Well, I just needed to write more, not sure if I'll finish this in time to
post it tonight, but we'll see.
Long into her journey, Sara's eyes had adjusted to her own personal hell. She was cramped, uncomfortable, but at least her headache had started to subside. By this point of the ride, she felt a great deal better than when she was first stuffed into the trunk of the car.
She had already wriggled around the small space, looking for anything useful, either as a weapon, or as a tool to free herself from her binds. Finding neither, she realized a weapon in her current predicament would prove almost impossible to use. How does a person attack another while their hands are tied behind their back? She did not know.
What she did know was she'd prepared herself the moment she felt the car pull to a stop. She'd rolled over onto her back to allow for a better position to kick out at her assailant in hopes that she'd incapacitate the man, just long enough to get free of the car, and run to safety. She'd only get the one chance, she feared, and was not about to let it go to waste.
That chance would come sooner than expected when the car turned sharply, and slowed to a stop. A driveway perhaps? Or just some abandoned street outside of town? She didn't know if she really wanted to find out, but knew momentarily she would. She heard the pop of the truck, and braced herself for her big moment.
Ready to kick out at the first sign of her captor being in close range, she waited. She listened, but heard nothing. Waited, listened, waited some more, then click, she heard the distinctive sound of the safety mechanism of a firearm disengage itself.
'Crap,' was her only thought. The sound had come from behind her, so to speak. Actually, from the side of the car nearest her head. By far out of her legs' reach. Joey grabbed her upper arm, pulling her forcefully out of the trunk. On the way, she cut a gash into her opposite arm, having it catch on a sharp, protruding, and as yet unidentified object.
She would have cried out in pain, if not for the duct tape that stifled any noise she happened to make. She would have cursed, and did in her mind, several times in fact as a response to the sting in her arm and the returning pounding in her head. She wasn't sure just how much more of this she could take.
She tried to pull free, to no avail, and kicked the man several times. If this caused him any pain at all, he did not show it. Finally, she opted for the if-you-are-going-to-take-me-you'll-have-to-drag-me approach. This too failed, as the man just lifted her off the ground effortlessly and carried her to their destination.
The destination, as it turned out was a small home, almost cottage looking, or it would have been if not for the expanse of desert that surrounded it. As she previously suspected, they were indeed out of town. And by the look of it, a great distance from the nearest neighbour.
Being the investigator she was, she looked about for anything that might help her if she did happen to escape. She noted the lack of hydro and telephone wires to the house, never a good sign if one was hoping to alert the police to their whereabouts. She also noted just how dark it truly was that night. Without the typical glow of the Las Vegas lights she had grown so accustomed to, things seemed so bleak, so uninviting.
That brief look would be all of the outside world she'd have the chance at seeing, for at this point, Joey had made it to the front door of the home. After pushing open the unsecured door, he threw Sara to the ground, and went to work on the locks. From what she could see, he had a chain, a deadbolt, and a keyed lock, which locked from the inside. The set-up resembling much to which a person suffering from paranoia might rig up.
Fitting, she thought to herself. A kidnapper paranoid of the outside world. Or perhaps, she thought, the locks weren't for keeping people out. She came to realize the locks were more likely about keeping people in. What else had the man done to this place? Bars on the windows? Booby traps near the exits? She figured no to both thoughts, but with a man of his apparent mentality, she wouldn't put it past him.
She pushed herself into a seated position, trying to get a better look at the cut on her arm, but couldn't really see it. Not only due to the lack of light, but also because of the awkward angle her arms had been forced into. From the corner of her eye, she saw the man come toward her, and then tower over her briefly. From her place on the floor, he truly looked like a large man, though she didn't believe he actually was.
"Are you *comfortable* now?" He asked rather snidely, knowing he wasn't going to get an answer. Knowing he couldn't get an answer. He pulled her to her feet and led her to a room around the backside of the house. It was clearly a bedroom, but missing anything that could lead you to believe a person regularly used it. All it housed was a bed, a small dresser, a single window, and what appeared to be a closet.
The realization that she was in a bedroom with a kidnapper didn't sit well with her. She began to sob uncontrollably as memories filled her mind of a time she'd sooner forget. Granted, there wasn't a bed, or even a home associated with her past experience. It had occurred in the cold, unforgiving halls of her sanctuary, the university. It was late, and she was alone, or so she had thought.
She chastised herself for once again allowing those memories, those nightmares, to fill her thoughts. She wanted to be strong. She didn't want anyone, especially this man to see her defeated, broken inside. She wanted to portray the strong woman, the independent woman, the one whom no matter how things unfolded, was still in control of her own mind, if not the situation itself.
She hated the feeling that came when she lost control. Even more she hated the feeling that came over her when she was forced onto the bed. For the first time in years, she wanted to die. And she wanted to take this bastard with her.
