My Ruthless Kidnapper

Chapter Two: Awake

"Is anyone here? Please, someone help me," I croaked instinctively as my eyes fluttered open.

The strangest thing about darkness is that you never know what lurks in the corners. Is it safe to step forward or backward? What could be waiting on the left or right? Darkness breeds the kind of fear that sinks deep, a fear that leaves you alone with nothing but your racing heart. It's accompanied by an eerie silence, amplifying the tormenting sound of your own pulse throbbing in your ears.

What am I doing here? What am I going through? What's my fate? These essential questions swirled in my head like the wind before a storm.

I couldn't tell how long it had been since the last time I glanced at the wall clock, just before someone had been shot—killed—behind me.

I couldn't recall the last time I'd eaten or drunk anything, apart from the water at Declan Carter's kitchen. Declan! I wondered what kind of hell he was going through back home. I knew my dad wouldn't give him a chance to explain, especially since Declan had bullied me all throughout school.

I felt drained, weak. I didn't have the strength to resist anymore. I knew I would pass out again soon.

Resigned to whatever was coming, I watched the door creak open, two massive shadows emerging from the darkness. And just like the last time, the room suddenly brightened. No human should endure the darkness while alive, I told myself, though I, the captive animal, lay on a plush, king-size bed this time.

For a fleeting second, I wondered how I ended up there. Perhaps those merciless, inhuman faces had tucked me beneath the soft covers. It was hard to comprehend what comfort felt like when you knew you were kidnapped.

Two men walked in, both clad in identical suits, wires hanging from their earpieces. This time, they seemed friendlier. One carried a tray, while the other pulled a sleek silver trolley bag.

"Afternoon, Miss Cheryl. I hope you had a restful sleep," the man with the tray said. My swollen, bloodshot eyes focused on him and his companion, my body tense with apprehension, a wave of panic building inside me.

The closer they approached, the more I feared their intentions.

'Miss Cheryl?' They knew my name. This was all planned. And 'Miss?' That was another level of manipulation. Without thinking, I grabbed the nearest pillow and hurled it at the man with the tray. Startled, he dropped the tray, scattering juice, fruit slices, and other food all over the floor. I didn't care. I kept up my assault, throwing everything I could reach, pillows, antiques, even the bedside lamp, hoping it'd electrocute them as they deserve.

I might have looked like a madwoman, but I didn't care. I didn't know how else to defend myself. If I were home, I'd grab the pepper spray or aim an unloaded gun, just like my dad had taught me. If this were a legal matter, my mom, a lawyer, would fight for me. But here? Here, I was defenseless. Alone. Trapped. Every attempt at escape was met with gunshots ringing in my ears. My present reality was a nightmare.

Miraculously, my outburst worked, and I managed to drive them out of the room. For the first time in what felt like forever, I smiled. I even almost laughed as they slammed the door shut behind them.

Exhausted, I slid off the bed and cautiously made my way to the thick curtains, finding the windows firmly locked, probably automated.

"There's no escape," I whispered to myself. Beyond the glass, a perfectly manicured field stretched endlessly, like a golf course. Men, dressed just like the ones I'd encountered, patrolled the grounds. They were armed, their rifles slung across their shoulders, a chilling reminder that there was no hope for me. Tears burned my eyes. I was trapped, stranded in the heart of danger.