Stockholm Syndrome

19: I Hate This Closet

19: I Hate This Closet

The knock on the door took both of us by surprise as we sat on the couch in our casual staring match. Right as I bolted for the door, Luke caught me with strong hands. Right when I was about to scream, he threw his hand over my lips. And right when I was about to bite his finger, he replaced his hand with a gag. He dragged me upstairs and pushed me into a closet. I was barely able to hear the conversation when he warily opened the door.

"Excuse me, sir, I'm with the police department." My eyes nearly bulged out of my head and I screamed at him through the gag. But he didn't hear me.

"Yeah, I remember you." Luke said warily, putting on his innocent teenage boy voice. "Is something wrong?"

"No. Not at all." He paused. "At the department, it's our job to follow up on any possibility of a kidnapping." I pictured Luke sighing.

"I don't-" He's a good actor. Stuttering.

"I know. We aren't trying to say you did anything but we're required to check. We just need a statement from your sister now that she's not so distraught from her pills anymore." Now I can see Luke rubbing his neck. Why did I know his body language so well, even when he was faking?

"I'm so sorry sir but she's in Idaho with my parents. I live on my own and she was just with me for the week." There was a pause. They probably stared at each other for a moment. Problem is, even I was almost convinced Luke was telling the truth. And I really wished I actually was in Idaho. Anywhere than with him.

"Alright, you wouldn't happen to have a parent's phone number?"

"Uh, yeah, my dad's." Luke listed off the number and the officer bid him a good day. Luke replied back kindly and the door shut. I didn't stop letting out muffled screams for help until I heard the car roll out of the driveway. I was stuck. I hated that. I hate this closet.