Warning: Violence ensues.

Chapter Ten: Futile Resistance

Charlie knew his head hurt. He just couldn't recall exactly why. His brain felt fuzzy and there was an intense pounding throb just above his left ear. He shook his head to clear it and quickly realized that was a mistake when he felt his stomach turn over. He fought the wave of nausea that swept over him and repressed the urge to vomit. He could feel motion and hear what sounded like a highway, but when he opened his eyes, there was only darkness.

A moment later a red tinged luminosity filled the space. He was in the trunk of a car. In the glow of the brake lights he could just make out the spare tire that was propped next to him. He was lying with his hands behind him, facing the back. When Charlie tried to move his arms, he found that he couldn't. A wave of panic rushed through him and Charlie fought hard to stay calm. What had happened? What was going on? He tried to recall the events of the afternoon and the scene began to play behind his eyes like a home movie.

He had been in his office preparing for class. Someone…big guy…blond….had walked into the room.

……

"Professor Eppes? I need you to come with me."

"Excuse me?"

"We can do this the easy way or the hard way Professor."

Two other men entered the room behind him, shutting and locking his door.

"What's going on?"

Charlie reached for his cell phone, but the man swiftly cleared the distance between them and wrenched it away. He grabbed Charlie's left wrist and twisted hard. Charlie started to yell, but the man hit him hard in the stomach knocking the wind out him. The pain rocketed across his still bruised torso and he felt his knees give out. Charlie hit the floor gasping for air.

"I guess you would prefer the hard way then?"

His stared up at his attacker. The stranger's eyes flashed with an intensity that chilled Charlie to the core. This guy wanted to kill him. What had he done to enrage him so?

Did he fail anyone last semester?

He tried to remember, but the hulking man reached down and grabbed a handful of dark curls, pulling Charlie to his feet.

"Shall we go then? We have a schedule to keep."

Without waiting for an answer he headed for the door dragging Charlie by the hair.

Charlie instantly altered his thoughts to numerical observations and memorized statistics.

Twenty three hundred American adults reported missing everyday. Of a yearly total only ten percent of those are true "abductions". Ninety percent of those are sexually motivated. Two point six percent are held for ransom. Less than one half of one percent of true "abductions" ends in murder. The calculations flew through his mind at light speed. Ninety Seven point six percent of adult missing persons are found in the first twenty four hours, one point three percent recovered beyond that time table and one point one percent never recovered. Using basic probability theory and statistical analysis, Charlie quickly established that the odds were against him. If they got him out of this building, he was as good as dead.

Almost instinctively, Charlie reached for something to defend himself with. His fingers closed around a heavy glass object on his desk. He swung it at his assailant. There was a loud crack as he made contact with man's head and the glass object shattered.

He released his grip on Charlie's hair and staggered backwards.

Charlie scrambled back behind his desk, astounded by the boldness of his own actions. Trying to clearly calculate the proper trajectory in his frantic state, he grabbed the next thing he saw; his lightweight computer monitor, and hurled it hard at the two other men who were heading toward him. He followed that with text books, desk trays, all his pencils and the oversized red coffee mug he kept chalk in.

The approaching men tried to duck and dodge his barrage of flying objects with little success. One of them lunged across the desk to make a grab for him, the other circling around from behind. Charlie seized his letter opener and slashed out across the desk, lacerating that man's forearm with his makeshift weapon and splattering blood across the papers covering the surface. He kicked his chair out at the third man, approaching from the side. Now the first goon had regained his balance and was staggering back toward him.

Charlie vaulted himself over his desk and made a mad dash for the door.

He didn't make it.

His first attacker, now bleeding heavily from a gash above his eye, grabbed Charlie by the arm and slung him against the wall. The force of his body striking the wall knocked several framed diplomas to the ground. The man stomped across the floor, shattering the glass in the frames and grabbed the front of Charlie's shirt, slinging him across the room and into the chalkboards.

"I was told not to hurt you. You're making that very difficult!"

Then in one swift motion, he picked Charlie up and hurled him across the desk, where he hit the wall and slid to the ground. The impact knocked the air out of him and brought tears to his eyes. Charlie pushed himself up on his hands and knees trying to catch his breath. He was certain all this noise could not go unnoticed. Please, let somebody hear them. As if in answer to his silent prayer, someone knocked loudly on the door.

"Charles? Are you in there?"

All three men stopped in their tracks. Each silently pulled a pistol and almost simultaneously aimed it at the closed door.

He had opened his mouth to call out a warning, but one of his adversaries slammed the butt of his gun against the side of Charlie's head. A ball of white light exploded in his skull. His vision was reduced to a narrow, blurry tunnel, but Charlie could make out the sadistic expression on his captors face as Larry continued to speak in an anxious tone.

"I did not want to have to do this, Charles. Destruction of property is not your customary way of dealing with issues. I feel I am obligated to call someone."

He felt the pistol hit him again and the tunnel closed leaving him in darkness.

……………………

Now he was in darkness of a different kind. Charlie reviewed the statistics that had prompted his desperate attempt to fight off his abductors. Now he was in a stranger's car with his hands bound behind his back. He was sure that he would soon be part of the one half of one percent. His hair was plastered to the side of his face by something sticky. Was he bleeding? How badly was he injured? Had anyone reported him missing? Did Don know? The thought of his brother and the last time he saw him was overwhelming. What if he never got the chance to fix things with Don? Charlie swallowed hard. He wasn't going to cry. These men would never see him cry. Charlie concentrated on what he knew would bring him comfort.

He was able to fight back tears, but he would not prevent his thoughts from consuming him.

Don was right.

Charlie was terrified beyond the realms of rational thought.

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Next Chapter : Unprecedented Trepidation