In a dimly lit room, a yellowing lamp creates the silhouette of a necklace that spells out the name, “Amber.” The room is silent, and yet booming with sounds, mysteriously, sticky and humid, in the middle of winter. She just sits there; hands knotted with deteriorating rope, and swollen scabbed over rope burns beneath it. No one has seen her for twenty-four hours, and she’s starting to think they never will see her again. A few minuscule hairs stick to her face from the moisture in the room. Her mouth does not contain saliva; therefore she tries to cough with the dirty rag blocking her jaw from movement. Her back against the cold wall, she cannot see anything but her necklace swaying back and forth in the dim lighting. A few muted sinister laughs come from the wall behind her. She jerks with disgust and rage.
Bracing herself with her tightly wound wrists, using the palms of her hands she started scooting quietly across the sterile-like, cold, concrete floor. Without a sound, she hit a corner and continued to shuffle forward, searching for some kind of escape. After what felt like four hours of nervousness and the unknown of what was in the room, and who would walk through the door, she found success, a door.
How to open it? How to open it, without any creaking or sound? Was it even unlocked? Steaming liquid now crept down her palms, and made it hard to move. Pain, wincing pain, shuddered through her veins, bones, muscles, and made it straight to her heart. She let out a painful grunt. Shuffling was heard in the nearby room and made her heart race faster and faster. A door flung open and crashed loudly on the concrete walls. The sudden crash made her heart stop. Her head dropped to the ground.
A sudden burst of blinding light, made her awake suddenly. She was lying in a small pink bed. A similar aching feeling came from her wrists. Under the crisp sheets she could see the scarlet stains. She didn’t dare look. That was when she realized there were no ropes. Was this some kind of a trap? Does she dare move and get shot with some kind of metal blade that automatically shoots out of the wall? Lying still she shifted her weight to the middle of the bed and delicately pulled her right arm to her left shoulder. Nothing. Her elbow slinks to the edge of the bed. Still nothing. She slugs her arm over the side of the bed. Not even a “click.” By then she realized that nothing was hooked up to the bed. Quickly, she maneuvered her appendages until her toes dangled mere inches from the worn wooden floor. Did she dare touch one toe?
It was worth trying. One toe, two toes, three toes, heel, one foot. What was she doing? She stood up for the first time, in what felt like days. It probably was. Who knows how long she was out? Steeping so very cautiously she made her way to the only exit in what looked to her like a small girl’s bedroom. That one exit was a small window. It maybe, just maybe was 12 inches wide. Could she fit through? She had to try. Her life depended on this window.
It was locked from the outside. But, the one good thing she knew about windows is that they are glass, and glass shatters. Without any regret, she quickly found a wooden block from the floor that read, “A, B, C, 1, 2, 3” and let out all her trauma with one forceful throw. The block struck the window with immense force. It shattered to pieces and the noise echoed through her ears. Being cautious not to cut herself she grabbed the sides of the window frame with her weaken hands and jumped. When her feet hit the dirt, it felt like the best thing in the entire world. It felt like freedom.
She let excitement take over her body and adrenaline flow through her veins. She must run. She must run now and she must run faster. She didn’t even know where to run, but she knew she had to.
The tall, dark, depressing trees soaked up any light that the sun may have been casting down on to the forest, but she still kept running, and running. She didn’t stop until something forced her to. It was a 12 foot high wire fence with barbed wire coiled along the top. There was no way of getting around it, so she had to make a choice. Left or right? If she picked the wrong way it might cost her, her life. That was all that mattered. Life. Keep breathing in oxygen and keep your heart beating.
Left. Left had always been the direction in her life to change, and new places. Left was the way you turned to drive to her new house. Left was the way you turned to go to school, and left was the way you turned to get to her boyfriend’s house. And, yet, right. Right was the way to turn to civilization. Right was the way to town. Right was the way to food, and after all, right was the “right” way.
Feeling vague to her decision she turned right. Farther and farther into the sunset, and deeper into the trees she ambled. Beyond her own world, the sun sank past the rambling, darkening hills. The gloomy twilight of the west was falling upon her. No, light, no life. Searching for a place to settle down for the night and sit staring into the darkness, she heard the crisp “snap” of a twig. She wasn’t alone.
Darkness. Black, surreal, perpetual darkness. Something was inside of it with her, but she would never know who. Thirteen loud cracks were heard through-out the blackness. She counted them slowly leading up the number thirteen. Five seconds passed between the thirteenth crack and then nothing. Now everything was black, even her own mind. She never saw it coming. Never saw a face, never saw anything but darkness.
A loud engine sputtering and finally turning stirred the darkness away from her sight. Lightheaded with foggy vision, she was again tied up with the same withering rope. Darkened dried up patches of bodily fluids covered her thighs and abdomen. Not to mention her flaming rope burns. In the back of some sort of suburban she tried to make out the face of the man driving. The reflection on the mud covered back window, made the man look distorted and monster like. She struggled to turn her neck and glimpse at his eyes in the rear view mirror. He was wearing a black beanie hat and a grey zip up jacket. She would remember that, if nothing else. That was his description for the police, if she ever made it that far.