Long into her journey, Sara's eyes had adjusted to her own personal hell. She was cramped, uncomfortable, but at least her headache had started to subside. By this point of the ride, she felt a great deal better than when she was first stuffed into the trunk of the car.
She had already wriggled around the small space, looking for anything useful, either as a weapon, or as a tool to free herself from her binds. Finding neither, she realized a weapon in her current predicament would prove almost impossible to use. How does a person attack another while their hands are tied behind their back? She did not know.
What she did know was she'd prepared herself the moment she felt the car pull to a stop. She'd rolled over onto her back to allow for a better position to kick out at her assailant in hopes that she'd incapacitate the man, just long enough to get free of the car, and run to safety. She'd only get the one chance, she feared, and was not about to let it go to waste.
That chance would come sooner than expected when the car turned sharply, and slowed to a stop. A driveway perhaps? Or just some abandoned street outside of town? She didn't know if she really wanted to find out, but knew momentarily she would. She heard the pop of the truck, and braced herself for her big moment.
Ready to kick out at the first sign of her captor being in close range, she waited. She listened, but heard nothing. Waited, listened, waited some more, then click, she heard the distinctive sound of the safety mechanism of a firearm disengage itself.
'Crap,' was her only thought. The sound had come from behind her, so to speak. Actually, from the side of the car nearest her head. By far out of her legs' reach. Joey grabbed her upper arm, pulling her forcefully out of the trunk. On the way, she cut a gash into her opposite arm, having it catch on a sharp, protruding, and as yet unidentified object.
She would have cried out in pain, if not for the duct tape that stifled any noise she happened to make. She would have cursed, and did in her mind, several times in fact as a response to the sting in her arm and the returning pounding in her head. She wasn't sure just how much more of this she could take.
She tried to pull free, to no avail, and kicked the man several times. If this caused him any pain at all, he did not show it. Finally, she opted for the if-you-are-going-to-take-me-you'll-have-to-drag-me approach. This too failed, as the man just lifted her off the ground effortlessly and carried her to their destination.
The destination, as it turned out was a small home, almost cottage looking, or it would have been if not for the expanse of desert that surrounded it. As she previously suspected, they were indeed out of town. And by the look of it, a great distance from the nearest neighbour.
Being the investigator she was, she looked about for anything that might help her if she did happen to escape. She noted the lack of hydro and telephone wires to the house, never a good sign if one was hoping to alert the police to their whereabouts. She also noted just how dark it truly was that night. Without the typical glow of the Las Vegas lights she had grown so accustomed to, things seemed so bleak, so uninviting.
That brief look would be all of the outside world she'd have the chance at seeing, for at this point, Joey had made it to the front door of the home. After pushing open the unsecured door, he threw Sara to the ground, and went to work on the locks. From what she could see, he had a chain, a deadbolt, and a keyed lock, which locked from the inside. The set-up resembling much to which a person suffering from paranoia might rig up.
Fitting, she thought to herself. A kidnapper paranoid of the outside world. Or perhaps, she thought, the locks weren't for keeping people out. She came to realize the locks were more likely about keeping people in. What else had the man done to this place? Bars on the windows? Booby traps near the exits? She figured no to both thoughts, but with a man of his apparent mentality, she wouldn't put it past him.
She pushed herself into a seated position, trying to get a better look at the cut on her arm, but couldn't really see it. Not only due to the lack of light, but also because of the awkward angle her arms had been forced into. From the corner of her eye, she saw the man come toward her, and then tower over her briefly. From her place on the floor, he truly looked like a large man, though she didn't believe he actually was.
"Are you *comfortable* now?" He asked rather snidely, knowing he wasn't going to get an answer. Knowing he couldn't get an answer. He pulled her to her feet and led her to a room around the backside of the house. It was clearly a bedroom, but missing anything that could lead you to believe a person regularly used it. All it housed was a bed, a small dresser, a single window, and what appeared to be a closet.
The realization that she was in a bedroom with a kidnapper didn't sit well with her. She began to sob uncontrollably as memories filled her mind of a time she'd sooner forget. Granted, there wasn't a bed, or even a home associated with her past experience. It had occurred in the cold, unforgiving halls of her sanctuary, the university. It was late, and she was alone, or so she had thought.
She chastised herself for once again allowing those memories, those nightmares, to fill her thoughts. She wanted to be strong. She didn't want anyone, especially this man to see her defeated, broken inside. She wanted to portray the strong woman, the independent woman, the one whom no matter how things unfolded, was still in control of her own mind, if not the situation itself.
She hated the feeling that came when she lost control. Even more she hated the feeling that came over her when she was forced onto the bed. For the first time in years, she wanted to die. And she wanted to take this bastard with her.
