In the Midst of my Enemies
Chapter 4 In Captivity
Once she thought that the drug had worn off, Joan did the sensible thing and explored the limits of her prison.
There was indeed a washroom behind the beds. It had a toilet and washbasin, and plenty of towels and paper, but no way to take a shower or a bath. Maybe the captors thought Joan wouldn't be here long enough to need one. Because they planned to release her, or because they planned to kill her? Joan remembered a grim remark that Luke had once made: Pavlov was always nice to his dogs until he cut their throats.
Joan pushed that thought of her mind and continued searching. The narrow corridor did include kitchen facilities. There was a small fridge on a shelf, with Cokes and ice cream. Joan was actually tempted, but at the moment she didn't want to accept ANYTHING from her captors.
There was another moment of vertigo, but Joan supported herself by leaning against the shelf.
No stove. Maybe they feared that she could start a fire and use it as a weapon.
Plenty of snacks that could sit there at room temperature, and the expected complete set of HARRY POTTER. Joan had a weird vision of herself curled up comfortably in bed with snacks and a book, while her captors dickered for her price like one of the Begh family's horses.
That suddenly caused her to wonder how her family was reacting to her captivity. Particularly her mother, who might remember her experience of rape, at the very age Joan was now. If only Joan could send word that she was all right. But was she really all right?
Continuing down the corridor, she found it terminating another room. There were windows here that were somehow blacked out but they didn't look windows of a house or office. They were at a slant and spanned most of the front wall above waist level.
To her right was a door, something with a big lever handle and another blacked-out window. Not surprisingly, the lever wouldn't move.
Suddenly Joan realized where she was and the oddities made sense. She was in a mobile home. It was narrow because it was constrained to fit in the lanes of a highway. Water was limited to an onboard tank that was sufficient to supply a basin and toilet for a few days.
What was more, it was in motion, pulled behind another vehicle. That, and not the drugs, explained why her footing was awkward. Turning and lane changes, invisible to her but still sensed as inertia. She had had AP Physics.
From the kidnappers' point of view, it was an ingenious idea. Choose a stationary hiding place, and the police, led by her father, might track it down. But with their captive in a trailer, they could dodge the police for days, as long as nobody gets suspicious of the trailer itself. Would somebody notice the blacked-out windows, or would they look like tinted glass? It was illegal for somebody to ride in a mobile home in transit, but that would scarcely bother her captors. Kidnapping was illegal too.
A mobile home was designed to be lived in, and that made it an effective prison. Properly stocked, it could keep a prisoner alive for days without the kidnappers coming into contact. And if something did go wrong, their cameras would tell them so and they could enter the home to fix the problem.
Joan went back to the beds, sat on one, and brooded. So far, she had seen no way out. If she were a fictional heroine like Buffy or Xena, or even a clever real-life girl like Veronica Mars, she probably would have an escape plan by now. Joan had nothing. Except—
She dared not speak aloud, lest the spy devices picked up. But He did not require thoughts to be spoken. Help me, God. You're omniscient, you know where I am. Get me out of here.
No immediate response.
Hours passed. They had left Joan her watch, and from that she could tell that it was getting to be evening. She was getting hungry. Not only that, but she realized that stimulating her metabolism might enable her body to get rid of the drugs faster. She went to the kitchenette, got a Coke and a sandwich.
She had just swallowed her first bite when she remembered something spooky. There was an ancient legend about a girl, Persephone, who had been dragged to the lands of the dead. She had appealed to the gods for help, only to be told that she could never leave, because she had eaten the food of the place. Joan reminded herself that this was no legend, just a modern-day crime.
Still no sign from God. Was this some kind of test, waiting to see if she would break out on her own? Joan was not good at intrigue. A few months she had tried to do some sleuthing, like her friend Veronica Mars, and wound up with several embarrassing incidents, including trying to ride a runaway horse. God had even teased her afterward about her bumbling. Or was she supposed to "trust in the Lord, wait patiently for Him?" You'd think God would at least tell her which way He wanted her to go.
Getting late now. She went to the bathroom, hoping that she got rid of most of the drug in the process, then wondered how to spend the night.
The light switch wouldn't go OFF. That would, of course, defeat the purpose of the camera. But she could at least turn away from the light in bed and keep her eyes closed. And with the camera in mind, she definitely wasn't going to undress, though it would be awkward sleeping in her clothes. The big worry was making herself vulnerable. She might be locked in, but her captors could presumably come in at any time while she was sleeping, and there was nothing she could do about it.
The basic problem was trying to make sense of the situation. What did they want of her? Ransom money? They would have done better by kidnapping Morgiana Begh. Revenge on Ramsey's part? Leaving her alone with a comfortable bed and plenty of snacks was a weird way to go about it.
In spite of it all, Joan managed to drift off to sleep. Maybe tomorrow would bring the solution.
TBC
(AUTHOR'S NOTE: Yes, I know that this is the third no-action chapter in a row. The action will pick up in the next installment)