. Unsure, she unbuttoned and removed
her outer shirt, still leaving on an undershirt and a turtleneck,
and draped it over her lap as she sat. She wiggled down her jeans,
never leaving any skin exposed to the room. “You’ve had
your last show!” she said to the walls. She cupped her head
in her hands, elbows on her knees while relieving herself.

Once
the modesty ritual was reversed, she walked to her bag and pulled
out her hairbrush. She changed her mind about leaving her hair
mussed, and began brushing in slow strokes down one side. They had
no mirror, but she liked the feeling of the brush tugging at her
hair. It allowed her a little escape, a tiny window into her former
self. She thought of the dirty round mirror in the bathroom at her
apartment. She thought of her mother combing her hair when she was
young, stroking while speaking softly. She wondered what Knut and
Warren were thinking - had they realized yet? What day was it? The
breakfast food implied morning, but how many days had she been
unconscious? How long was she laid out like a sex toy, unable to
defend herself from their prodding fingers and freely wandering
eyes? Nausea swirled in her chest.

Sounds
of people tinkering with the combination lock aroused her. She sat
up, bracing herself for another encounter. Bart entered first, this
time followed by a tall 50ish man dressed in a quality business
suit. As soon as the man spoke, Etty knew he was the one who had
called her, the man behind the whole kidnapping ruse.

“Good
morning, Miss Bishop,” he boomed with his heavy Texan accent.
“Glad to see you are up and about.” He extended his
hand, but retracted it almost immediately, seeing Etty’s sour
expression.

Etty
had nothing but evil thoughts - jumping on his face and gouging his
eyes out with her fingernails, kicking him in the groin until he
coughed blood. She was afraid to speak, fearing she would break
down, scream, cry, and lose control. Knowing this would accomplish
nothing, her only option was to remain still.

“Our
first order of business is to get you out of this cell like room and
into something a whole lot more comfortable.” Etty breathed
through clenched teeth, watching with half opened eyes. “Now,
I’m well aware that things up to now have been discomforting
for you. You’re in a strange place, with strange people, and
I imagine you’re still sporting one whopper of a headache.”
He looked into her eyes, wondering if she was even registering.
“Miss Bishop, this may seem hard for you to believe at this
moment, but I honestly think you are going to enjoy this place.
Bart here will collect your things, and show you to one of our best
condos in the West Wing. You can shower, take a nap, stretch out
for a bit. Bart can also show you to our Rotunda Mall, where you
have an open account, on us, to buy new clothes, eat some food, even
get some things for your condo to make you feel at home.”

“Who
are you? Why have you done this to me?” Etty finally spoke.

“How
inhospitable of me. Let me introduce myself. William McKinsey,
President of World Investment Corporation.” He bowed
slightly.

“You
said it was Leeson on the phone. Impersonating a government
official, kidnapping, torture. I don’t want any more of your
hospitality. Let me go.”

“You’ll
feel better in a bit. When you are ready, call me at extension 454,
and I will have you escorted to my office. I have a proposal for
you that, well, you’ll just have to hear to believe.”

Etty
watched his mouth form the words. She felt outside of herself,
looking in at some odd dream, an impossible combination of
frightening, yet ridiculous events.

“Mr.
Maslow here will attend to your needs. He will be a perfect
gentleman in every way. If I hear from you, Miss Bishop, that this
is not the case, I will have Mr. Maslow reprimanded.” Turning
to Bart, “Is that clear, Mr. Maslow?”

“Yes
sir.”

Facing
Etty again, “Now, you go ahead up to your new room. Take your
time, get acclimated. It’s now 10am Saturday morning. If
possible, I would like to see you before the end of the day in my
office. Just call me. There’s a phone in your room.”
Mr. McKinsey turned and headed for the door. He looked back before
leaving. “Welcome to Global Growers. You are in the
Agricultural Research wing of our international headquarters
complex, located in Las Colinas, Texas, only a few miles from
Dallas. You’ll like it here, Miss Bishop. Consider it your
new home.” Then he walked out.

Bart
trailed behind, turning to catch eyes with Etty before closing the
door. “I’ll wait outside until you’re ready.”