Note: So sorry for taking so long to update. I've just been hella busy.
Thanks to the few of you who reviewed. It really means a lot to me. Please
take the time, after reading this, to review, even if it's just to say that
you like the story, or you don't like it, or whatnot. As long as I know
that ya'll are actually reading it. Lol. Anyway, enjoy!
The hard, concrete floor was cold under my back. I struggled with the ropes that bound my hands and feet.
Blinking against the harsh, bright light of the room, I quickly looked around. I was trying to find a means of escape, but what I saw instead stilled my heart in my chest and froze my breath in my lungs.
Pictures. Pictures of mom, daddy, and me. Ranging from when I was about four or five to just a few weeks ago. I gasped, my heart now beating wildly, as my eyes flew around the room to the various photographs.
"Oh, you're awake," a voice said from behind me. My lip quavered. I struggled to roll around, to face my captor, but I couldn't move. He chuckled quietly, before stepping in front of me and letting my eyes rest on his face.
I gasped again. "You're that guy. The one from the picture at Catherine's house."
His lips turned up in a half-smile. "I don't think we've been properly introduced. Amy Stokes, I'm Hank Peddigrew."
"How do you know my name? And why did you take me?" The questions flew out my mouth before I could stop them.
He chuckled again. "Well, I have one answer that will work for both questions." He paused, a smile still frozen on his lips. "I know your name, and I took you, because you are my daughter."
My jaw dropped. I sat in silence for a moment. Suddenly, a laugh burst out of my mouth. "Woah..you definitely have the wrong girl," I said, relief flooding through my body. "I know who my dad is, and you're not him. He and my mom were killed in a car accident a few days ago."
"I know they died, Amy, because I was the one who tampered with the brakes and caused them to have the accident." The smile melted from my face. There's no way he could have known about the brakes.
"Why would you do that?" I choked out.
"Because, as I said before, you are my daughter." Impatience was putting an edge in his voice, making it hard and cold.
"No," I choked out, shaking my head.
He nodded his head. Suddenly, his eyes flicked to my shirt, and his grin widened. "That was your mother's shirt. She wore it the night I went to her." The memory put a distant glaze over his eyes.
"Aunt Catherine said that you cheated on my mom," I said, fighting to keep my voice steady and unwavering.
"I did. But your mother was too smart; she figured it out. And then so did Elaine. So, the night Elaine dumped me, I got myself drunk and headed over to your mother's apartment." He paused, a sleazy, lop-sided grin forming. "And that was the night that you were made." He watched my face. I took a few deep breaths and slowly counted to ten.
A tear trickled out the corner of my eye and made its way crookedly down to my chin. I moved my shoulder to rub away the tear, sniffling to myself. I looked down, slow sobs shaking my body.
Raped. My mother was raped. I'm the product of a rape. The thoughts were racing through my brain, bouncing off each other, wreaking havoc on my emotions.
Hank looked down at his watch. "Oh!" He exclaimed. "It's time for your nap." He pulled a syringe out of his pocket. "Goodnight, Amy." He plunged the needle into my arm.
"No," I whispered. I struggled against the ropes, trying to stay awake. "No," I repeated again, as sleep once more overtook me.
The hard, concrete floor was cold under my back. I struggled with the ropes that bound my hands and feet.
Blinking against the harsh, bright light of the room, I quickly looked around. I was trying to find a means of escape, but what I saw instead stilled my heart in my chest and froze my breath in my lungs.
Pictures. Pictures of mom, daddy, and me. Ranging from when I was about four or five to just a few weeks ago. I gasped, my heart now beating wildly, as my eyes flew around the room to the various photographs.
"Oh, you're awake," a voice said from behind me. My lip quavered. I struggled to roll around, to face my captor, but I couldn't move. He chuckled quietly, before stepping in front of me and letting my eyes rest on his face.
I gasped again. "You're that guy. The one from the picture at Catherine's house."
His lips turned up in a half-smile. "I don't think we've been properly introduced. Amy Stokes, I'm Hank Peddigrew."
"How do you know my name? And why did you take me?" The questions flew out my mouth before I could stop them.
He chuckled again. "Well, I have one answer that will work for both questions." He paused, a smile still frozen on his lips. "I know your name, and I took you, because you are my daughter."
My jaw dropped. I sat in silence for a moment. Suddenly, a laugh burst out of my mouth. "Woah..you definitely have the wrong girl," I said, relief flooding through my body. "I know who my dad is, and you're not him. He and my mom were killed in a car accident a few days ago."
"I know they died, Amy, because I was the one who tampered with the brakes and caused them to have the accident." The smile melted from my face. There's no way he could have known about the brakes.
"Why would you do that?" I choked out.
"Because, as I said before, you are my daughter." Impatience was putting an edge in his voice, making it hard and cold.
"No," I choked out, shaking my head.
He nodded his head. Suddenly, his eyes flicked to my shirt, and his grin widened. "That was your mother's shirt. She wore it the night I went to her." The memory put a distant glaze over his eyes.
"Aunt Catherine said that you cheated on my mom," I said, fighting to keep my voice steady and unwavering.
"I did. But your mother was too smart; she figured it out. And then so did Elaine. So, the night Elaine dumped me, I got myself drunk and headed over to your mother's apartment." He paused, a sleazy, lop-sided grin forming. "And that was the night that you were made." He watched my face. I took a few deep breaths and slowly counted to ten.
A tear trickled out the corner of my eye and made its way crookedly down to my chin. I moved my shoulder to rub away the tear, sniffling to myself. I looked down, slow sobs shaking my body.
Raped. My mother was raped. I'm the product of a rape. The thoughts were racing through my brain, bouncing off each other, wreaking havoc on my emotions.
Hank looked down at his watch. "Oh!" He exclaimed. "It's time for your nap." He pulled a syringe out of his pocket. "Goodnight, Amy." He plunged the needle into my arm.
"No," I whispered. I struggled against the ropes, trying to stay awake. "No," I repeated again, as sleep once more overtook me.