Charity's Warrior (35 page)

It wasn't long before the heartbreak of losing Justin set in.

The car was humming along at a good clip, rarely slowing, occasionally swerving for a lane change, so there was plenty of time to dwell on it. I thought about all the moments we had that made me fall for him, all the times he made my heart lust for him. I didn't see this coming, not at all. He was so protective over me, and made me feel so safe, this just seemed impossible.

As mad as I am at him, it's nothing compared to the sadness and loss I feel. I truly believed he was the one, that we were connected souls. That he could confess his love for me and then betray me like this is beyond my comprehension.

My heart wants me to believe it isn't true, that there is a way this isn't his doing, but I feel foolish entertaining that at all. We were there alone; it was his ball gag in my mouth, probably his straps that have me hog tied. It was my hearts wishful thinking, nothing more. My head, my common sense, knew better.

Not seeing his face before he tossed the hood over my head is not reason enough to hope. Not hearing him utter a single word when I spoke to him, or when he jammed the needle in my arm, is not reason to hope.

It seemed like common sense, until my common sense asked another question, a very simple one. Why would he have me all tied up in his bondage gear, and then release me to toss a hood over my head and drug me so that he could tie me up in bondage gear again? My heart chimed in, taking advantage at the glimmer of hope. Why not just climb off me and jam the needle in me while I was already at his mercy? Suddenly, it doesn't make a damn bit of sense any other way.

Both heart and mind agreed, if this really was Justin, he would have shot me up when he had me. There is a chance, a very good one, that Justin had nothing to do with this. If he was not involved, then he was still exactly the man I hoped he was.

Instead of that making me feel better, I’m utterly miserable. There was no way the Justin I know would have ever let this happen to me—not while he was alive.

Justin was either in the front of this car driving it, or he was hurt—
or dead!

There is nothing else I can do right now. I listened to the hum of the road for a while. The trunk is getting hotter, making my head pound as I think myself in circles. Sweat runs off me in long trails, and my hair is matted to my face and neck in clumps.

Eventually, the combination of heat and exhaustion, and the still present drugs, put me in a state where I keep coming in and out of sleep. I catch myself jerking awake, and each time I am out, it feels longer than the last.

I'm crying miserably while I'm awake, scared for Justin, terrified for myself. It's using energy I should try to save, but my willpower drained away long ago.

I smell gasoline. I think I noticed that earlier.

I'd faded out again. I don't know for how long, but it was definitely too long. Everything is different now when my eyes opened. I am still in the dark, hot trunk, but it it’s different.

The hum of the road is gone. We are stopped and I had nearly missed it.

Shit!

My heart jumped into my throat, and I feel myself start to hyperventilate from the panic. I don't know how long we've been here. I don't know if he's still in the car with me or not.

I don't know a thing! I fucked up!

I was crying before I knew I was going to. The first thing I need to do is listen, so I shut myself up and picked my head up so that my ear is closer to the sliver of daylight coming through the cracks in the trunk door.

At first there is nothing. I strain my ears, and now I hear something minute.

Gravel
. Footsteps on gravel.

There was a sharp pop right in front of me, and the sliver of light grew.

I start to cry harder.

The trunk door swings wide. The flood of sunlight blinded me. I force my eyes open despite the pain, demanding they focus.

The hooded man is there, an ominous silhouette in the brightness. His hands are reaching toward me.

I let out the loudest scream the gag will allow. As I struggle and fight to move, straining at my ties like an animal ready to chew its leg off for freedom, a needle pierces my arm again.

Coward bastard!

There are only seconds of consciousness left, I know. Before I go out, I want to know if it's Justin or not. I face him and lock my stinging eyes on him.

Only a dark shadow stares out at me from the hood. The darkness spreads out like inky smoke. It blotted out the sun and then all the sounds.

I already cannot recall where the darkness started, but that is all there is now, silence and blackness.

And I'm so tired
.

W
hen I come to, I have no idea where I am or what time of day or night it is. I'm lying on a cold, tiled floor, and my body is aching as much as my head. The only good change is that I'm no longer hog tied and the ball gag is gone. Now my hands and feet are all in front of me and I can actually move a little. The tiles are ice cold on my still bare flesh.

I sit up, hearing the metal links rattling on the hard tiles. There's a tub and a toilet next to me, and shackles on my wrists and ankles with chains tying them together, and to the plumbing. I can move but not very much, not very far. On the wall across from me there are two hideous paintings of conch shells with fake wicker frames. There are more shells on the shower curtain.

My insides suddenly stab at me, sending screaming pain throughout my stomach. At least now I understand why he'd locked me in the bathroom. I hadn't gone in maybe almost twenty-four hours.

It isn't pretty. My head is a cloudy, dizzy storm. I have to hold on to the countertop and the tub wall on either side of me to keep upright on the toilet. As soon as I am done, I dropped back to the floor and watch the ceiling spin like merry-go-round.

It makes me cry helplessly.

While I lay here, I feel my eyes close a few times, and when they open again, I have no idea how long it's been. There's no window, no clock. Time has no meaning or measure right now; it's just a passing idea.

