Held & Pushed (2 book bundle) (2 page)

Reaching
in and grabbing my right arm with his left hand, he said, “Let’s go.”

I thought
of refusing. If I could overpower him now, I could get out of the garage and
run. But he put his right hand on the gun in the waistband of his jeans, and
all thoughts of fleeing left me. I got out of the car.

Stupidly,
I realized that I still had the bag from the mall hanging from my wrist. My
purse was still slung over my shoulder and was clamped between my arm and my
side. If only there was a way to turn those jeans into a weapon. Perhaps I
could smother him with them. Or strangle him. Those were the only ways I could
think of, and I knew that both would be impossible. He was bigger than me. And
he had a gun.

He
continued to hold my arm as he closed the car door and pulled me along behind
him, walking quickly enough to cause me to jog. We went through the door that
led from the garage to the small laundry room. I saw no dirty laundry. No clean
laundry. No laundry of any kind. There were lots of various cleaning products
on the shelf above the washing machine and dryer, all sitting neatly, labels
facing forward.

Through
the laundry room, we went into the kitchen. I saw no dirty dishes. No clean
dishes. No dishes of any kind. They were surely all put away, everything in its
place. I saw no food. No trash. No food crumbs. No spills. No dust. No cobwebs.
Nothing.
There weren’t even any visible grease spots
on the stove. It was immaculate.

In the
kitchen, he stopped suddenly and turned to me. I didn’t see that he was
stopping in time, and when he spun around, I bumped into him.

He stared
at me oddly and asked, “Are you hungry?”

Shocked by
his weird question, it took me a second to answer. When I shook my head no, he
nodded, turned, and pulled me again, out of the kitchen into a hallway. We
passed the first door on the right, but stopped at the second door. Again, he
turned quickly to me. I was prepared this time, and was able to avoid bumping
into him.

He looked
me up and down. Then, he jerked the shopping bag from my wrist and the purse
from my arm. He threw them on the floor behind him and stepped toward me.

My heart
raced. This was it. This was where he was going to rape me or beat me or both.

He put a
hand on each of my butt cheeks and squeezed.
So this is how it begins
, I thought. But then, he removed his hands
and placed them on the fronts of my hips, high on my thighs. He squeezed and
squished, and I realized what he was doing. He was patting me down.

When he
was satisfied that I had nothing in my pockets, he took a step backward.
Without breaking eye contact with me, he opened the door to my right, his left.
He flicked on the light.

Not
wanting to, but curiosity killing me, I quickly looked away from him and into
the room. It was a bathroom. Now I looked back at him, confused.

“Go in
there. Do what you have to do. Clean up. Then come back out.”

Unsure of
what was
happening,
I slowly turned away from him and
stepped into the bathroom.

Behind me
he said, “Don’t waste time looking for something to use as a weapon. There’s
nothing in there. And don’t try to get out the window. It’s nailed shut. I’m
standing outside this door with my hand on the knob. Don’t be stupid.”

He shut
the door behind me, and I looked around the room. To the right of the door was
the sink and cabinet. At the end of the cabinet was the toilet. At the end of
the room, on the other side of the toilet, nestled between each of the walls,
was the bathtub. Again, it was spotless. He clearly had an obsession with order
and neatness. I was happy that if I was going to be held against my will, at
least it was in a clean place. Had the house been crawling with cockroaches and
germs, I don’t know if I could’ve handled it as well.

I wasn’t
sure what I was supposed to be doing. I didn’t really need to pee, but I wasn’t
sure what was in store for me so I figured I’d better do it now.

I stepped
over to the toilet and turned, facing the wall. I undone my jeans and slid them
and my panties down my thighs. I sat on the toilet and looked around the room
again. When the pee finally started coming, I wondered if all kidnappings went
this way. Looking for the toilet paper, I saw it hanging from a holder on the
side of the cabinet beside the toilet. As I reached for it, I noticed that it
hung over the top of the roll. And it was folded into a point.

What kind
of kidnapper kept such a tidy house and folded the toilet paper into a point?
Then again, what kind of kidnapper offered to feed you and let you pee and
clean yourself up? This was so bizarre.

I pulled a
few squares off the roll and wiped. I stood and pulled up my panties and jeans.
I fastened the button and zipped the zipper. I leaned over and flushed the
toilet, considering whether I should fold the toilet paper into a point as it
had been. Had I been invited over for dinner at a friend’s house, I would’ve.
But I’d been abducted at gunpoint. He and his fancy toilet paper points could
kiss my ass.

As I
washed my hands, I thought of a way out. I looked at the window above the
bathtub and wondered if it was really nailed shut or if it was just something
he said to keep me from checking. When I’d dried my hands on the towel that
hung perfectly on the towel bar beside the sink, I quickly went to the bathtub.
I quietly stepped into the tub and checked the window. It was small, but if I
could get it open, I could fit through. I placed my fingers on the window and
pushed upward with all my strength. It didn’t budge. Damn. Apparently, he was orderly
and
honest.

I stepped
back out of the tub and quickly checked in the cabinet under the sink. There
was a pack of extra toilet paper, a toilet bowl brush standing in a holder, and
an extra bottle of liquid antibacterial hand soap. That was it. Boy, he wasn’t
kidding when he’d said there was nothing in here.

Quickly, I
checked the four drawers that stood in a column down one side of the cabinet. A
few towels, a few wash cloths, but nothing more.

