Love You Always (10 page)

“Can’t she walk?”

“She was having a panic attack.”

“Oh yeah, her brother said she’s got agoraphobia.”

“Why don’t we let her stay here in the cabin? She can then go to the john herself.”

“No. She stays outside. She ain’t no house guest on vacation.”

“Well, we’ll have to get her a bucket or something because I ain’t gonna be carrying her back and forth every time she needs to pee or take a crap.”

The other kidnapper laughs.

The young kidnapper carries me to the bathroom and sets me down. I’m still breathing hard, but I feel my panic subside. He holds me up until I steady myself and can stand without his help.

“You okay?” he asks.

“Do you care?” I answer, sarcastically.

He looks at me, furrowing the space between his brows. “Hurry it up.”

I close the door and sit on the toilet as the tears once again spill from my eyes.

Don’t think I haven’t considered the fact that I’ve seen their faces. They’re not going to let me live. Once they get the ransom money, I’m dead.

I have a feeling they’ve hidden me away somewhere out in the boonies where nobody is going to find me. Once they get their money, they can easily dispose of me, bury me, or throw my body in some lake.

God, what am I going to do?

I put my hands over my face and I sob.

“Hey, you cryin’ in there?”

I wipe my eyes and blow my nose in a tissue.

“I’ll be right out.”

After I do my business, I don’t flush the toilet, to buy me time as I look through the medicine cabinet and on the counter for anything that might be useful. There’s a box of Band-Aids, rubbing alcohol, shaving cream, a razor, two toothbrushes, toothpaste, but not much else, no pills. They must not live here and just using this cabin for my kidnapping.

I look for extra razorblades, but there’s none. Damn it. If I take the one out of the razor, they’ll know in the morning that I took it. Having no spare razorblades is not a good sign. Seems they’re not intending on staying here long.

“Hurry it up,” my kidnapper says impatiently.

I flush the toilet and wash my hands. As I open the door, the young kidnapper grabs me by the arm and pulls me out.

“I don’t smell crap in there, so what the hell were you doing in there so long?”

“I was crying okay? I’m not used to being kidnapped.”

“C’mon, I’m taking you back.” He once again pulls me along to the door.

“You’re going to have to carry me again; otherwise, I’m going to have another episode.”

As much as I loathe him touching me, I prefer not to have another panic attack, because it’s the worst feeling in the world, and I’ll tolerate anything to avoid it.

He carries me back to the shed and sets me down in front of the post. Just before he goes around to the back to bind my hands, I touch his arm. He hesitates and his eyes look into mine.

“Please don’t tie me up. You saw how I get if I go outside. I can’t escape if I wanted to,” I say, looking at him with pleading eyes. “Besides, I’m sure you’ll lock me in anyway, so can’t you let my hands be free?”

His eyes stare into mine as he thinks about my words for a moment.

“Yeah, I guess we’ll have to set you free when we bring in the bucket anyway, so it doesn’t really matter whether now or later.”

Oh God, is he really going to make me use the bathroom in that way?

“Get some sleep. We’ll be calling your brother again tomorrow. If you’re good, we may let you talk to him.”

Although, this ordeal has been a nightmare so far, that is one piece of good news I’ll be looking forward to. Talking to Marcus will give me the strength I need to get through this.

The young kidnapper leaves with the empty food tray. As I hear him secure the lock on the door, I stare up at the moonlight beaming in through the cracks in the ceiling. My fingers clutch the charm that Marcus gave me as I wrap my other arm to hug my knees to my chest. Again, my sobs take over as the fear of my predicament once again engulfs me.

If I am to die, why wasn’t I taken the day of the accident? Surely drowning would be a more merciful death than what these kidnappers have in store for me.

But I can’t give up hope, I have to hang on and pray that they’ll let me live.

Please, God, don’t let them kill me.

~* Laura *~

Yesterday, a few hours after the kidnapper’s call, we went down to the FBI’s local office. They said that whoever kidnapped Angela must’ve been casing the house for a while, so it would be better for them to conduct their investigation somewhere other than the house. Especially since the kidnappers’ threat was so horrific. Would they do something like that? I don’t even want to think about it.