This last time I woke up to find a bottle of water and a cold slice of pizza sitting on a plate just inside the door. I stared at it for a while, some of the time just trying to focus my eyes on it to decide if it's real or not, and the rest deciding if I'm going to eat it. I'm starving, and my mouth is so dry my lips are cracked and my tongue is soar. A full night and day with a gag in it had caused that.

I think about screaming, but I know that will be a mistake. If he took away the gag, then he doesn't care if I scream. If he doesn't care if I scream, then we are someplace I won't be heard if I do.

The only attention screaming would get me would be his, and I'm not ready for that.

I lift myself off the floor and crawl to the water on my hands and knees. The top is still sealed and I'm grateful for that. At least I know it's safe. I twist the cap off and swig half the bottle, stopping myself by force so that I can save at least a little bit for later. My throat is so soar, the first few gulps seem to tear their way down.

As soon as I put the cap back on the water, I begin sobbing. My head clears a bit, but fear fills the new space. I'm so hungry, yet I need to throw up at the same time. The slice of pizza is teasing me, as if it knows I'm too scared to eat it.

What if he did something to it?
The water was sealed, that was the only reason I'd trusted it.

I don't think it would be poisoned, but I'm worried he will drug me again. If he wanted to kill me, I'd be dead already. He could have shot poison right into me earlier, so he was keeping me around. Whoever it was, he wants me for something, wants me alive,
at least for now.

Sooner or later, I'm going to need to eat something. The longer I wait, the weaker I become. I don't like that at all. The thought of being too weak to help myself is utterly terrifying.

I grab the edge of the plate between my fingertips and slide it along the floor closer to me. For a few minutes I just stare at the pizza and cry. I know I shouldn't eat it, and I know I have to. My tears hang on to my chin desperately before failing and dropping off to land on my bare breasts.

Eventually, I see my hand out in front of me as it grabs the pizza and folds in half. It brings it to my mouth, and I feel my jaw close around it. My face feels like it belongs to somebody else as the muscles work to chew and swallow.

I don't stop myself. Moments later it is all gone, and I wait to see what will happen next. I push the plate away and take another swig of the water, waiting to see if I'm going to get sick or pass out.

My eyes grew heavy quickly. Only a few minutes later, and I am convincing myself that it’s okay to lie down on the cool tiles. It’s perfectly fine. Their coolness felt good on my fiery body. I don't recall when I'd gotten so hot. My throat was better now, my stomach was no longer screaming at me, and those are good things. Everything is good. Everything thing is going to be alright.

Bob Marley's voice filled my mind.

"Don't worry 'bout a thing, 'Cause every little thing’s gonna be all right."

I am alright, just like the song said. I keep humming the words in my mind until they become a blur. There was something about smiling at a rising sun, and three little birds, but everything else is slipping away from me.

It was going to be alright. I was going to be alright.

WHEN I WAKE UP
again, my first reaction is anger. I'm pissed as hell that he'd drugged me again. I wasn't going anywhere. He didn't have to do it.

The bastard!

I am still lying on the bathroom floor. The water bottle is just few feet away, and I stretch my arm out and grab it, needing something to clean out the awful, metallic taste the drug left behind. When I sit up to drink, the open door finally catches my eye.

At first I thought it was a mistake, or that he's left me alone, but just through the door I can see a TV and a recliner. On the arm of the recliner I can see his elbow. I sit up further, straining to see. The TV is on, but the picture isn't moving at all. It looks like it could be a security camera in someone’s living room, just an empty room sitting and waiting for something to happen.

My chains are loud on the tiles, echoing in the silence of the room. Unless he's sleeping, he knows I'm up. His elbow didn't move, so I can't tell if he's just ignoring me. I think he is. I think he's waiting to see what I do, maybe laugh at me.

The empty plate from my pizza is gone. He waited until the drugs put me out again, and he came in here for the plate, checking on me. Maybe leaving the door open was his way of testing me, to see if I was going to be cooperative.

His chair moved a little bit, as if he shifted is weight. Then the channel on the TV changed. Now we are watching the outside of a small house and the yard around it. I was right; they were security cameras, not still shots. I can see the trees blowing in this view, their thick branches waving gently back and forth.

Not knowing the significance of this other place petrifies me. The minutes passed away endlessly, and he does nothing but watch. I can imagine that's all he's done in the hours we've been here. Sometimes your own thoughts can be your worst enemy. My mind has decided that this little house is where he is taking me next. He is saving me for then, for that moment, and when we get there he's going to play with me until I'm dead. That's what he's doing right now, planning, fantasizing about my death. And he is teasing me with it, wanting me to see it.

That's why the door is open.

I curled my knees up and wrapped my arms around my naked legs. I've never been so low and vulnerable in my life. My head falls to my knees with my blonde hair covering over me like a blanket, and I cry.

I am not alright, and it's time I started to admit it to myself. I'm not alright now—and I'm really not going to be later.

My body is beginning to ache from the hard floor.

Huddled up in my little ball, I begin to pray. I pray to be saved, to be protected. In each prayer, it's Justin that I'm praying for. I need him now more than ever, need it to not be him sitting in that chair in the other room. That can't be him because right now I need to believe that he's out there coming for me, tracking this guy down like an animal. I need to believe that he cares for me so much that nothing will stop him. To get through this, I have to imagine myself in his strong arms, being wrapped up in his cloak of zealous protection.