Til Death Do Us Part

Chapter 2

Slowly the blackness faded away and my vision returned, blurry at first, then gradually clearing. The left side of my head hurt, a steady throbbing pain. I groaned and sat up, rubbing my eyes.

I didn't know where I was and didn't remember what had happened at first. For a few minutes all I remembered clearly was unlocking my front door after returning from work. After that, everything was a distorted fog of hazy, half-remembered images that didn't seem to connect to form a coherent picture: the upstairs hallway...the bathroom door...roses...

I wondered for a moment if I had gotten drunk and passed out. I sure felt hungover. My head hurt, and my stomach felt queasy and weak.

I opened my eyes and turned my head to look around, instantly wincing as a sharp bolt of pain pierced my skull like an icepick stabbing into my brain. I waited for it to pass, then rubbed the left side of my head, gasping as this triggered another flash of pain. That side of my head felt very tender and sore, like a fresh bruise.

It wasn't just my head, either. I felt sick, and for some reason, the right side of my neck hurt, too. It almost felt like a bee-sting.

What the fuck happened? I wondered to myself.

I looked around at where I was, really taking in my surroundings for the first time. I was confused by what I was seeing.

I was lying in a bed, in a bedroom that wasn't mine. A bedroom that wasn't in my house.

I sat there for a few moments, bewildered. "What the fuck?" I whispered aloud. The shock seemed to clear my head some and I could think more alertly. I took another, more detailed look at the room I was in.

It looked like a bedroom that belonged to a teenage girl. The décor had a somewhat dated look to it. The posters on the walls were of Hootie & the Blowfish, Alanis Morissette, Mariah Carey, and a young George Clooney from the show ER . It looked like the bedroom of a trendy teenage girl from circa-1996. There was something weirdly familiar about it, something that gave me a vague feeling of deja vu, but I didn't concern myself with that right then. I was still trying to make sense of what had happened to me, where I was, and what I was doing here...wherever here was.

I got out of bed, standing up, feeling suddenly very dizzy. I grabbed ahold of the bedpost and leaned against it for support until I regained my equilibrium.

I glanced down...and did a double-take.

My clothes were different. The smart, modest blouse and skirt I had worn to work were gone.

I spotted a full-length mirror against one wall and approached it. I stared for what felt like an eternity, dumbstruck with shock at what I saw.

I was now dressed in a very short pleated plaid skirt and a very tight-fitting low-cut blouse that displayed my ample cleavage encased in a slinky red lace bra (my conservative white cotton bra had also been replaced) that peaked over the top. I was also wearing thigh-high socks and high heel sandals.

But what stunned me even more than my new outfit was my hair.

My normally straight brunette hair (I had changed my color in my late twenties) was now fire red and had been curled. It looked exactly like it had when I had been in my teens and early twenties. It also reminded me of something...something from my past...

I looked at my reflection, utterly flabbergasted, and appalled. I looked like some slutty school girl from a porno film. I looked like...

(Emily.)

It clicked right then, falling into place. I gasped, shocked all over again as the revelation hit me. I took another look in the mirror, and there was no question. I was dressed exactly like my character, Emily Glover, and my hair had been colored and styled exactly as mine had been when I had been on the show all those years ago. I stared at myself, seeing the ghost of my younger self superimposed over the forty-five-year-old woman I had become. A middle-aged woman with lines of aging on her face, absurdly dressed like a teenaged nymphomaniac in a pubescent boy's wet dream.

I noticed something else. I leaned in for a closer look. There was a band-aid on the right side of my neck. A band-aid that hadn't been there before. I carefully peeled it off and saw a tiny red pinprick in my skin.

What was this??? What...

I glanced around the room and spotted something I hadn't seen before. On the wall over the bed was a school pennant. FUGATE HIGH it read in white letters over green.

Fugate High was the fictional high school Emily and her older brother Tucker had gone to in Til Death Do Us Part.

Now I knew why this room looked so familiar.

It was exactly like Emily Glover's bedroom in the series. Down to the last detail. The same posters, the same wallpaper, the same furniture.

I was dressed like Emily, in Emily's bedroom. How? Why? I didn't--

(I've been waiting a long time, my love.)

It hit me right then. My memories came flooding back and I remembered everything. The roses in the bathroom. The message printed on the mirror.

(HAPPY VALENTINE'S DAY, EMILY!)

The man with the stocking over his face. The struggle in my bedroom.

My confusion and bewilderment gave way to sudden sheer horror. I screamed out loud, having a complete panic attack.

I understood then what had happened. I had been kidnapped. Some sick bastard had broken into my house and waited for me to get home from work, then knocked me out and abducted me. He had taken me... somewhere... and had changed my clothes -- the sick son of a bitch had had his hands on me!!! -- and dyed my hair while I was unconscious to make me look like the fictional character I had played on a long-forgotten TV show, before putting me in a room that was an exact replica of the bedroom of that same fictional TV character.

I touched that sore spot on my neck. He must have injected me with something after he knocked me out to keep me unconscious. How much time had passed? And where the fuck was I???

My survival instincts kicked in right then. I had to escape. Now. Before the crazy freak came back. I ran to the door and turned the knob...locked. He had locked me in.

I spotted a window and darted to it, throwing back the curtains...to reveal a solid panel of plywood nailed firmly over the glass.

I pounded against it futilely, then collapsed to my knees, weeping with frustration and fear.

I forced myself to calm down and tried to calmly assess my situation and decide what my next course of action should be. Sooner or later he would come back for me to do...God only knew what. Probably something too terrible to comprehend. I had to arm myself for when that happened. And when he came back, I'd ambush him when he opened the door.

I began to look around, scouring the bedroom for anything that would serve as a suitable weapon. The only thing even remotely useful that I found was a seven-inch nail file on "Emily's" vanity table. I had just picked it up...when I heard a sound that sent my heart racing and sent a lead ball of fear plummeting into the pit of my stomach.

The sound of approaching footsteps. Soft and steady.

I spun around to face the door, hiding the nail file behind my back, trembling as the footsteps stopped outside. I tensed myself, waiting.

I heard a key rattle in the lock. Then the door opened.