Stolen Freedom

Before I could read it a second time something was flung over my eyes and tied tightly. I screamed - quite loudly, I remember - but as if in answer a sizeable piece of coarse cloth was stuffed in my mouth. My arms were seized and pulled behind my back. It strained my shoulders and as a result of the awkward binding and I gave another scream in the back of my throat, then tried to cough, which resulted in my tongue touching the putrid piece of fabric. I felt large arms wrap around my waist and lift me as if I hardly weighed anything. I began to kick, my legs striking anything and everything. But I was barefoot since I had been rudely kidnapped in my pajamas, and my heel collided with the edge of the door jamb. Again I cried out in pain. My kidnapper and I made quite a racket going down the old, creaky stairs. I was writhing horribly, squirming in any way that I could. Even now I wonder why no one had heard us going down. Where was Mama and my other neighbors? I shudder to think that something could have happened to them because of me. And when I felt us emerge outside, didn't anyone see us? Admittedly it was early, but someone should have been out! It caused me a few sleepless nights afterwards to ponder why no one had seen, no one had stopped us.

I felt myself being thrown in a new-smelling car with leather seats, and the door was slammed behind me. Without another second the car began to drive. I quickly pressed myself against the door on the other side, trying to find the handle and open it with my foot, elbow, chin, anything, but I searched in vain for the better part of five minutes. I heard a dry, bone-chilling chuckle on the other side of the car, and curled into a ball on the floor, tears already running down my skin. Was he going to kill me? The thought of the secret admirer automatically linked with rape, and that sent me into a hysterical sobbing fit. I cried uninterrupted for quite some time. I do not know how long it was, but I finally stopped when the car stopped. Lifting my head slightly, the humming of surrounding cars reached my ears. The car must have stopped at a red light. I only had one chance, so I turned my head away and began to probe the gag with my tongue, near dry-heaving each time. It took a few minutes; thankfully the lights in New York are long. I had just spit it out when the car began to inch forward. After lifting my head higher and opening my mouth, I let out a howling scream which made the man sitting next to me start and exclaim in surprise. I was rewarded with a heavy blow to the cheek, which knocked my head against the door. The horrid cloth was put back in my mouth again, this time practically stuffed down my throat. My shoulders were seized and I was put on the leather seat, this time sitting upright. I sat stiffly; I had no idea what to do. Should I cry, fight, scream, plead? There was a deafening silence as I prepared myself for my horrendous fate.

After endless minutes sitting in this position I relaxed slightly, still sitting, but relieved of the tense muscles in my back. I was thirsty, and the car was hot. The man sitting next to me was not driving; he was on my right side, and when I let my foot wander for a few minutes I felt the back of the driver's seat. But the driver and the man remained mute. Without warning the car stopped suddenly, and I pitched forward. My nose smashed against the seat in front of me; it must have been comical if I had been watching, but I was feeling quite far from humorous. My eyes were stinging with humiliation and my nose was throbbing horribly. I could feel cold, pungent blood trickling down onto my lip. I was sweaty, hungry, tired, and confused, not to mention frightened out of my wits. How long had I been traveling in this car? Where was I going? These and other endless questions were hurtling through my mind, making it ache with the mere frustration of my situation. I do not want to waste paper with my angst; we drove like this for a few more anxious hours before the car crunched to a stop.

I felt a whoosh of warm air greet me as the man opened the door. I suddenly did not want to leave the car and curled in the corner, bringing my knees to my chest and curling my toes. But the man laughed again and dragged me out of the car. I hissed sharply as I put my bare feet down; it was gravel, from what I could tell. The rocks were putting pressure on my bruised foot, and I favored it heavily as I was pulled across a wide driveway. I finally felt my toes hit a stone step, and I jumped onto it gratefully. But I heard a key click and a door lock open, and I immediately went limp. I would not go into that house! You have no idea how much I struggled when I was picked up again. Even when my foot hit the door again I did not stop. I kicked the man in the stomach and shins, striking him in any way I could. Finally he dropped me. I hit the floor with a loud cry and the air was knocked out of my lungs. Tears were again in my eyes. I felt the man kneel down beside me.

"Get up," he commanded. I ignored him and worked on taking my breath back.

"Get up," he instructed again. His voice had lowered dangerously. I rolled away from him, and as soon as his hand was on my shoulder another voice, a beautiful voice, rang out, echoing around the room.

"Enough!"

The first time I heard Erik's voice I seriously thought for a split-second that I had died, gone to heaven, and that an angel was speaking for me. The man kneeling next to me immediately stood. I heard him stutter for a minute before another presence was felt. I heard the other man hiss suddenly.

"I tell you that she is supposed to be unharmed and you bring her here bound and gagged, with blood pouring out of her nose, her cheek black and blue, and her feet raw?"

"Well - I - she - "

The other man stuttered hopelessly for a few seconds before he stopped sharply. The new man knelt down beside me and I felt my hair pushed out of my face.

"Christine, excuse us for a moment."

