Chapter Six
*Boy, we were so wrong about Jack.* Sam thought as she strained to hear the sounds from above. She knew there was something going on up there and she was fairly certain that Jack and the baby were nowhere near her. *I just want this to end…forever.*
After three years of not hearing a word from him, Jack came back…in a big way.
John had just left for work and Sam was drifting back to sleep, despite the pain in her back and the fact that she couldn't sleep on her stomach as she liked to, when she heard the front door opening. Thinking it was John coming back because he forgot something, Sam extracted her bulk from the warm bed and padded to the hallway. When she looked towards the foyer, the figure standing in the doorway was not John. Sam gasped and her mind froze with terror. JACK.
He stood in the living room, looking at various framed pictures on the mantle of the brick fireplace. When Sam had emerged from the hall, he had instantly spotted her.
"Ah…Samantha…" the serial killer whispered. Hearing the voice she hated so much jerked Sam back to reality. Her FBI training kicked in and she instantly weighed her chances of making it to the hall closet where John's extra gun was. *Duh, Sam! You can't reach it without a ladder,* she thought, then went for the swinging kitchen doors, intent on finding the largest knife she could get her hands on. Jack realized what she was doing and pursued. Sam was ahead, only because the bastard had to jump over the couch, but Sam lost her lead struggling with nervous hands to open the kitchen drawers. *There's no way I can fight.* Nevertheless, fight she did. Sam lashed out at Jack with the knife, slicing his arm and causing him to cry out in pain before he grabbed her forcibly and crushed her hand into the kitchen counter, making her drop the knife. *If I weren't pregnant, I'd be able to run.*
Disregarding the bloody knife on the ground, Jack extracted a .45 from his coat pocket. Sam flinched as she heard the metallic click of the slug being loaded into the chamber. She wanted nothing more than to be able to run, but she knew by the look in his eyes that he would shoot her if she tried. Despite that, she knew she had to do something. *When John comes home and I'm not here, he won't think of Jack. It's been too long. I have to remind him, I have got to make the biggest mess possible. Then, John will know I was abducted.*
"I will kill you, Samantha," Jack told her menacingly. Images of all the people Jack had slaughtered, her daughter included, flashed through her over-active imagination as Jack reached for her. When she pulled away disgustedly, Jack grabbed her hand. As a last resort, Sam flung out her other arm, knocking glasses, plates, and even appliances, to the tile floor. It was hard, but she succeeded on making a mess. Jack dragged her into the living room, where she proceeded to knock over vases, picture frames, and anything else light enough to be disturbed.
"Stop it!!" Jack finally yelled, pointing the gun straight at her. Sam stopped instantly, the psychologist in her starting to analyze him, knowing that he wasn't bluffing. Although she didn't want to give him the satisfaction of seeing her afraid, she could feel the tears sliding down her cheeks. *He will kill me right here. He feels betrayed because I married John and am having his baby. He hates me for it.*
"We are leaving now, Samantha. If you don't do exactly what I say, you will die."
The memories of Jack's victims came back, this time accompanied by images of their grieving families. Even if Jack killed her, she would not die in the house. She wouldn't allow John to return home to find his wife and unborn child dead in a pool of blood on the living room carpet. *He cannot have that memory.*
Jack forced Sam out of the house, leaving the door wide open, and into a gray van that waited in the driveway. He left her in the darkness, locking the double doors. Sam could hear him climbing into the front. Then, she heard him talking to someone, but couldn't make out what he was saying. No voice replied, so she surmised that her was talking on a telephone. Either that, or he was talking to himself. *That wouldn't surprise me,* Sam thought, as the tears continued to fall.
When the van stopped, Sam saw that they had been driving for forty- five minutes. Another eight or nine hours before John would come home from work to find her gone. The double doors opened, and Jack climbed into the back with her. Before Sam knew what was going on, he struck her in the back of her head with some sort of blunt object, rendering her unconscious.
The first pain of a contraction woke Sam from her semi-comatose state.
"Oh…God, no…" she whispered, her eyes adjusting to the darkness. She struggled, only to find her hands cuffed behind a support beam.
"Help me! Somebody help me!" she yelled. Jack came out of the darkness and slapped her face.
"Shut up!" he growled.
"What do you want from me?!" Sam yelled back, afraid. Her face stung where he had struck her, but it was nothing compared to the contractions she was trying to hide from him. He will not get my baby.
"Isn't it obvious, Samantha? I want you!"
"We've already had this conversation, Jack" she answered, remembering their meeting at the train station when he had tried to kill Nick Cooper.
"That was a long time ago. Besides, now you're with someone else. Will you never learn that I'm the only one for you?"
"Go fuck yourself."
"That's not nice, Samantha."
"To hell with you." Sam replied, fighting another contraction. They were far apart; she still had time, she just wondered how long. Jack reached out to touch her face, but she yanked her head away.
"Why will you let him touch you, but not me?"
"I love him. I'll never love you."
"But look what he's done to you…"
"I'm glad he did. You can do a lot of things to me, Jack, but you will never do what John can do, never. If I ever was going to have your child, I'd kill myself."
"Not if I kill you first…" Jack replied, and struck her again. She immediately felt warm blood on her lips. Hitting her repeatedly, she passed out.
