Held & Pushed (2 book bundle) (4 page)

I was
scared for my life. Fearing I’d never see my husband and son again, I pulled on
my hand, willing the damn thing to slide out of the handcuff. I put my left
hand on the chain between the cuffs and pulled. I even put my feet on the edge
of the table and pushed against it as I pulled. This resulted in nothing but
pain.

On the verge
of tears, I put my feet back on the floor. This couldn’t be happening to me.
Not to me.

Chapter 6

Ron walked
back into the kitchen. He washed his hands and returned to his seat at the
table. He sat there for a while looking at his cards, face-down on the table.
Finally, he picked them up and looked at me as though nothing had happened.
This, honestly, was far creepier than if he had acknowledged what had happened.

“Whose
turn is it?” he asked.

Puzzled
beyond belief, I stuttered, “Yours, I think.”

He smiled
at me and drew a card from the pile.

For a few
minutes, I played cards with him, considering asking about the woman. I
realized he could easily turn the same anger on me that he’d turned on her. I
didn’t want to be on the receiving end of his fists. But I had to know. I was
like that.

“Ron, can
I ask you something?”

He looked
up at me and smiled. “You just did.”

Ignoring
my hatred for people who say things like that, I asked, “Who was that woman?”

“Stephanie.”

Seeing
that he wasn’t going to offer anything else, I pushed him. “What’s her story?”

Picking up
cards from the discard pile, he said, “Stephanie is a woman I met one night in
a bar. She wanted to come home with me, so she did. I think she’s changed her
mind about wanting to be here.”

“Where is
she? What’s in that room?”

“That’s
the basement. She’s been down there since the first night. She doesn’t like it
down there, but she doesn’t have a choice.”

“Why don’t
you let her go?” He jerked his head toward me and for a second, I saw the angry
Ron. I quickly softened the question with, “I mean, why keep her around?”

His face
relaxed. “I have needs and urges. She helps me with those. But did you see her?
She’s about fulfilled her purpose. She’s far too thin and on the verge of
madness, I believe.”

“Are you
going to let her go?” I asked as I drew a card.

“Of course not.
I
can’t do that. You’re a smart girl, Nicole. You know I can’t let her go. She’ll
alert the authorities. Then what? They arrest me, I go to prison, and my novel
will never be written. I can’t let that happen.”

“So what?
You’re
going to kill her?” I hated saying the words. I knew that saying it wouldn’t be
putting the thought in his head. He already knew what he was going to do, but
it still felt like I was giving him the idea.

“Do you
have a better suggestion?”

I shook my
head and fell silent for a while. Afraid to know the answer but more afraid not
to, I asked, “Do you plan to kill me, Ron?” I hated the crack in my voice when
I spoke. It betrayed my brave persona.

For such a
long time, he didn’t answer. I began to think that meant yes, he did. But
finally, he spoke. “I don’t know what I’ll do with you yet, to be honest. You
seem to think I have some master plan, but I don’t. All I have is an idea for a
great story and high hopes. But with you, this idea will flourish and turn into
a wonderful reality. When that happens, who knows what will become of you. I
guess in the end, it will depend on you. There. I finally beat you a hand,” he
said as he laid his last card on top of the discard pile.

He tallied
his score and I mine, though I had to count my cards twice. I was having
trouble concentrating. Something about having my life hanging in the balance
and an uncertain future had me rattled.

After
writing the scores on the notepad and adding them up, Ron announced that I’d
won. He congratulated me, and suggested we play another game. I protested.

“What else
are you going to do if not play cards with me?” he asked.

It was a
good question. I shrugged and he shuffled the cards.

“So tell
me about yourself. I know so very little about you,” he said. “I’m dying to
know more. In fact, I want to know everything.”

“I don’t
think so.”

“Come on.
If I’m to base a character on you, shouldn’t I know every detail about you and
your life?”

“I thought
you were just going to use my responses in your book. You didn’t say that you
were modeling a character off me. That’s different.”

“Does it
matter? You don’t exactly have a choice in the matter, do you?”

He was
right. I didn’t. But I still didn’t want him knowing everything about me.

“How about
I pour us a drink and you tell me about yourself, starting at the beginning.
Would you like a drink?” he asked as he got up and went to a cabinet.

I opened
my mouth to say no, but decided this was probably the perfect time to drink. My
nerves were frayed and I was on edge. Just one drink wouldn’t hurt. So instead
of declining, I asked if he had orange juice and Vodka. Fortunately, he did. He
made us each a drink and returned to the table.

I took a
sip of mine and realized that in addition to being an immaculate housekeeper
and maker of awesome sandwiches, he could easily serve drinks in any club.
Daytime Bartender Moonlights as Madman.
Now there’s a novel.

“Where
were you born?” he asked, kicking off the interview.

“Poplar
Bluff.”

“Is that
where you grew up?”

“No.”

“Where’d
you grow up?”

“A small town about an hour away from there.”

“Did you
live with your mother and father?”

“Yes.”

“Do you
have brothers or sisters?”

“One brother.”

“Where
does he live?”

“He
doesn’t.” Against my hopes that he’d leave it alone and move on, he asked me
about it.

“What does
that mean?”

“He died
in a car accident three weeks after graduating from high school.”

He studied
my face, probably making mental notes of my reaction and my emotions. Then, he
continued with his barrage of questions. “Were you two
close
?”

“Yes.”

“Did your
parents fight a lot?”

