Chapter XIII

Taken

Author's Note: Usually I sit at my computer and type everything out in one long sitting...This chapter along with the next few, though, were written out before hand...while riding the bus home from work...and I now know why I use the computer...cause my handwriting sucks.

Elizabeth Monroe was seventy-two years old and as healthy as a horse, thank you very much. She'd lived every one of her years in Las Vegas and would die in the same. Her children, bless them, had tried to convince her to move closer to one of them, but New York was too cold and Collins, Indiana sounded far too dull for her tastes. No, she was content to stay in Vegas, her days filled with little projects and piano lessons...and occasional splurges at the nickel slots.

It was full night when she finished puttering around her sewing room. She went to the kitchen and opened a can of tuna. She hummed an old tune and opened the door. "Simon! Here kitty-kitty-kitty!" She walked out into her small front yard. The neighborhood, while not the best in the city, was nice. Young couples could push their strollers along the well-kept sidewalks without fear. The youngsters were playing a game of pick-up roller hockey in the couldesack's dead end circle. The teenagers clattered around, shouting to each other under the glow of the security lights. One of the girls looked up, "Hey Mrs. Monroe!" Elizabeth smiled at the pad-wearing, stick wielding roller-blader. "Why hello Yvonne! Have you seen Simon?" The girl paused, "No, sorry!" Then something happened and the girl rolled off at top speed, ramming by young Randy Mitchell to get to the ball...or puck or whatever it was they were aiming for. Elizabeth watched the game for a bit longer then turned and started looking for her missing cat again. "SIMON, DINNER!" She heard a clatter around the back of the house. "Simon if you're in the garbage I'll tan your kitty hide!"

She made her way around the house into the darkness of the backyard. "Simon!" If her husband were still alive, she was sure that the light in the back would be lighting her way, but Chester had gone to Jesus two years before...so she squinted into the shadows, looking for her mischievous tabby cat. "Simon!"

She didn't even get to scream when the large hand clamped down on her wrist, because another came over her mouth. She twisted and fought, but the man who held her was young, strong and relentless. She felt a sharp pain in her wrist and tears sprang to her eyes. He pulled her through the maze of the interconnected yards. She freed one of her arthritis-ridden hands up and clawed at her capturers face. she felt his skin rip and blood well under her well kept nails. He grunted, "You old bitch." He struck her hard across the face...the last thing she saw before giving into the complete blackness of unconsciousness were her neighbor's ugly lawn gnomes.

Simon the cat sat on the porch, meowing...He didn't understand where his owner had gone.

Elizabeth awoke stiff, and hot. She blinked, confused, this was not her home...where was she? Then it all returned to her: Simon, the man, darkness, the pain. She tried to sit up, but could not. Her feet were tied together with a thick hunk of rope...so were her hands. The pain in those was the worst. Her wrist screamed, she realized that it had to be broken. She looked around, hoping to find something that might be able to free her. There was glass in the corner and she tried to move closer to them. A voice cut through the silence and stopped her. "I wouldn't do that, Grandmother." She looked up...The speaker was no grandchild of hers...In a sudden flash of morbid insight, she knew...she knew that she was going to die...that this man was going to kill her. A tear slid down her weathered cheek. He bent down to wipe it away and she jerked her head to the side, she didn't want this...filth to touch her. He did anyway, wiping the tear off of her cheek. Another one slid out to replace it. "Don't cry, Grandmother, I'm not going to hurt you..." He reached over and took something from the rickety metal table. It was a hospital mask, one that was supposed to give oxygen to patients...As he put it over her head, she fought...it was not oxygen coming through the tubes...it was something else...something that would most assuredly kill her. He smiled down at her. "You may have forgotten Vegas, Grandmother, but Vegas will never forget you. You'll be an icon, like the strip itself, you will glow...never forgotten...never forgotten."

Her lungs began to burn and she began to thrash her small body, cursing osteoporosis and old age... A sharp pain cut through her chest, worst then any heartburn...she knew what it was, her fuzzy brain supplied the name, heart attack. She jerked and thrashed, then she lay still...as the world went gray she saw Chester, as young and vital as the day they'd gotten married. He was holding a hand out to her. She took it. Elizabeth Monroe died at ten o'clock on a Wednesday morning.

Author's Note: You know that nice old lady who always baked cookies for everyone on your block? Yeah, he just killed her. He's probably the worst "villain" I've ever written...and he's not done yet.