I have begged.
I have groveled.
I have even prayed.
My eyes keep darting to the other chairs. Mom is closest to me and then Dad. Logan and Josh are at the far end. Every member of my family has been beaten. Mom’s one eye is swollen shut. The sight of her face beaten so badly keeps sending shudders through me.
I keep calling to them, wishing they would wake up. They need to wake up. Once they’re awake we’ll be able to get out of this mess.
I need them to wake up.
I was shocked to see that we’re all here. I still don’t understand any of this. Why are we tied down to chairs? Why are we here? What’s happening?
Josh starts to stir just as a huge man fills the doorway, and for a moment something looks familiar about him, but the thought disappears as quickly as it comes.
The man grins, and it makes him look evil, like something from a horror movie.
Maybe because I’m so incredibly terrified I give him more power than he actually has. Fear intensifies any situation. I learned this lesson while I was in Africa. Our camp was once ransacked by a pack of hungry monkeys. I was stupid enough to leave my tent to go see what all the fuss and racket was about. There was a monkey right outside my tent. Truth be told, he had a bigger fright when he saw me. He bared his teeth at me, sharp canines. Growling and hissing, his warning said clearly he would bite me if I dared to take what he had come to steal. They left the camp in a mess. We weren’t in any actual danger as long as the monkeys didn’t feel threatened, but I did almost wet myself when that monkey growled at me, and he was a tiny fur ball, come to think of it. Our tour guide then told me fear intensifies any situation. The monkey had been more afraid of me than I had been of him. I should remember this when facing danger.
Staring at the huge man, I don’t think it counts for this situation. The man isn’t scared of me, or any of us for that matter, not like the monkey was.
I, on the other hand, am terrified of him. Fear is liquefying my insides. Fear is definitely intensifying this moment for me.
The man starts to stalk towards me like I had seen a lion once stalk its prey on one of the safaris I was on. Back then I found it captivating - but now I’m petrified out of my mind.
“St-stay away,” I manage to stutter while it feels as if fear is enveloping me like a thick mist. My feeble plea only makes his lips curve into a disgusting sneer.
He’s bad, all bad. I’ve read a lot of books where the bad boys have blue eyes, black hair and are ripped with muscles and tattoos. Somehow, those bad boys become the hero later in the story.
I’ve even spent nights dreaming of my own bad boy kidnapping me and then falling hopelessly in love with me.
Never again will I glamorize a horrible situation.
This man with his watery blue gaze, greasy black strands that hang uneven in his face, is not the bad boy I’ve read about so many times before. Colorful ink covers his arms, every inch, until it disappears under the sleeves of his faded brown shirt. It’s all skulls and knives … angry tattoos.
He takes another threatening step towards me and it makes me panic and yank at the bonds around my wrists. I have to get my hands free. I have to defend myself somehow.
He shakes his head slowly … so slowly it’s unnerving.
Suddenly, he storms at me and it rips a terrified scream from my throat.
“Oh, my God!”
For a precious moment my mind freezes in absolute terror as the bulk of his body hulks over mine. The sheer shock of my personal space being violated like this shudders through me.
His fist slams hard into the side of my face and it makes me gag with pain. Awful emotions explode inside of me – confusion being the main one. I don’t understand why this man is hurting me.
No one has ever touched me in anger. As child my parents didn’t even give me a spanking. Physical punishment is a foreign thing to me. I’ve only known love and shelter my whole life.
Before I can try to make sense of anything, another blow crashes into the side of my head, making my ear ring with pain.
The stink of his sweat wafts up my nostrils and it makes me feel nauseous. It brings me back to the here and now of this awful situation.
The man walks over to Mom and then drags her chair over to the opposite side of the room. Halfway there Mom starts to whimper as she comes to. She tries to lift her head and then looks around her. I see the same horror I’m feeling wash over her face.
“Mom!” I call out to her. “We’re going to be okay.” Josh will get us out of this mess. Josh always fixes everything. He just needs to wake up.
Next, the man unties Dad and I watch with increasing dread as he drags Dad’s limp body over to the other side of the big room. It looks like we’re in some sort of warehouse, which only confuses me more. There are some empty crates scattered on the one side and metal sheets on the other. Nothing stands out about this place. I have no idea where we are.