“No.”

“No?”

“They
fought some, but no more than anybody else.”

“So your
childhood was a happy one?”

“Yeah, I
guess it was.”

“Were you
molested by anyone?”

“I think
that’s enough. There’s no sense in this.”

“Just
answer the question. I’m just trying to get a feel of what your life was like
and what made you the person you are today.”

I sighed.
“No, I wasn’t molested, I wasn’t beaten, and I wasn’t raped by anyone in or out
of my family.”

He nodded.
“How old were you when you first had sex?”

“Come on.
This is ridiculous.”

“It’s not
ridiculous. It’s research.”

“Why would
you ever have to know that?”

“For the book, of course.”

“My ass.
There’s
no reason you need to know that. And even if you did, you can make it up. It’s
a fiction book, not a biography of my life.”

“It’s all
part of your makeup, part of why you are the wonderful person you are now. I
like to know how things came to be what they are. Don’t you want to know things
like that?”

I wanted
to know what made him the way he was. Then again, maybe I didn’t.

“I’ll
answer your questions only if you swear that you’ll answer any questions I may
have now or in the future.” I stared at him as he agreed, trying to determine
if he was being honest. Of course he was. Apparently the one thing he didn’t do
is lie.

“I swear
to you to always be honest and answer any questions you may have. I haven’t
lied to you as of yet, and I have no plans to do so. You may ask me anything
you like, but I do hope you hold off until I’ve asked all my questions of you.”

“Fine.”

“Fine,” he
agreed.

I took a
long drink before answering. “I was sixteen.”

“Your boyfriend?”

“Yes.”

“Did you
love him?”

“I thought
I did. But at sixteen, no one knows what real love is.”

“I take it
he isn’t your husband.”

It was my
turn to chuckle. “No.”

“Why is
that amusing to you?”

“Because he and my husband are completely different.
They have no similarities whatsoever.”

He laid
down his last card and we began to add our scores. After jotting them on the
notepad, he shuffled the cards again. “Were you a good student?”

“Yes.”

“You made
good grades?”

“Yes. In
fact, I rarely had homework and I never studied. I read through my notes before
a test, and I was an A student.”

“So
learning came naturally for you?”

“I guess
so,” I said and finished my drink.

After
shuffling the cards, he set them on the table and got up. He took my empty
glass to the counter and refilled it. As soon as he brought it back, I took a
drink.

Chapter 7

He sat in
his chair, scooted it up to the table, and asked, “Were you promiscuous as a
teenager?”

“No,” I
said, taking a little offense to such a question.

“Are you
promiscuous now?”

“No,” I
snapped. “I’m married.”

“Lots of
promiscuous women are married.” He pointed to the hallway and said, “She’s
married, but that didn’t stop her from offering herself to me in the bar that
night.”

I
swallowed the fear and the lump in my throat. He was holding her here all this
time knowing that she had a family. “Yeah, well I’m happily married and I don’t
do stuff like that.”

He nodded.
“Good. You shouldn’t.”

“You’re
going to give me a lecture on things I shouldn’t do?”

“You find
that odd?”

“Yeah.
You kidnap
people, hold them here for no telling how long, do no telling what to them, but
your morals are intact enough to know that I shouldn’t sleep around? That’s
crazy.”

“You think
I’m crazy?”

“I said
that’s crazy, but now that you mention it, yeah. I think maybe I should count
these cards because clearly you’re not playing with a full deck.”

He threw
his cards on the table and stood up so fast his chair couldn’t keep up and
toppled over backward onto the floor, making a noise loud enough to cause me to
nearly jump out of my skin.

He began
to pace back and forth across the room. He started off mumbling something to
himself, but then he talked louder. So loud, in fact, his voice boomed around
the room, echoing off the walls. He alternated between waving his arms around
and placing his hands on his hips.

“I am
nothing but nice to you and you call me crazy. I bring you into my home and
treat you well and you call me crazy. I could’ve taken you straight to the
basement and locked you up down there, but I didn’t. And yet you call me
crazy.” He walked quickly over to me and leaned down, his face inches from
mine. “I can show you crazy. You haven’t seen crazy. Would you like to see
crazy, Nicole?”

This guy
was nuttier than a squirrel
turd
, but it was obvious
that he didn’t think so. It brought to mind a book I read once called
Annie’s Revenge
. The author stated many
times that insane people never doubt their sanity. I guess she was right. Crazy
people don’t know they’re crazy.

Quickly, I
thought of a way out of this situation. I hadn’t failed to notice he’d
mentioned locking me in the basement with what’s-her-name. I didn’t know what
all was down there or what went on, but I’d seen her and I wanted no part of
it. So I had to do something, anything, to keep myself from her fate.

“Look, Ron,
I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that you’re crazy. It’s just that I felt like you were
insinuating that I slept around, and it made me angry. I was just lashing out.”
I surprised myself with how calm I was being. Inside, I was shaking like a
Chihuahua in a snow storm. But outside, I was so cool cucumbers were jealous.

Ron stood
up and put his hands on his hips. He stood there looking down at me for a
minute. Then, he smiled.

“That’s
why I like you. You’re full of fire, but you know when you’ve crossed a line.
None of the others ever had sense enough to know.” He reached out and placed
his hand on my head. I wanted to pull away, but knew that it wouldn’t be wise
to do so. Even as he slid his hand down the back of my head and neck, I didn’t
move a muscle.