Find A Way

Day 2: Alaina

The man didn't come back for a while. It gave me plenty of time to sit there and try to figure out a way to escape the room. I pulled open my makeup bag and dumped it out onto the bed; "my" bed, according to Clementine. The contents were useless though: a tube of mascara, a stick of eyeliner, foundation, concealer, two different kinds of lip balm, a lighter, six bobby pins, two hair ties, a pair of tweezers, Neosporin, and a stack of Band-Aids. All that concluded was that I was going to look hot before I died. The only semi-useful thing in there was the lighter, but, as I peeked out both the bedroom and attached bathroom windows, I knew that setting fire to the place wasn't an option. We were on the second floor, with locks and alarms on the outside of all of the windows, except for one in the bathroom. That window though wasn't even big enough for Clementine to get through. Fire just would've meant a more painful death.

"He's not coming back until breakfast time," Clementine said, crouching down next to me.

"How do you know?" I picked up the mess from my makeup bag, stuffed it into my purse, and reached for my wallet. Nothing good in there either; just seventeen dollars, a handful of change, some cards, Adrienne's and Sam's senior formals, and four handwritten notes. It surprised me that the guy hadn't taken any of my money, my debit card, or my two credit cards. He must've been smarter than I thought; he didn't want anyone to be able to track me down.

She shrugged, looking at a digital clock on the nightstand in between the two beds. It read 5:57 am. Had it really been almost six hours since I last saw my best friend? Since I last kissed my boyfriend? And to think, it would be another twelve hours before either of them even noticed I was gone. I regretted not taking Sam up on his offer and staying the night, warm and snuggled up to him in his bed. If I had just stayed, I would've been safe. If I had just stayed, I wouldn't be where I was now. "He makes me breakfast at 6:30. That's right before he has to leave for work, I think."

He makes breakfast? This creep kidnapped little girls, but he didn't hurt them and he made them breakfast? I was confused; it didn't make sense. On all of the news reports I saw, the kidnapper only took people to rape or molest or live out some brutal beating-and-bondage fantasy. They never told about making breakfast. "What does...?" I hesitated before changing what I was going to say; she was a little girl after all, and I needed to remember that, "Do you like what he cooks for you?"

Clementine shrugged, "He makes me eat all my eggs even though they're kinda yucky. But he brings me chocolate milk if I finish them all."

The scary fact was that this guy didn't sound bad at all. He sounded normal, aside from the fact that he seemed to know where to find chloroform and how not to accidentally kill someone with it. In fact, this guy was a lot like my dad, it seemed. Yeah, my dad would never kidnap someone, but that was beside the point. Dad cooked me breakfast every morning when I lived at home, negotiated with me, and made sure I did what I needed to do. Normal. This guy wouldn't even be on the cops' radar.

"I guess it isn't worth going to sleep if he'll just be up here in half an hour," I said.

"You can sleep after he leaves. That's what I do sometimes," Clementine told me. She climbed off of her bed and went to the closet which appeared to be full of clothes her size. She rummaged through them before pulling out a dress to wear. "He likes when I take a shower in the morning, even though I don't like showers. I take baths when he's gone though. That way, I can play with the bubbles and stuff." She made a face, much like the "ham face" I had been making since I was a baby; my look of happiness. Just thinking about it caused a knot in my stomach. My mom loved my ham face. What if she never saw it again?