The Diary of the Kidnapped

The names Beatrice, pronounced Be-a-tris, but most people call me Bea (Like Bee). I was kidnapped when I was 16, on my birthday. I went to start my morning with a wonderful cup of coffee. One minute I was walking from the local cafe, and the next, all I saw was black and was knocked out by the chloroform. When I woke up, I was completely and utterly lost. I didn't know where I was or anything, except for the fact that the person who had kidnapped me owned a nice home, well at least based on the fact that he or she hadn't thrown me into some dirty, old concrete room. It's been almost a year since I was kidnapped and, to this day, I still don't know exactly why I was kidnapped. He says that he's protecting me, but I don't know what from; he could be talking a bunch of bologna for all I know. But through out the time that I have been here, I have tried to find evidence or clues as to why I was here, whether it been from my intense eaves-dropping, inconspicuously searching around the house, or attempting to squeeze as much information out of my captor as I can. So, let me start my first diary entry: Hello Diary, I've been kidnapped and I don't know why. But, that's all going to change soon, and you're coming with me.