No One Will Know

2. I Have Never Known Such Pure Terror

I awake with the sensation of sickness, my head throbbing and spinning, my stomach churning. And I honestly feel like I need to throw up. Vomit comes to my mouth, confirming that. Yep, I need to puke my guts out. And I would do it too. I would puke in my own lovely car except my feet and arms are bound and there is tape over my mouth. I can’t do anything.

The car feels hot and humid, although honestly it could just be me, and it’s at a continuous movement. The steady, smooth ride of it all makes me think we might be on a freeway, but I wouldn’t know. I wonder how long I’ve been unconscious, but I can’t tell from the windows. The light coming in the back windows prove to me that it’s probably day, so it could be anywhere from a few hours to a day or two or who knows, maybe even more. However, I suspect he hasn’t stopped driving since he picked me up, because I think that if someone saw a knocked out girl bound up in the backseat they’d probably call someone.

So, therefore, he probably hasn’t stopped. Which leads me to wonder how long my tank of gas could last? But I can’t even think about it because my head hurts so badly.

Giving up on having the ability to throw up, I swallow back the vomit, cringing and fighting my body that wants to likely drown me in vomit.

Tears fill my eyes. I can’t believe I’m in this mess, I can’t believe this would happen to me. Because who does? Whoever says, I’m probably going to get kidnapped one day?

My best friend’s mother’s words appear in my mind, “Don’t let them take you. Die fighting rather than go with them, because what they would do to you is far worse than dying right then and there.” Fat pile of luck her words had given me.  I would have fought if I’d seen him coming. And I had, but I thought he left. I was willing to fight. I would have. I would have died, hell, I would love to die right now if I could rather than face whatever he probably has planned for me.

Having limited range of vision, I can only see a few things. A bit of the back seat I’m lying on, sky from the windows, the back of the man’s head, his seat, and the passenger’s seat. I see blood on my seat, and since I feel like my reddish brown hair is wet, it probably is, with my blood. I wonder for a moment if I will bleed out. I sure hope so.

I cry some more, sobbing, realizing I’d rather still be at home in the horrible abusive home where I’d grown up, than be here. I’d rather endure the wine bottles shattering against the walls, having my back slammed into the bedpost or the counter, cleaning up after my parents drunken, drug induced fights. I’d rather live like that than be here.

I am locked away in my private, broken place when that same husky voice shatters my privacy. “Don’t cry babe. Please don’t. You’ll see her soon, I promise.”

I instantly stop crying, looking up and finding his eyes locking with mine for a moment. Terror fills me. Who? Who the hell is she? Who is he talking about? I’m terrified, and I don’t want this! I hate this man, I realize. I’d never hated anyone as much. I thought I would never despise anyone as much as I despised my cold hearted parents, but this was a new kind of fury. One I didn’t recognize and never had before.

He continues, looking back up at the road, “She’s been waiting for you to return, we both have. I can’t wait to show up with you in hand. She’s been so upset since you left.” His voice, with the continuous mention of she, sends shivers down my neck. I feel like I can’t breathe, and even if there weren’t tape on my mouth, I don’t think I could speak. “Oh Anastasia…” He says, dreamingly.

Who the hell is Anastasia, I think. My mind is thinking back, now, and I think I suddenly know. He’s literally insane. He thinks I am someone else. And I think the biggest question in my mind is what happened to the girl that he thinks is me? What happened to her and what does he plan to do with me. Either way, I just have a feeling, a feeling that sceams at me that no matter what it is, it can’t be good.

The car stops, and my heart beats faster. It’s as if as he gets out of the car, walks to my car door, opens it. It’s as if this is real, like I have officially entered hell.

“Welcome home, Anastasia.”