In the Midst of my Enemies

(Disclaimer: I have no business connection with JOAN. My only purpose in writing this story is to have fun and maybe share it)

(Author's Note: This story is part of a series that takes place after the JOAN OF ARCADIA TV show ended. A listing of the other stories is on my profile.

This story is set in fall, 2006. The main changes in Joan's life are:

Joan and Adam are married and attending college together.

Grace, Luke, Adam, and Helen know Joan's secret, though Helen is still getting used to it.

Chapter 1 Two Captures

The driver looked out of his car at the Baltimore slum street. Human misery was visible, but the driver was looking for only one particular wretch.

There. White guy, somewhat plump, sitting on a wall glaring out at the world, younger than most derelicts.

The driver got out of his car. "Do you need help?"

The young man focused his glare on the driver. "No. Go away."

"You've just spent several years in the juvenile court system," said the driver. "Your stepfather won't let you in the house. You've got no money. The shelter threw you out for starting a fight. So I ask again, do you need help?"

"Yes," he admitted reluctantly.

"Then climb in."

The young man sulkily got in the passenger seat of the car; the driver crossed over to the left side. He knew he was taking a risk getting in the car with the violent youth, but from what he knew of the young man's record, he wouldn't attack a benefactor. He might work up a grudge and then attack, but that would take time. The driver started the car and sought the nearest way out of the slum district. "Call me Nick," said the driver. It wasn't his real name.

"Ramsey."

"Tell me your story."

The young man seemed to have trouble organizing his life in his head. Finally he said, "There was this girl—"

The driver started to make a sardonic remark about girls being trouble in general, but couldn't quite do it. There was one woman who was far too dear to him. Instead, he said "Joan Girardi."

"Yeah," said Ramsey, too wound up in himself to wonder how the driver knew so much about him. "I thought she liked me. She went to the winter formal with me, and we left together. But then her Daddy shows up, and she turns into Daddy's little girl."

The driver knew that the story was much darker than that. Ramsey had been thrown out of the formal for smuggling in alcohol. He didn't know why Joan kept following Ramsey, but doubted that she was besotted with the boy. She probably had some sentimental notion of reforming his life. Her "Daddy", Chief Will Girardi, probably was afraid that Joan was in danger of rape. Ramsey had obtained a gun, but the combined urging of Joan and her father persuaded him to put it down, and he was arrested on various counts. Joan ended up with a reputation of being somewhat of a bimbo.

"She never tried to reach me afterward, even though I did what she said," complained Ramsey. "She just dumped me."

The driver knew better: Joan fell seriously ill a few months later, and it took her months to deal with the psychological consequences. She had tried to reform another troubled teen named Judith, with even worse results: the girl had died before Joan's eyes. Ramsey was probably a distant memory that Joan was only too happy to forget.

But the driver mentioned none of that. Instead, with apparently casualness, he commented, "She's married now. Calls herself Joan Girardi-Rove."

"Rove? She married that wimp?"

"Yes."

Ramsey thought over it. "I wanna 'nother try at her."

Aha, thought the driver. "Let me tell you a plan---"

------

Joan Girardi-Rove was trying not to be overwhelmed by sentiment.

Her father-in-law, old Karl Rove, was planning to sell his house and move to an apartment. It made perfect sense, now that she and Adam were away at college and Mr. Rove was living alone, but Adam's studio was on the property and had to go too.

There were a lot of memories here, culminating in the day when she asked Adam to marry her. Somehow she had had the feeling that the surroundings were as permanent in space as they were in her memory. But no, Adam was coming down from college next week to choose what to pack or throw away or resell. Joan agreed to come down a week earlier, when Adam was tied up with an art project, and pick up items of sentimental value.

After about fifteen minutes, she had accumulated a big enough stack to take to her car. She walked out the studio door, leaving it unlocked for a second visit, and headed to the auto in the driveway.

"Stop right there!" said a rough voice behind her.

Joan spun around and found herself facing a coarse-featured young man with a gun. She recognized him even after nearly three years passage. Her papers fell to the ground.

"Ramsey!"

"Walk in the garage."

"The garage? Why?"

Joan was enraged. For three years she had been accustomed to obeying out the wishes of another Person, because she trusted the Person to have everybody's wellbeing in mind. On the rare occasions on which she had rebelled, the Person had waited patiently for her to work out her priorities. Now she was being asked to obey a punk whom she despised, for no other reason that he had a weapon that could kill her or main her for life. But for the moment she had no choice.

She turned and walked to the garage, opposite the shed. As she did she saw a gust of wind blowing the autumn leaves around. That aroused a feeling of déjà vu, but she was too frightened of her present danger to figure out what it meant.

She entered the garage. After she had gone a few steps, with Ramsey still several yards away, somebody ceased her from behind, pressing a cloth against her face. It was damp and had a sweet smell. "Drug", she thought, but that was her last coherent thought as the chemicals entered her system and she passed out.

She came to lying on a bed. For a few seconds it actually felt comfortable, then her memories returned and she remembered Ramsey's attack. Then she remembered something far more horrifying. Her friend Veronica Mars had confided how somebody had drugged her drink during a wild party; she had revived half-naked with definite signs of having been molested. In a panic Joan opened her eyes and looked over her body. Her jeans were still on, and even her shoes. Either they had left her body alone or they had painstakingly re-dressed her after ---- she decided to believe the firs option.

Her wallet was still in her pocket, with about $ 50 in cash. It didn't do her any good at the moment, but it was oddly generous of her captors not to take it. Not surprisingly, her cell phone was gone.

There was a strap around her waist. But her arms were outside it, and it proved easy to undo the buckle – it was just a glorified seat belt. She released the strap and sat up to see her surroundings better.

It seemed to be a small bedroom – her bed, and another with a narrow space between them. In front of her was an open door, through which she could see a narrow hallway with shelves. No windows. Everything looked abnormally small or cramped, as if space was a premium here. Where was here?

There was a paper sitting on the other bed. Joan got to her feet, then lost her balance as the room seemed to spin around her. The other bed broke her fall, and she decided that the drug was disturbing her balance. But at least she had the letter. It was typed or, more likely, computer printed, so there was no way of idenitifying handwriting.

Joan:

You are in our power. As long as you behave, nothing will happen to you. You have facilities to last you several days until this is over. In the kitchenette you will find snacks to eat. There is also a small washroom that you can use when necessary.

You may or may not have noticed that we have cameras watching you to make sure you don't try to escape. If you disable the cameras we will have to do something more extreme like tie you up, so leave them alone. You will have privacy in the washroom, but don't abuse the privilege.

You will find some books in the kitchenette, including the complete HARRY POTTER series. At 4000 pages that should help you pass the time.

Just relax and wait for your friends to ransom you.

No signature, but it was blatantly obvious that it wasn't Ramsey. His way of dealing with the world was hitting or threatening people. Somebody had carefully planned her confinement, even adding in ways to make her physically comfortable.

Joan spotted one of the cameras, and gave it the finger, hoping her captor was watching.

She didn't know what else she could do.

TBC