High Functioning Hopeless Romantic

Chapter 8

I stared at the man. Okay good joke. Except who would play a joke on me? Sherlock didn't seem like the prankster type, John and Mary were too nice, and Molly, well it just couldn't be her. And what did he mean by my dad will be next? Be next to pick up? And why the bloody hell did he think it was okay to call me sweetheart? The darkness shielded his face from my view, but he sounded old and frail. And smelled like it too.

"Excuse me, but who the hell are you?" I asked in a sweet voice. The man chuckled. This was in no way a humorous situation.

"Abigail Marie Caulfield, 29, just moved here from Rochester." What was up with all these people knowing everything about me when I have never met them before? "Mom just died, sorry to hear that, and now living in 221A."

"Are you another Sherlock? Did Sherlock tell you all this?" He snickered again. Still not funny. Anger boiled up within me as I realized what was really happening - I was being kidnapped. Well adultnapped. I couldn't imagine why considering I just moved here - well that's a pretty good reason to be taken. No one would notice. Besides Mrs. Hudson and Mary. And Molly. Molly! I was supposed to be with her right now, she had to know something was wrong. A light shined front my purse - my phone. How could I be so stupid? I immediately started typing out a text to Molly explaining everything, telling her to call the police. Before my finger could touch send, the man in the front seat spoke.

"I suggest you don't hit send on that text message to Miss Molly Hopper, or she too will die." My breath hitched in my throat. So that must be what he means when he says my dad is next. After the initial shock that I was sitting in a car with a murderer, my instincts started to kick in. I took in my surroundings. The moon was big and bright, taunting me that it was out in the open and I was locked in here, scared for my life. There was nothing but trees and darkness, I strained to see a road sign, but failed to see one. Defeated, I looked in the car. A light classical number was playing. It looked to be a normal cab, besides the fact that a murderer was sitting in the front seat, did I mention that? The car started to slow and I poked my head up to look out the window, we turned onto a dirt road with no road sign, but stopped just off the main road.

"Out. And don't run, I would hate to have to shoot a pretty girl like you." I mentally threw up as my body started to shake and sweat, not only did this guy scare me that he threatened to kill the people I love, but he was a creep, an old man that called me pretty, and not in the nice grandfatherly way. I opened the door hesitantly and got out.

"Get the stuff," ordered the man. The taxi driver had not uttered a word since I had been in the car; either he was a worthy accomplice or just as scared as I was. Either way he obeyed and opened the trunk. The creep, I had taken to calling him that since I didn't know his name, stayed in the car, his face covered still by darkness. I shuttered. Two meaty hands grabbed me from behind and I flinched at the contact. The taxi driver tied up my hands, I didn't fight it. Call me crazy, but part of me was curious as to what they would do with me. The other part begged for a bullet through my head already so that I could be put out of this misery. I thought of my dad and how he would feel if he found out I was adultnapped and shot. I didn't want him to experience that pain, not after mum. So I decided to do everything in my power to stay alive - for him. A rope was bounded all around me - my feet, my shoulders, my arms, my legs - I could not move except to breathe, but even my breaths were pained by the rope digging into my abdomen.

"You know what to do next." The driver pushed me forward to start walking, but my legs could not move. I fell onto the dirt, not being to shield myself, right on my nose, and a crack echoed through my brain. The taxi driver lugged me up and half carried-half dragged me to the main road. He laid me down for a second before hefting me up again and carting me to the other side of the main road. From the lights of the cab, my eyes made out a railroad track. Talk about a typical kidnapping and death. So cliche. The cab driver tied me to the tracks, his hot breath panting in my face, he smelled like cigarettes and bleach, a bad combination.