He stood and left with the other man. I heard a door slam quite loudly. Even now I do not want to think about what happened. I shudder. I have never heard that man again. But those thoughts did not cross my mind. I was busy shivering; it had dropped forty degrees, and the perspiration from my body seemed to freeze. Icy air was creeping through my clothes and clinging to my skin. I sat up, wincing as I wrinkled my nose. There was another creak as the door opened, and only one person came back. It was the second man, the kinder man. He knelt down beside me, and I shied away from his presence.

"Good evening, Christine," he said to me. The gag was gently taken out of my mouth. I gasped at the free air as if it were chocolate, and that's what it tasted like to me at first. Crisp, cool air. I waited for him to take the blindfold off, but he only asked me to stand up, which I did, shakily. He took my arm and gently pulled me. I gasped as I walked; my feet were still sore and aching.

"Would you like me to carry you?" the man asked.

"No!" I said quickly, a little too quickly, and I can only imagine Erik's face when I think back on it. I heard him open a door and he took me inside another chilly room. He pushed me down gently on a a large, overstuffed chair. Something was tugging at my wrists, and soon the bonds were off. A sharp pain shot through my arm as something prodded the open wound; I later decided it had been Erik's long finger, unconsciously touching the raw flesh. I bit back a gasp and, feeling something suddenly around my face, I leaned back quickly, but my head was stopped by the back of the chair. The man was taking the blindfold off. I blinked my eyes a few times; it was rather dark in the room.

The first thing that stuck out really odd, believe it or not, was Erik's peculiar clothing. He had a long cloak that hung down to his ankles, a brocaded vest and cravat, and an evening jacket. I noticed he had long, thin hair that was brushed away from his face and yet framed it at the same time. And then I saw his mask. It was black and covered his entire face. I could only see his eyes, which were yellow and glowed like fire. He was staring at me with such intensity that I blushed.

"Please," I stuttered. "Don't hurt me...I don't have a lot of money, but you can have it - "

He silenced me with his hand. "I did not bring you here for that."

"Then why did you?"

He blinked a few times and stood up. "Come with me, Christine."

I frowned but was still afraid to disobey him, so I stood slowly. He turned and led me out of the room. I glanced around quickly and saw that it was a pretty library. There was no window. He led me out into a hall. Highly polished doors lined each side. At the last polished door on the left, he stopped. After pulling a key from his vest pocket he glanced at me and unlocked the door. I kept back when he opened it.

"This is your room, Christine."

"My room?" I repeated, taking a step back. "My room? You're going to...keep me here?"

He stared at me for a minute and said, as if it was the most obvious thing, "Of course."

Tears started in my eyes. I blinked furiously and hastily wiped my eyes with my wrists.

"I will leave you an hour to get freshened up," he told me matter-of-factly. I went into the dim room hesitantly and turned around to see that he was closing the door on me again. I heard the click of the lock and quickly jiggled the handle.

"What? No! Don't lock me - ! Please!" I pounded on the door, bruising my palm. With a cry I turned around and examined the room. It was also lit like a tavern, but it was huge and lavish, larger than my own apartment. A bed with crimson sheets was standing in the center, with nightstands on either side to match the wood and a beautiful vanity placed against the wall. A matching wardrobe towered to the ceiling. There was another door that was a few feet away from the bed. What was going on? I screamed and kicked the door, lightly though, so I did not damage my already tender feet. I was angry and afraid, and I reacted like an animal. I am not one of those people who contain their emotion. When I am sad, I cry. When I am angry, I scream. When I am hungry or thirsty, I complain.

Right then I was angry. I pulled over the nightstands, snarling and feeling only a small glimmer of satisfaction. Next I went over to the wardrobe and pulled it open. I did have to take a moment, however, and eye the clothes. They were all very pretty, and I almost regretted pulling them out one by one, but I quickly got over the feeling. My task was complete when I finished ripping the sheets off of the bed. I sighed softly and sat down in the middle of the mess. Suddenly feeling incredibly dirty, I realized that I had not showered since yesterday, and was still wearing my pajamas, which needed to be washed. Or burned, I thought, smiling bitterly. I grabbed my greasy hair and wrinkled my nose in disgust. Then I winced and rubbed it gingerly. It was still sore, along with my cheek and foot. I wallowed in self-pity until the man came back. He knocked.

"Christine?"

I didn't respond. He unlocked the door and slowly opened it. "You are decent, are you not?" When he saw me sitting amid the mess, I was at first terrified he was going to become angry, but he simply said softly, "You have certainly made yourself at home."

I glared at him. "Let me go home," I demanded. Again he blinked at me. I repeated my sentence over and over again, eventually turning to tears and crying.

"I cannot," he said finally, and I jumped up.

"Why not? What did I do? Do I deserve this? What was it?" I held my arms out pleadingly.

"I will give you one more hour, Christine," he said slowly to me. He turned around and once again locked me in. I screamed at him long after he was gone. Giving a shuddering sigh, I slid down the door, curled into a ball, and fell asleep, exhausted.