Because the calls are being made to a cell phone, unlike what we see in old movies, they won’t need to setup equipment to tap into it. Also, Marcus downloaded an app that will record the calls, so that will also help.

This morning we went to the bank as soon as they opened so Marcus could find out just how much he could obtain for the ransom. Most of his money is tied up in investments, but if he has to, he said he’ll sell them off. It still won’t give him the amount the kidnappers asked for, so he was hoping the bank could make up the balance. Unfortunately, what he’d have left to put up as collateral won’t be enough to grant the loan.

The last resort is to sell the majority of his and Angela’s shares in his father’s corporation. Marcus told me he is executor of Angela’s inheritance until her twenty-first birthday, so he has authority to do that. Selling their shares could give him enough money for the ransom.

I’ve only known Angela for a few weeks but she’s already like a sister to me, so my emotions are totally invested in her and my heart is aching, and the pit of my stomach wrenches with stress and worry. I can’t imagine how Marcus is feeling because I’m sure what he’s going through is ten times worse.

Marcus is upstairs resting. I told him I’d make him a cup of tea and bring it up to him when it’s ready. He had a sleepless night.

When I reach his room, the door is wide open. I guess since he knew I would be coming, he didn’t bother to close his door. He’s lying on his bed in a white tank undershirt and shorts.

I walk over to his bed, and he turns to look at me. He sits up and swivels his body so he’s sitting on the edge of the bed. I pass him one of the cups and look around for a chair to sit on.

“You can sit on the bed,” he tells me.

Why not? I’ve already been in his arms while he was naked, so sitting on his bed isn’t anything to feel uncomfortable about.

I plant myself down next to him, but I keep a six-inch distance between us.

We’re silent as we sip our tea.

“What kind of tea is this?” he asks.

“Ginseng. It’s good for relieving stress and anxiety.”

“It tastes good. Thanks.” He smiles so sweetly at me, but it’s a smile overshadowed by pain. He’s trying to be strong, to carry on as he normally does, but his true emotions reflect in his dim eyes.

He puts his cup down on his nightstand and positions himself to lean back on his headboard, folding his arms across his chest. I’m still sitting on the edge, but I turn to face him. He closes his eyes.

I continue to stare at him, sipping my tea, not knowing what to do. He’s obviously in deep contemplation so I don’t want to disturb whatever it is he’s thinking about. I watch a tear fall from his eye. He clears his throat and rubs his nose, trying to hide his emotions.

“Don’t hold back what you feel,” I say to him, my voice soft, almost a whisper.

He opens his eyes to look at me. “I can’t lose her,” he says, his voice low, and hurting.

“I know.” I put my cup down and touch my hand on his arm.

He puts his hand on mine and says, “Thank you for staying. I would be going crazy if you weren’t here.”

“I care about Angela as though she were my sister too.” I gaze into his eyes. “And I care about you, so I’m not about to let you go through this alone.”

I don’t know why I’m saying such bold things to him, but I mean them, and it feels right to say them.

He smiles and pulls me to him until his arms embrace me fully. He holds me and we’re silent again.

Being in his arms feels so right, and although I’m the one who’s supposed to be comforting him, it feels as though he’s comforting me.

His cell phone rings and we both jump up. He grabs his cell from the nightstand.

“Hello?” His voice is deep and raspy. He puts his cell on speakerphone and lowers it to his lap.

“You got the money?” the voice on the other end asks.

“No. I can’t get it that fast. It’ll take me a few more days.”

“How many is a few?”

“I don’t know, maybe two or three. I have to get some legal paperwork done to release the money. It’ll depend on how fast they can process it.”

There’s a pause on the other end.

“Okay, you’ve got your time, but no messin’ around. If you try anything, we’ll send you her hand.”

Oh my God. This guy is crazy. I sure hope he’s bluffing. The fear this guy is instilling in me, I can’t even imagine the fear Angela is feeling.

“Let me speak to my sister. I have to know she’s still alive, before you get your money.” Marcus’ voice is firm.

In the background, we can hear noises, muffled talking. The kidnapper must be holding his hand over the phone.

“Marcus?” It’s Angela’s voice.

