Chapter 6: Misery

She was organizing her thoughts again. Making an agenda. It helped her get through the day or the night or whatever time it was. She hadn't slept much and none of it well. She was confused, because she couldn't see if it was day or night. Three nights, she thought. At least there had been three greasy breakfast sandwiches. There'd been only two cold McDonald's hamburgers so far. She was expecting the third at any time.

There were two men guarding her, she'd figured out that much. The one who came in the morning was the one she'd kicked in the groin. In her mind he was Ski Mask Man. The other one brought her dinner, and she was certain she'd broken this guy's nose with her head-butt. He spoke with a nasally twang that she thought was a recent acquisition. He got it when her head connected with his face. She thought of him as Broken Nose Guy. Her stomach growled and reminded her he was due soon. Wherever they were holding her, it must be near a McDonald's. That wasn't much of a clue though as there were McDonald's all over Trenton.

Her feet were so cold. She thought about pulling off her sweatshirt and wrapping it around her feet, but she'd neglected to put a bra on under the sweatshirt, and she was not going to risk Broken Nose Guy coming in to find her undressed. She walked from the dining room back to the living room and sat on the sofa with her feet curled under her. Oh Dear God! She was completely losing it. She had made up imaginary rooms in her small prison. Next thing, she would be balling her accumulated trash, painting a face on it with leftover ketchup and calling it Wilson! Solitary confinement was making her go crazy.

She looked over at her trash. All the accumulated greasy bags, sandwich wrappers, and precious leftover napkins—her toilet paper—sat in a neat stack in the corner. The leftover ketchup and salt and pepper packets were stacked, also neatly, on the wooden table. She was keeping her home away from home more organized than her own apartment. Well, there was less to clutter up the place.

She didn't think she was crazy yet. It's just that there were so many hours to fill in the day, and so much uncertainty. Her two captors weren't telling her anything, and they wouldn't answer any of her questions. It had occurred to her there might be a monetary purpose in keeping her holed up. Maybe they'd made contact with Ranger and were demanding a ransom. Maybe they were waiting on payment.

Ranger! Her heart broke when she thought of the turmoil he must be going through. He was big and strong and competent, and he took care of everyone, but no one took care of him. No one but her. Slowly, she'd been finding the little chinks in his armor. The little cracks where she could let her love sink in and heal him. When they got engaged, he'd told her he was still a brute, and she believed him. She wanted to help him find his softer side. Brute was fine, on occasion, but there were going to be situations in his future where brute wouldn't work. She could help him with that. She needed to get out of here, for her, but also for Ranger. He was alone without her.

She pressed her hand to her empty stomach. These guys were feeding her fast food and a bottle of water, twice a day. It wasn't much, but it was enough for her to realize they didn't want her dead … yet. Ski Mask Man had said as much the first day he delivered the food. It gave her time to hope for a rescue, but also to plan an escape. She'd start by figuring out where she was. She could hear the low rumble of voices overhead again, followed by the odor of cigar smoke. She didn't know if that had any meaning, but she made a mental note of it.

She had no idea how far from her apartment they had driven her, but she was pretty sure they were still in Trenton. Other than that, she hadn't a clue. The room looked familiar. She'd sensed that she had been here before, or maybe just someplace like it. She'd been pondering for three days. And now, it came to her suddenly. It looked like the dungeon that she and Ranger had rescued Dougie Kruper and Mooner from. Her empty stomach contracted, and if she'd had any food in the last eight hours, she would have been sick.

She made another visual inspection of her room, and realized there was something in the darkened corner that she had been unconsciously avoiding. She was the queen of denial, after all. The light from the one bulb was dim and getting dimmer, and that corner was the darkest part of her prison. She probably needed to get up and go to the far corner to make certain, but she wasn't sure she wanted to confirm what it was.

It looked like chains dangling from metal rings set into the cement-block wall. There were four of them, two about shoulder height, and two down near the floor. Wicked-looking shackles were attached to the chains. The kind you could chain someone to, but she couldn't be certain unless she walked over for a closer look. She didn't move off the sofa, because just the memory of the room Mooner and Dougie had been tortured and nearly died in was enough for little tendrils of terror to start worming their way through her. It had been a dungeon in the home of Louie and Sophia DeStefano.

Louie, with his mob connections, had needed a room where he could conduct his unholy business. This windowless room, this basement where she was being held had all the markings of the same decorator Louie D had used. But why would the Mob grab her? What could they possibly want with a lowly ex-bounty hunter who didn't mess with them or their people? And what were they planning on doing with her in this room? Her heart thudded uneasily, her stomach roiled, and her hunger was momentarily forgotten.

The sound of a key in the lock alerted her. She jumped to her feet and faced her captor. Broken Nose Guy was different from Ski Mask Man, more thickset through the chest and meaner sounding. Broken Nose Guy always closed the door behind him. Ski Mask Man left it open, but always had a stun gun in his hand.

"Sit down," Broken Nose Guy commanded her. "You come close to me, and I'll take ya out."

"What do you mean, take me out?" Stephanie asked. "I mean, why do you want to ... to kill me?" She was surprised and dismayed at how hoarse she sounded. That's what happened when you didn't talk. Maybe she'd start singing after he left.

"It ain't what I want. I'm not in charge. But when I get the go-ahead, I'm gonna enjoy it. You broke my fuckin' nose, bitch, and I'm gonna return the favor ... and more. But I ain't supposed to do it yet. I gotta wait for the word."

"So, I'm not getting out of here?" Stephanie asked.

His eyebrows rose and disappeared under the mask. "Didn't ya just hear me. No, ya ain't gettin' out. She's fucking mad at youse for fucking up her plans. She's really gonna make you pay. And when she says pay, she means with your life." Suddenly, he got quiet, like he realized he was saying too much. "Anyway, the bottom line is, your number's up. Youse had better be enjoying these days, cause ya ain't gonna see too many more."

Steph swallowed, and tried to ignore his words. She couldn't let him see how scared she was. "Oh yeah?" she cried. "Then why are you afraid of letting me see your face? If I'm not going to get out of here, what's the deal? Are you embarrassed about your nose? I bet it's swollen."

He took a step toward her and she gulped again. What on earth was she doing, pushing the buttons of the man who had just threatened her? The man who brought her food?

"I ain't afraid of you," he said. He whipped his mask up over his head and gave her a menacing glare. His nose was big, naturally, she noticed, and there was an off-center bump and two mildly bruised eyes. Yep, she'd broken his nose. He looked familiar, in the same way the room did. She hadn't seen him before, but she knew the type. Mob.

"You look pretty scary, though," he said, looking her up and down, lingering on the wild mess of frizzed curls standing out from her head. "So maybe I should be afraid of you. Maybe I'll let you clean up a little before I take you out. Or maybe we'll get to know one another a little better before that, too. Whaddaya say?" He laughed, a gruff explosion of sound followed by a leering gaze that frightened Steph more than his words. "You want old Morty to take you to the promised land?" He grabbed his crotch and thrust his hips out. "If not during, then after." He laughed uproariously and made a gun sign with his index finger and thumb. "Bang," he said. He threw the familiar sack onto the table and turned to leave.

She thought about jumping him, trying to take him down, but he was big. She needed a plan. She waited until the last lock clicked before she hurried to the table. Her hunger had returned. She grabbed the bag and opened it. This was a change. Tonight's entrée was a cheeseburger, with onions and special sauce. And it was cold. Maybe McDonald's wasn't so close. She plopped onto the chair and once again noticed the legs were wobbly. The seed of a plan sprouted.