Wanted (7 page)

“I’ll get to go home tomorrow, right?”

“Yeah.”

“You know you really do smell, right?”

He smiled. “Yeah.”

When we got back to the kitchenette, I took the time to stretch in front of the window. I tried to see if I could distinguish any smells in the distance—factories, farms, or anything else the police might want to know. I also tried to identify the plant life that lay scattered and untamed through the forest beyond. When the clouds in the distance finally faded, I thought I saw a mountain top, but decided it was just another cloud and my eyes trying to deceive me.

I stayed there for a lot longer than the average kidnapper probably would have let me. Or really much longer than I had even realized, because when I turned back around, Charlie was sitting on the edge of the countertop with his eyes narrow and his face blank. He was staring at me, very intently, in fact. How long had he been doing that? A row of goosebumps formed on my arms and legs at the idea of him watching me, thinking about me. For a moment I was reminded of the individual I’d temporary lost my head over at the café rest stop. It went away, however, when he spoke.

“Sorry ‘bout this.” His gaze left me and strayed to the floor. “But ah—” He pulled out the bungee cords from behind his back and I didn’t need to hear the rest of what else he was going to say.

“No.”

He smiled sadly. “I ain’t asking.”

I made a run for the door, but got about as far as I did when I tried to run from the SUV before his long arms closed around me for the second time. Naturally, my mouth opened to scream, but his hand once again covered my mouth before I could produce a sound.

“Don’t do this,” he whispered in my ear. His voice was a soft plea, and he seemed so unsure of how to handle himself that it was nearly pathetic. “Please?”

I heard the desperation and tiredness in the word. The demonstration of emotion was enough to make me stop struggling against him. Once I did, the stench of sulfur again overwhelmed my senses and brought me back to life. Why was I being so compliant? He was obviously just trying to manipulate me with some lame show of emotion. I cursed myself for my naiveté. Before I could do anything about it, he overwhelmed me with his strength again.

“I know this sucks.” In one swift motion he picked me up and sat me next to the radiator. Nothing about it was rough or even forceful, although it had become obvious that he was physically capable of making me do anything he wanted.

“I gotta couple things to do.” He shook his head and sighed while he tied me back to the radiator. “When I get back, you can just hang out. Without any of this stuff.” He gestured to the bungees, but refused to make eye contact with me. “Okay?”

I gulped, but couldn’t think of a good argument. My head was beginning to ache, and my brain was fuzzy with anxiety. “You don’t have to do this.”

He paused before he left the room. He wasn’t looking at me, yet seemed to be reading my every thought.

“Don’t worry. I ain’t gonna let nobody hurt you.”

His fists clenched at his sides and then he was gone.

After he left me, the panic surged inside of me like when I first saw the bungees reappear. Seeing them again had led me back to the awareness of what was going on. I wanted to believe that Charlie would save me from harm and that I could very well be home by this time tomorrow—probably laughing about what a great college entry essay this experience would make. Except those other logical parts kept screaming that if I stayed there tied to that radiator, I would never see home again.

Footsteps downstairs were moving quickly, and I could hear the loud maneuvering of something heavy below. I felt fortunate when it sounded like the owners of the feet walked out the front door; I was growing increasingly afraid of the decaying house and my own confinement without Charlie’s watchful eyes. I reconsidered the possibility that being surrounded by criminals, who also happened to be male, could lead to terrible and unspeakable things happening to me. Now with Charlie’s strange protectiveness and my own deduction of their entrepreneurial endeavors, I was confident that at least I wasn’t in danger from any sexual assault.

Still, I wanted to remain unseen. The footsteps went up and down the stairs. I quietly tried to work the bungees from around my wrists. A cold sweat broke out across my face and heat enflamed my cheeks. It suddenly occurred to me at the base of my instincts, in my heart of hearts, that I had to get out of there before something very bad happened.

“Hi there!”

I heard myself gasp at the intrusion of noise.

Polo was standing just outside the kitchen window and jumping up and down, trying to get a view of inside the elevated kitchen. The bungees were fairly loose so I could lean forward enough to see him waving his arms up and down, trying to get my attention.

“Hi!” He shouted again.

I slowly waved back. It was looking less likely that these guys were professional criminals and more like a bunch of boys in a fraternity.

“Polo!” A voice called. “Polo! How many damn times…” The dark haired man appeared within my view and grabbed Polo by the collar. He pulled him away from the window.

“Reid! I was just—”

They argued off in the direction of the driveway, their voices becoming mere echoes as I worked at the bungees. I tried to imitate the motions Charlie had used to untie the knot before, but it only made the movement of my fingers more difficult. It was only upon closer examination that I realized this knot was completely different from the knot before. In actuality, it was only the front of the design that looked the same.

Frustrated, I began struggling at the bonds because I simply didn’t know what else to do. I could feel my irritated skin burning and saw a thin flow of blood around my ankles where the flesh had began tearing away. My feeling of foreboding increased as the house grew eerily silent. Outside, there was a variety of sounds that I couldn’t really identify, including Polo laughing and doors slamming, but even after a few minutes, they, too, faded away. I didn’t know if I was terrified or if I wanted to cry. Eventually it was both. I threw my hands against the radiator again, somehow forgetting how they impacted the nerves in my hands, flinching at the pain.

The water swelled in my eyes but I gulped it back as best as I could. I had to think rationally again. Right now my fear was not logical. It was merely a symptom of claustrophobia, stress, and fatigue. In my head I recited the alphabet backwards. And then I drew the periodic table of elements in my mind’s eye just as I had memorized. It did help a little bit. But I confess it might have been more beneficial if most of my attention hadn’t been spent listening for Charlie.