“Angela!” Marcus’ body stiffens, he stands up, and paces a few steps. “Have they hurt you?”

“No, not really.”

“What do—” But before Marcus can ask her the question, the kidnapper comes back on the line.

“You’ve got the proof you need, so go to it. Get the money. I’ll call back every day to find out where you’re at with it.”

“You better not touch her. I swear, I’ll find you and kill you if you do!”

I think this time Marcus may really mean it.

“If you don’t want us to touch her, you best get the money fast. She’s a pretty girl, I bet her body’s real sweet.”

“You fuckers! Don’t you fucking touch her!”

“Get the fucking money.” And he hangs up.

“Fuck!” Marcus hurls his cell onto the bed. He drops to his knees and slams his fists to the mattress.

“He’s bluffing. If they were going to hurt her, they would’ve already. She’ll be all right,” I try to console him, and I want to believe it myself.

He rakes his fingers through his hair and holds them there as his elbows dig into the bed. He turns around and sits on the floor with his knees bent in front of him.

I sit next to him and hold his hand.

After a few moments, he embraces me, and we sit wrapped in each other’s arms. His head is in my neck and I stroke his hair, to comfort, to let him know that everything will be fine.

He squeezes me tight as the tears well in my eyes.

I hope to hell that I’m right.

~* Angela *~

Damn them! Why didn’t they let me talk to Marcus longer? They’re horrible and cruel! The young one is not as bad as the older—he scares me.

The young kidnapper at least shows some form of compassion—sometimes, anyway. Yet, other times, he frightens me too.

I wonder how much they’re asking for ransom? What if it’s too much for Marcus to pay?

Oh God. I’ve got to try and escape. I don’t know if Marcus can save me this time. I need to try to save myself.

But how? I can’t even take two steps outside the door. My panic attacks have subsided within the shed, but I know they’ll reoccur once I’m outdoors. And how am I going to break the lock?

The situation seems hopeless.

I sit on the ground, hug my knees, and my mind races as to what I can do.

Someone’s at the door, undoing the lock.

I squint, but not for long, for he immediately closes the door. It’s the younger kidnapper.

I lower my knees and tuck in my legs.

“I’ve brought you a bucket,” he says, setting it down next to me—there’s a toilet paper roll sitting inside it, “and a book.”

He tosses it to me. “You might as well keep yourself busy, because you’re going to be here for a few more days. Looks like your brother needs time to get the money.”

“How much are you asking for me?” I ask boldly.

“Five mill,” he answers as if it’s no biggie.

“What if we don’t have that kind of money?” Marcus takes care of all our money matters, so I have no clue as to what our assets are, or whether we even have that kind of money.

“You better pray that you do,” he tells me.

I start to feel nauseous again, but not from panic attack, from fear that Marcus won’t be able to pay the ransom. I know my brother would do anything for me, but if he doesn’t have the money, what can he do? And then if they kill me, he’ll just have one more soul on his conscience to torment him, because he’ll blame himself.

Are these kidnappers inhuman? If someone kidnapped their sister or brother, how would they feel?

“Do you have siblings?” I ask him.

He furrows his forehead and cocks up a brow. He’s probably wondering why I’m asking this.

But he answers, “I do.” He could’ve ignored me, but since he didn’t, that’s hopeful. Maybe I can sway this guy to feel some compassion for me. Hell, it’s worth a try, what do I have to lose?

“A brother or a sister?”

“Why are you so nosy about my personal life?”

“I’m just striking up conversation, that’s all. You seem nicer than your friend, so I just wanted to talk with you.”

“I have both a brother and a sister,” he finally concedes.

“Are they younger or older?”

“My brother’s older and my sister’s younger.” He still looks at me curiously as if I’m up to something.

“Are you close to them?”

“Okay, enough.” I jump at his hostility. “You’re not here so we can chitchat,” he says gruffly.

I lower my eyes and frown.

I hear him sigh.

“No, I’m not close to them,” he says softly, with a tone of regret. “I fucking hate my brother, and my sister is a screwed up bitch whore.”

His tone of voice sure changed fast. I guess he won’t be empathizing with the scenario of a kidnapped sibling.