Enticed:A Dangerous Connection (Secrets) (8 page)

“Please, wait, Tatiana.” I stay frozen in place, trying to think of a way out. “I, uh, I need to use the bathroom.”

“Oh, why didn’t you say so?” She narrows her eyes. “But I’m warning you, Serena, don’t try anything stupid. Jimmy’s out there and all I have to do is holler and he’ll back me up. And hey, if we have to give you some bruises, we’ll make sure to put them where they won’t show.”

“I just want to use the bathroom. I won’t give you any trouble. I promise.”

She tips her head toward the hallway. “Come on then.”

Now she leads me two doors down, opens another door, and nods into what appears to be a fairly normal, albeit filthy, bathroom. “There you go. Knock yourself out.”

As soon as I’m in the bathroom, she firmly closes the door and the lock clicks. There must be another dead bolt — on the outside of the door. And just like the bedroom, I can see the outline of bars on the frosted window. When I try to open it, I find that it’s bolted closed.

Although I’m too dehydrated to really need to use the toilet, I stay in here awhile, studying the room in case there’s something I’m missing, like an attic opening or loose floorboards or something. But since it all seems fairly tight, I simply flush the toilet for effect and then take my time to wash my hands and my face and drink from the faucet. However I do not use the disgusting excuse for a towel. I hope to never be that desperate.

I knock on the door and after a few minutes, Tatiana returns. “So, do you want some breakfast or not?”

“Yeah. Mostly I’m just really thirsty.” I try to peer down the hallway to see who or what is in the rest of the house, but Tatiana pushes me back toward the room I slept in.

“You’re supposed to stay in your room until Jimmy says you can come out.”

“Who’s Jimmy?” I ask as she escorts me back.

“He takes care of us.” Her unexpected smile makes her seem slightly more human. “He’s a good guy.”

I want to ask her if she’s crazy but figure that won’t endear me to her, and somehow I’ve got to make this girl like me. “Are you here because you
want
to be here?” I ask before she closes my door.

She shrugs. “There are worse places.”

“Yeah, but — ”

The door slams in my face and the dead bolt clanks loudly. End of conversation. I look around the sparse room and wish I’d thought to take my empty water bottle to the bathroom to refill. Who knows when I’ll get another drink? Although Tatiana did say she’d bring me breakfast, didn’t she? I look around my room to see that not only is my purse gone but my shoes are missing too. So much for using them to barter with later. I obviously have no rights whatsoever in this place.

I wait for what feels like hours for Tatiana to return. Did I only imagine she said she was bringing me breakfast? Today? I look out the window and, judging by the short shadows, I figure it must be past noon by now. This room is stuffy and stale and I grow thirstier and hungrier as the day wears on. What if Tatiana forgot about me? What if I’m left here forever?

I return to the window, peering out and wishing I could see a house or even someone passing by. But the only signs of life are birds that are busily plucking at the tiny red berries on an overgrown bush. This simply reminds me that I haven’t eaten since yesterday morning. Was it only yesterday? Or did I lose more time than that while under the influence of whatever was slipped to me in the truck?

I bang my fist against the window, wondering how hard I must pound to break the glass or if that’s even possible. Then I imagine my fist going right through and severing a main artery. Would anyone come to my aid? Probably not. Besides, even if I could break the glass, what good is it if no one is outside to hear me? Plus I remember Tatiana’s warning that she and Jimmy will hurt me in places where bruises won’t show. Apparently Marcia’s concerns about “not damaging the goods” mean nothing to these brutes. But maybe they need a reminder. If there’s a real cash value attached to me, perhaps I can get more respect. Do I have the nerve to mention this … or would it only make my situation worse?

I start pounding on the door now, yelling that I need to use the bathroom and that I’m dying of thirst. I wait a few minutes, hoping someone will take pity on me. But no one comes. I try again and this time I press my ear to the door and listen, but I don’t hear a thing. Finally, I can’t contain my emotions anymore, and I burst into tears and fall onto the nasty mattress and just cry myself to sleep.

I wake to the sound of someone entering the room. It’s Tatiana again and she’s got a bag from McDonald’s. “Still hungry?” she asks as if she doesn’t care.

“Yes,” I mutter as I stumble to my feet. “And thirsty.”