Black. His eyes were like black slits in his stubbly face. They sent shivers down her spine that made her colder than she already was. By the way her breath beaded in the air in front of her, it was below freezing and she was in a T-shirt. She would die of Hypothermia or blood loss before long-
It had been 72 hours without food or water. She needed water desperately and she knew it. Getting water fast had to be her first priority, but the fraying piece of smoggy tape smeared across her face made that a difficult task.
The thick, double-paned, glass window behind her started to fog over with steam. Steam from the ‘heating vents in the luxury of the cab. Steam meant water, and water meant life. The only thing preventing her from life was the single millimeter thick piece of duct tape. She wouldn’t allow it. She did the only think she could to get attention, make a distraction, get noticed, and make noise-
She kicked the rusted metal jack that lay in the bed of the vehicle. It made a loud “CLANG.” The driver, startled, slammed on the brakes. With an ear blasting screech, a large semi-truck passed with a blaring honk. The mysterious man turned around with a very unpleasant face. He screamed in a very rough voice “You, stupid, kid! You are ruining my whole entire fricken life!”
Under my duct tape, I mumbled the phrase “It’s not my fault you abducted me you big fat retarded lard!” It was almost if he heard me, and whipped the car to the shoulder. Another blaring honk came from a passing car, this one, a red mini-van. It wasn’t as threatening, but more of a humorous, “beep.” He obviously didn’t know how to use his directionals and by the hand signal the eighty year old woman driving the car gave him, she wasn’t very happy. Soon enough, she was also pulling to the side of the road, but not by her own will. A state trooper had seen her rampage and she was probably getting chewed off for reckless driving and speeding. If only the young and egotistic officer knew what the back of the tan bronco I was in, contained. He’d be considered a hero. I could see the headlines now, “Young Missing Girl Found by State Trooper.”
I screamed at the top of my lungs for rescue, but I knew he would never hear my cries of help with all the incoming traffic and engine sounds. The man slammed the rusty door and opened the cargo doors letting in more freezing air and wind. He grabbed me by my feet and slapped me, hard and without any regret. Realizing what he had done, he whipped a thin silver LG razor out of his large denim pocket and pushed a button. I could hear the phone dialing over the sounds of the highway, which was surprising.
“Jackson,” A crusty voice came over the line.
“I QUIT,” Screamed the masked driver.
“Wait, TONY!” Shuddered through the speaker, but it was too late, the man, Tony, had hung up.
He looked at me with sorrowful eyes.
“Get out.” He spoke without any emotion.
I tried to wriggle free of my rope, but the pain was unbearable. I winced when he whipped out a pocket knife, but my nerves died down when I realized he was just cutting off the already fraying ropes. I was so weak and helpless.
“Run. Go home. Get the police. He wants you. I want nothing to do with this. I will let you go on one condition. I have a family. I don’t need to be going to jail. He already paid me half, and I’m not greedy. Go, and don’t tell them about me. Tell them that Jackson,”
He trailed off…
“Get out. NOW” He said more sternly.
I now knew his description that I had so carefully thought out was now useless. This man was innocent. No matter what happened in those woods. He was just another struggling being on the earth trying to keep dinner on the table, no matter what he had to do. He had been told to do all these things all along. It was this notorious “Jackson” that was running the whole sham.
When my grimy, teal, DCs hit the dusty roadside, I was again free. I was free to run, free to hide, and free from harm. The brown patchy grass was littered all over with empty cups and drive-through window bags. I looked up and across the road. He must have dumped me along the interstate. I caught the coffee colored bronco driving away in the corner of my eye and I didn’t look back.
Judging by the signs and the sun in the sky, I could go north for about 50 miles and hit a city, or I could go south for about 45 miles and hit a town, but by mother earth’s time, I was hitchhiking. I made my way miserably up to the shoulder of the dark black pavement. The thick white line was crusted over with grime. I wish I could pull it off and wave it around like a sign of surrender.
Forty-five was less than fifty, so south was the way to trek, continually sticking my thumb out shaking it is if salt was supposed to come out like a salt-shaker. As I made it past the 6th fluorescent green mile marker, a faded bottle green hippie van pulled to the shoulder. Indie style music blared out from the windows. The grey cloudy window rolled down to reveal, nothing less, a druggy.
“Hey, sexy.” A raspy voice projected out the window.
I looked down at myself. No wonder no one had picked me up. I was in a tight white T-shirt that was almost rosy pink with blood, and had only my volleyball spandex-
That’s what had happened. Memories came flooding back. There was a huge commotion at our game, after we lost, and I was pushed out the door. Someone, someone grabbed me…
But who? My memories were still hazy, like someone flushed water over them.
“Are you gonna get in or not, babe?” the voice brought me back to reality.
My normal instincts screamed “No!” But then again if this was a “normal” situation I wouldn’t be walking along the interstate in spandex. This could be my ride to escape, and safety. If he tried to do anything, I would tell him to pull over and would get out. What could go wrong? My instincts again screamed “A whole lot of things!”
The driver’s gravelly voice was again heard from inside the car, “COME ON ALREADY, GET IN!”
This made me stop myself and think twice, but instead I braced my foot against the rusty door frame, and pulled myself into the van.

Impressum

Texte: Amber Rae
Bildmaterialien: Amber Rae
Tag der Veröffentlichung: 04.03.2012

Alle Rechte vorbehalten