This story is the second installment of Abducted. Read part 1 here!
The clock on the dash read two-thirteen when we finally pulled up a long, gravel drive. We’d left Iowa about forty-five minutes ago, driving past the ‘Welcome to Minnesota’ sign shaped like the state itself. Thin, dark pine trees cluttered the landscape, with just a small clearing behind an old, crooked house.
It was obvious the foundation was settling, and the house was coming apart at the seams. Though it was still standing, I could hardly believe anyone could live in such a place. He pulled the station wagon right up to the front door and put it in park. He got out of the car and came around to my side.
Throwing open the door, he ordered me out of the vehicle, no longer whispering or conversational, but malicious, with a psychotic insistence. “Get in the house. Now.” When I hesitated, he raised a hand and slapped me across the face, leaving my cheek hot and stinging. Thrusting the gun into my ribcage, he forced me onto the rickety, wooden porch.
He kept one hand on my arm, grasping tightly, while the other reached into his pants pocket. Pulling out a set of keys, he chose one and stuck it into the lock on the door. ‘Why even bother with a lock?’ I wondered, ‘It’s not like anyone would ever want to break in here.’ That’s when it hit me. How it hadn’t dawned on me up until now, I have no idea – shock, maybe? I realized there was only one reason for him to keep this door locked. Not to keep anyone out, but to keep his victims in.
The door swung forward, and he eagerly pushed me off the faded, whitewashed porch and into a dimly lit den. The shag carpet was once probably lime-green, but was so covered with various unnameable stains, it had taken on a dingy olive tint. It smelled like a musty, old ale factory, and, sure enough, there was a cabinet full of booze along the far wall. From beer to brandy, it seemed to be fully stocked. As scared as I’d been up to now, I was beyond terrified at this point.
Slamming the door shut behind him, the man kept a firm grip on my arm, practically dragging me through the room. He kicked aside a pile of books, and tossed me onto a dust-covered couch. Panicked, I sat up and pulled my legs to my chest, staring at the ground. As I avoided eye contact, the man suddenly took hold of my chin, forcing me to look upward. Smiling, he removed his mask.
I squeezed my eyes shut. “I haven’t seen your face,” I assured him, “I can’t identify you. Please, just let me go… please don’t hurt me.” I finished with a whimper.
“Open your eyes,” he demanded, “Open them now or you will be hurt. I promise.”
My cheek still stung from his slap by the car. Slowly, I opened my eyes and saw his face. There wasn’t anything even remotely remarkable about him. He still seemed like he could fit in with a construction crew, or perhaps demolition. His hair was brown and short, in need of a good trim. A dark goatee hung from his square chin, a pedestal for his red, chapped lips. His brown eyes bore the same cold emptiness as before.
“That’s better,” he smiled. A second later, I felt another viscous slap. “Next time, you’ll do as I say the first time, yes?”
I began to shake, sure I would throw up at any moment. “Y-yes,” I whispered. Another slap.
“I can’t hear you,” the man complained. “Let’s try this one last time. You. Belong to me. Do as I say, when I say, and we will get along just fine. Do you understand?”
“Yes,” I managed.
“That’s better,” he sat on the couch next to me and slid a hand over my thigh. “I’m Rick. What’s your name?”
“No, your name isn’t Rachel. You’re gonna be Paula from now on.” He squeezed my leg, scooted closer, and began to pull at the buttons on my shirt.That was the first night he molested me. It never got any easier, only worse. He obviously had another house – one where he actually lived, and probably nearby. He would come and go at all hours. I wondered if he was married with kids and living a twisted double life. I wondered if he’d done this to other girls, and if so – how many had come before me? I wondered, too, about the stains on the carpet… what were they, exactly?
Read part 3 here!
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