She looks unconcerned. “Sorry, I forgot to get you a drink. Oops.”

I hold up my water bottle. “Please, can I fill this?”

She shrugs and holds out her hand.

Suspecting she’ll disappear with it and never return, I tell her I need to use the bathroom. She looks doubtful but finally agrees to escort me down the hall where I attempt to use the toilet, but I am so dehydrated it’s almost pointless. Once again I drink water from the tap, gulping as much as I can take in without making myself sick. And then I fill my water bottle. Satisfied that I might be able to make it through the night if I have to, I knock on the door, waiting for Tatiana to let me out. But not surprisingly, she doesn’t come.

I sit on the edge of the tub, waiting for what feels like half an hour. And then I decide to use this opportunity to slug down more water, even though I don’t really feel thirsty. But who knows when I’ll get another chance? And right now my only focus is on survival. I’m just refilling my bottle when I hear the dead bolt snap open.

“Aren’t you done yet?” she demands impatiently.

“Yeah. Sorry.” I calmly put the lid back on the water bottle, controlling myself from pointing out that I banged on the door and waited for her. I need to be careful with this girl if I’m going to win her sympathy. And that’s my goal. “Thanks for being patient.”

She looks surprised. “Well, come on then.”

“So, do you know how long I’ll be locked in that room?” I ask in what I hope is a nonchalant tone. “I mean, it’s kinda boring and it’s not like I’m going to run away or anything.”

“Right …” She looks skeptical as she holds the door to my jail cell open. “You expect me to fall for that one?”

I shrug. “Well, I’m guessing this place is locked up pretty tight.”

With her hand on the knob, she studies me, then nods. “You got that right.”

“But you’re allowed to come and go?”

Now she glares at me. “Aren’t you just full of questions.”

“I’m just curious. Wouldn’t you be too? I mean, if you’d just arrived and didn’t know what to — ”

“Shut up!”
She swears at me as she shoves me back into the room and slams the door, snapping the dead bolt tight.

To my relief the McDonald’s bag is still sitting on the floor by my bed, and even though the Egg McMuffin is cold and probably hours old, I’m grateful. And although I’m tempted to gobble it down, I remember to thank God and I even ask him to bless it, hoping that maybe he will multiply it, like Jesus with the loaves and fishes.

But when I open my eyes, it’s still just one McMuffin. So I pace myself and eat slowly. Who knows when I’ll see food again?

… [CHAPTER 8]………………

I
’ve heard that solitary confinement messes with your mind, and I’m beginning to understand this. God made people to need people. My only human contact on my second day is when Tatiana, who doesn’t even speak to me, drops off a box of dry cereal, a gallon of water, and a bucket. I try to engage her by asking what the bucket is for, but she silently slams the door in my face. And as the day wears on, with no bathroom breaks, I figure it out.

I press my ear against the door off and on during the day, but it’s silent as a tomb out there. It sounds as if no one is here, and I begin to wonder if they’ve abandoned me completely. But I keep reminding myself that I’m not really alone. God is with me. I know it. I believe it. But all this solitude is taking its toll. My nerves are wearing thin, and I suppose my faith is wavering slightly as well.

As I’m crying out to God to rescue me, it occurs to me that I need to confess my own responsibility for my dire circumstances. So I get down on the grubby carpet, kneeling with hands lifted up, and attempt to confess my foolishness to God. As hard as it is to admit all my failings — and they are many — I know this is exactly what I need to do.

As I confess my stupid shallowness, I remember Mrs. Norbert’s advice. She told me I wasn’t ready. She cautioned me to wait for her to help me … and yet I ran ahead. I also remember how Michelle warned me to be careful. She told me about how people lie on the Internet. How did I respond to my best friend? I just laughed.

Even worse, I remember how I conveniently managed to keep the news about my agency interview from Mom. Although I didn’t actually lie, I was deceptive by omission.
I rationalized that it was only because I didn’t want to worry her. But the truth was, I didn’t
want
her to know. I was afraid she would insist on going to the appointment with me. I was worried that her presence there would humiliate me.