I opened
the cabinet again and took out the white plastic toilet bowl brush. I stood
there holding it, wondering if there was anything at all that could be done
with it to help me out of this mess. Had any damage ever been caused to
anything other than toilet scum by a toilet brush? I doubted it. But it was all
I had unless I thought I could squirt the liquid soap hard enough and fast
enough to inflict serious eye damage, and I doubted that was possible. In fact,
I doubted that even if I could pump it with the speed and strength of a super
hero it would reach more than a foot at most. It was useless against everything
except bacteria and germs.

I swung
the toilet brush through the air, trying to judge whether it would hurt him.

Then, the
door opened.

Chapter 3

I stood
there holding the toilet brush like a moron, and he stood in the doorway looking
at me as if I were a moron.

“What are
you doing with that?” he asked.

“Looking at it.”

“Well, put
it back and come on.”

I returned
the brush to the holder under the sink, closed the cabinet door, and left the
room.

He flicked
off the light behind me and again grabbed my arm. He led me back toward the
kitchen.

“You
should eat something,” he said. He led me to the kitchen table, pulled out a
chair, and shoved me down on it. “Sit there.”

“Is that
what you wanted me to do? I didn’t get that from being forced onto the chair,”
I said sarcastically.
Asshole.

From his
back pocket, he produced a set of handcuffs. He quickly snapped one around my
right wrist. He bent over and snapped the other one under the table. When he
walked away, I felt around and found the metal hook he’d attached to the table,
apparently for just such a purpose as handcuffing me to it. It was deep. I
couldn’t twist it, couldn’t make it move at all.

I tried
the handcuffs. They were locked tight around my wrist, so I couldn’t pull my
hand free, though it didn’t stop me from trying. When I saw it was no use to
keep hurting my wrist that way, I thought maybe I could move the table. I
placed both my hands flat against the bottom and lifted. I managed to get it a
couple inches off the floor on my side, but it was too big and heavy to move
more than that. And that had worn me out. Besides, even if I could move it,
what was I going to do? Slip quietly out of the kitchen while connected to a
huge wooden table, walk through the garage and out into the street, totally
unnoticed?

“You’ve
got a smart mouth on you,” he said as he pulled food from the refrigerator.
“You talk to everybody like that?”

“No. Just
assholes that kidnap me from the mall,” I said, again trying to pull my wrist
out of the cuff.

With his
back to me, he chuckled.

“What the
hell is so funny?”

“That you
think I’m an asshole.”

“Yeah,
well, I think it’s funny that you think you’re not.”

“A lot of
people think I’m not,” he said lightly.

“I doubt
that.”

“It’s
true. Everybody I’ve ever worked with liked me.”

“Yeah,
well, people in insane asylums aren’t the best judges of character.”

Again, he
chuckled. “I’ve never worked in an asylum. Although, I believe that would make
for interesting work.”

“I bet you
do,” I muttered under my breath. My wrist was burning, but I couldn’t keep
myself from trying to pull free.

“Do you
like mayonnaise on your sandwich?” he asked with his back to me.

“What are
you serving?
Asshole sandwiches?
I can’t imagine you’d
know how to make anything else.”

“Mayonnaise
it is,” he said.

Putting
things back in the refrigerator, he said, “You’re a little firecracker, aren’t
you?”

“If by firecracker you mean pissed off woman, then yes.
I am.”

He
chuckled again. “I like that.
Keeps things interesting.”
He carried two sandwiches to the table. He set one in front of me and carried
the other with him to the other side of the table where he sat facing me.

Tired of
messing around with him, I asked, “Why am I here?”

He smiled.
“Because I want you to be.”

“That’s a
bullshit answer.”

“Is it?”

“Yeah.
Why do you
get what you want? I don’t want to be here, so give me what I want and let me
go.”

“I can’t
do that. You’re research to me and I need you.”

“What kind
of research? Like experiments and stuff?” All kinds of horrible images flashed
through my mind. I was terrified of mad—or even slightly angry—scientists
experimenting on me, and now he tells me I’m research. Shit.

He smiled
broadly. “No. Not like that.”

I stared
at him, waiting for him to elaborate but he didn’t. Instead, he said, “I’m
waiting on you to eat your sandwich. It would be rude for me to eat before you,
so if you would be so kind as to take a bite, I’d appreciate it. I’m quite
hungry.”

“No,” I
said defiantly to him. “You can starve.”

He
chuckled. “I said it would be rude. I didn’t say it was impossible.” He took a
bite and chewed slowly.

Defeated,
I could only watch.

Seeing me
watching him eat, he said, “Eat it. Asshole sandwiches are good.” Had I not
been handcuffed to his table after he’d abducted me, I might’ve found that
funny.

I looked
at my sandwich. It did look good and I had skipped lunch. I’d planned to stop
and grab a burger after the mall and before the salon, but I never made it that
far.

Instinctively,
I brought up my right hand to grab the sandwich, but it jerked to a stop before
it even saw the top of the table. I quickly looked at him, and then used my
left hand to awkwardly pick up the sandwich. Taking the first bite, I realized
how good it was. The man kept a tidy house and made a mean sandwich. But he was
still an asshole.

“Would you
like something to drink?”

“What do
you have?
Piss and vinegar?”

“I’m out
of vinegar, but I could whip up a batch of piss if you’d like.”

With a
deadly serious expression and tone, I said, “You’re funny.”

“Thanks. I
have water, milk, tea, and I think there are some sodas.”

“I’ll have
water.”

“Interesting.”

“What?”

“I
would’ve thought you’d have taken something more complex. Instead, you chose
the simplest of the things I offered.”

I didn’t
respond. Instead, I took another bite of sandwich as he grabbed a bottle of
water from the refrigerator. He opened it and set it on the table in front of
me.