I don’t know how long I had been there alone. It might have been hours—it could have only been a few minutes. But when I saw the shadow of a person cross to the kitchenette entrance, I knew I was in the serious trouble I had been afraid of all along. Before I had time to react, Wallace was there. I had been listening so keenly; why hadn’t I heard him coming?

Instinctively, I opened my mouth to scream, but his large hands were around my throat, prohibiting any sound and air flow. I gasped and clawed at the air, the space between us. Given our differences in size and strength, it wouldn’t have mattered even if I hadn’t been bound to the radiator. I understand now that it was only seconds, but during that time, when the lack of air was so painful the tears fell from my eyes, I saw my lifetime—I saw Mom, Dad, Robbie, and oddly enough, Charlie.

Once the darkness closed in, all I could smell was clove cigarettes and the feel of callused fingers over my own.

Dad had burned the coffee.

He hadn’t done that for quite a while, but clearly he’d outdone himself this time. The smell was really disgusting. It was so powerful it had actually managed to float all the way from downstairs to my bedroom and make me gag. He might want to commit me when I told him about my kidnapping dream and how vivid it had been. I circulated my ankles until they made a pleasant popping noise. All around me the air was filled with unpleasant sounds of banging, hammering, and yelling. My lungs and limbs hurt but I didn’t know why.

Because it hadn’t been a dream.

I sat up in a dead rush, instantly regretting it as I felt all of my blood flood to my brain in a single instant and I had to put my hands up to keep from my head from caving in. Glancing around, I knew immediately I wasn’t in a hospital like I’d thought (or hoped, rather). Instead I was on a small bed in a room that could be compared to a jail cell. On the floor next to me lay large stacks of books and papers. Next to those stood a lonesome desk lamp without a table to stand on. I immediately noticed there were no windows. Before I could panic, a figure rose from the corner and approached me. I pulled back. Something quivered all around me. Was the world ending?

I put my hands down. No, I was just shaking.

Charlie emerged from the darkness slowly and turned on the lamp. I wasn’t sure if it was the light burning my eyes or surprise that made me turn away. But once I did, I turned my face to the wall and shut my eyes tightly. I felt like a creature from another world, some distant planet that only I knew about. This place, wherever it was, could not be walked or breathed upon.

His hand stretched out as he tried to examine something on my head.

I flinched.

He turned and reached back to the corner. He pulled out two Styrofoam cups of coffee. He handed me one, which I accepted, despite the smell. I sipped at the burned liquid and rejoiced as it slid down my throat.

My throat.

Memories grabbed at me, eager to remind me why I had lost consciousness. I gulped and felt the pain around my lymph nodes. Why was I still alive? I should have been a dead girl in the ground by now. None of it made any sense.

“What happened?”

My hands shook worse than ever when I heard my voice and the way it cracked. Each syllable hurt to pronounce, and yet despite my efforts, the words still didn’t sound right.

He responded by slowly taking the cup from my hands. I didn’t want it anyway. Its contents were threatening to spill. “You probably shouldn’t talk.”

His accent was thick. I guessed he was angry again. “Tell me.”

I could feel his eyes on my neck, maybe surveying the damage there. I was just grateful he hadn’t made another attempt to touch me. The idea of being touched by anyone ever again was enough to make me retch.

I looked at Charlie, too. He was no longer covered in filth. He’d changed his clothes to a button-down green shirt and jeans. It frightened me to realize I could have been out for that long.

“Even though Ben told him to leave you be…” His voice trailed off. “Wallace thought you were too much of a risk to leave to chance.”

I turned away and shut my eyes. I knew what had happened next. Tears rolled down my face when I remembered my fear and helplessness—how brief the pain had been.

“Hey.” I heard him swallow. “I’m, ah, sorry.” He sounded heavy. “That son-of-a-bitch…”

“Please.” I cut him off. “I just want to go home.”

He stood up and backed into the dark corner. When I was sure he was away, I felt brave enough to look at him again. Those slouching shoulders of his and the thumbs that dug into his pockets revealed more than he wanted to say.

“B-by the time I got there, Wallace woulda come back to finish you off. Didn’t have much choice, did I?” He stuttered through the whole explanation. And although I only caught about half of what he was saying, it was enough to make the blood in my body feel like sludge.

“Charlie.” It was the first time I had spoken his name out loud. It sounded like a foreign language within itself. I saw him stiffen and raise his head in my direction. Carefully, I slipped my legs off the bed and tested my weight on the floor. If I hadn’t known any better, I would have said it was moving, but there was no way that could have been true. “What are you saying to me?”

He hesitated again. “We gotta make a delivery to Singapore in six days. I—we didn’t know what to do, so we brought you with us.”

Although I heard the words, my brain wouldn’t digest them. It was as though he was just saying random things strung together to make noise—what he was explaining couldn’t possibly be real. I was going home, wasn’t I? My breath became shallow and rapid and for an instant I felt as though I were having an asthma attack. He must have seen my panic because his arms stretched out, his hands pointing downward. “Just—just relax now.”

“No. No. No. Where am I?”

I detested the way he straightened himself out and stood so rigid. There was no hesitation now. “The Diyu,” he answered. “A freighter just south of Canada.”

“Wh-what?”

“Like I said, Wallace was ‘bout to kill you when I came in. I did all but rip his arms off but Ben and Reid had me back long enough that he crawled out the back.”

I covered my ears with my hands. My head was pounding and I didn’t want to hear anymore, but he kept on talking. If I didn’t hear, then maybe I could make it untrue; maybe I could make it go away.

“You wouldn’t wake up and we had port to make…” His voice trailed off, but it still stayed tight; rough along the edges.

“Then why didn’t you just leave me there?” I screamed. “Or just leave me at a hospital somewhere?”