It sickens me to think of this now. How could I have been so stupid and so shallow and so deceptive? To think that my mother, who loves me and would do anything for me, would have embarrassed me in front of the likes of Marcia and Bryce isn’t just absurd, it is insane. How I wish I could turn back the clock. How I wish I’d told her. Keeping my whereabouts a secret may well be the end of me. How could I have been so completely stupid?

“I’m sorry,” I tell God. “I did it all wrong. Please forgive me. And if I ever get the chance to see Mom and Michelle and even Mrs. Norbert, I will confess this all to them, too. I will ask everyone to forgive me.”

I continue to pour out my heart until I don’t feel there’s anything left to confess. And when I’m done, I know that God has forgiven me. But I still have no idea how he is going to get me out of this. The truth is, I know now that I don’t deserve to be rescued. I am here because of my own foolishness. My personal vanity has allowed me to be lured into a trap.

When morning comes, I hear some noises in the house, but no one comes to my door. Although I continue to pray and believe God is with me, my loneliness is overwhelming. However, this time of isolation gives me time to think. If I’m going to get out of here, I will need a plan.

The first part of my plan is to somehow get Tatiana — or anyone else who lives in this house — to trust me. Somehow I’ve got to make them believe that I’m not going to run. If I can convince them that I’m trustworthy, it’s possible I will get a little freedom. And if I can get a little freedom, it’s possible that, with God’s help, I will discover a way to escape.

However, to get people here to trust me, I will have to pretend to be like them. Which means I will have to be dishonest. I will have to hide my real feelings, my real reactions. Is keeping a secret like this deceitful? Or is it simply a clever means to escape from corrupt people?

Once again, I ask God to help me with this, and suddenly I feel compelled to pray for the others in this house. I start with Tatiana and then I pray for Jimmy, someone I’ve never met. And as I’m praying for them, my attitude starts to change. Yes, I may have to pretend I’m something I’m not, but now I care about the others. I’m curious as to how they came to be here. And I’m hoping and praying that as much as I help myself, I might be able to help them, too.

It’s late afternoon when Tatiana comes into my room. She’s holding out a paper plate with a couple pieces of pepperoni pizza on it, and grateful tears fill my eyes as I stand to greet her.

“I’m so glad to see you,” I say as she hands me the grease-soaked paper plate.

“Yeah, yeah.” She runs her fingers through her hair, making it look even spikier than usual.

“Thank you so much for this,” I gush at her. “And please, don’t go. I’m so lonely. Can’t you stay and talk awhile?”

“Yeah, right. We have so much to talk about.” She rolls her eyes and I notice she’s changed her clothes and is wearing makeup. Instead of her gray tank top and cutoffs, she has on a short, strapless red-and-black striped dress — and my red heels.

“You look really nice,” I tell her, containing my irritation that she’s wearing the only shoes I have. “Big date tonight?”

She laughs with cynicism. “Yeah … several.”

“What day is it?” I try to prolong this encounter.

“Last I heard it was Saturday.” Without turning her back on me, she reaches for the doorknob. “Later.” And then she’s gone.

I try to process how long I’ve been gone now. I went to the appointment with Marcia and Bryce on Tuesday. I was drugged that night in the truck … and several days here … I count the days on my fingers: five days. But it feels more like five years. The only encouraging thing is that the police must be looking for me by now. But would they have any idea where I am? Do I? Based on the greenness of the backyard and trees, I suspect I’ve been taken up north. But I have no idea where. Oregon, Washington, Canada, Alaska?

I look down at the pizza and, once again, I thank God for this meal and I ask him to bless it and keep me from food poisoning, since, like the McMuffin, it’s just room temperature and for all I know it could’ve been sitting out for days. I sniff it and my stomach rumbles so I go ahead and take a bite.

As I slowly eat, I must admit my faith is wavering a little. It’s hard to believe it’s been five days. I truly expected to be out of this mess by now. But at the same time I am extremely thankful that nothing worse than solitary confinement has happened to me. And I’m thankful that I can keep crying out to God, and I’m still trying to trust that he’s going to rescue me.

Throughout the day, I have heard the sounds of what I first thought were guns and then later realized were actually fireworks. The frequency of the noises seems to increase into the night. And then it hits me: Today’s the Fourth of July. Of course, the irony of this does not escape me. I am celebrating Independence Day by being locked up and held prisoner. Surely this is a Fourth of July I will never forget.