*Boy, we were so wrong about Jack.* Sam thought as she strained to hear the sounds from above. She knew there was something going on up there and she was fairly certain that Jack and the baby were nowhere near her. *I just want this to end…forever.*
After three years of not hearing a word from him, Jack came back…in a big way.
John had just left for work and Sam was drifting back to sleep, despite the pain in her back and the fact that she couldn't sleep on her stomach as she liked to, when she heard the front door opening. Thinking it was John coming back because he forgot something, Sam extracted her bulk from the warm bed and padded to the hallway. When she looked towards the foyer, the figure standing in the doorway was not John. Sam gasped and her mind froze with terror. JACK.
He stood in the living room, looking at various framed pictures on the mantle of the brick fireplace. When Sam had emerged from the hall, he had instantly spotted her.
"Ah…Samantha…" the serial killer whispered. Hearing the voice she hated so much jerked Sam back to reality. Her FBI training kicked in and she instantly weighed her chances of making it to the hall closet where John's extra gun was. *Duh, Sam! You can't reach it without a ladder,* she thought, then went for the swinging kitchen doors, intent on finding the largest knife she could get her hands on. Jack realized what she was doing and pursued. Sam was ahead, only because the bastard had to jump over the couch, but Sam lost her lead struggling with nervous hands to open the kitchen drawers. *There's no way I can fight.* Nevertheless, fight she did. Sam lashed out at Jack with the knife, slicing his arm and causing him to cry out in pain before he grabbed her forcibly and crushed her hand into the kitchen counter, making her drop the knife. *If I weren't pregnant, I'd be able to run.*
Disregarding the bloody knife on the ground, Jack extracted a .45 from his coat pocket. Sam flinched as she heard the metallic click of the slug being loaded into the chamber. She wanted nothing more than to be able to run, but she knew by the look in his eyes that he would shoot her if she tried. Despite that, she knew she had to do something. *When John comes home and I'm not here, he won't think of Jack. It's been too long. I have to remind him, I have got to make the biggest mess possible. Then, John will know I was abducted.*
"I will kill you, Samantha," Jack told her menacingly. Images of all the people Jack had slaughtered, her daughter included, flashed through her over-active imagination as Jack reached for her. When she pulled away disgustedly, Jack grabbed her hand. As a last resort, Sam flung out her other arm, knocking glasses, plates, and even appliances, to the tile floor. It was hard, but she succeeded on making a mess. Jack dragged her into the living room, where she proceeded to knock over vases, picture frames, and anything else light enough to be disturbed.
"Stop it!!" Jack finally yelled, pointing the gun straight at her. Sam stopped instantly, the psychologist in her starting to analyze him, knowing that he wasn't bluffing. Although she didn't want to give him the satisfaction of seeing her afraid, she could feel the tears sliding down her cheeks. *He will kill me right here. He feels betrayed because I married John and am having his baby. He hates me for it.*
"We are leaving now, Samantha. If you don't do exactly what I say, you will die."
The memories of Jack's victims came back, this time accompanied by images of their grieving families. Even if Jack killed her, she would not die in the house. She wouldn't allow John to return home to find his wife and unborn child dead in a pool of blood on the living room carpet. *He cannot have that memory.*
Jack forced Sam out of the house, leaving the door wide open, and into a gray van that waited in the driveway. He left her in the darkness, locking the double doors. Sam could hear him climbing into the front. Then, she heard him talking to someone, but couldn't make out what he was saying. No voice replied, so she surmised that her was talking on a telephone. Either that, or he was talking to himself. *That wouldn't surprise me,* Sam thought, as the tears continued to fall.
When the van stopped, Sam saw that they had been driving for forty- five minutes. Another eight or nine hours before John would come home from work to find her gone. The double doors opened, and Jack climbed into the back with her. Before Sam knew what was going on, he struck her in the back of her head with some sort of blunt object, rendering her unconscious.
The first pain of a contraction woke Sam from her semi-comatose state.
"Oh…God, no…" she whispered, her eyes adjusting to the darkness. She struggled, only to find her hands cuffed behind a support beam.
"Help me! Somebody help me!" she yelled. Jack came out of the darkness and slapped her face.
"Shut up!" he growled.
"What do you want from me?!" Sam yelled back, afraid. Her face stung where he had struck her, but it was nothing compared to the contractions she was trying to hide from him. He will not get my baby.
"Isn't it obvious, Samantha? I want you!"
"We've already had this conversation, Jack" she answered, remembering their meeting at the train station when he had tried to kill Nick Cooper.
"That was a long time ago. Besides, now you're with someone else. Will you never learn that I'm the only one for you?"
"Go fuck yourself."
"That's not nice, Samantha."
"To hell with you." Sam replied, fighting another contraction. They were far apart; she still had time, she just wondered how long. Jack reached out to touch her face, but she yanked her head away.
"Why will you let him touch you, but not me?"
"I love him. I'll never love you."
"But look what he's done to you…"
"I'm glad he did. You can do a lot of things to me, Jack, but you will never do what John can do, never. If I ever was going to have your child, I'd kill myself."
"Not if I kill you first…" Jack replied, and struck her again. She immediately felt warm blood on her lips. Hitting her repeatedly, she passed out.