Run from Me

October 14, 2024 – 23:00

“Things are going to be a lot different from here on out.”

A voice filtered through the cloud obscuring my mind. It swam in and out of focus as though my head were underwater. The words sounded in my ears, but their intent couldn’t reach me. I was content to drift along my river of ignorance. I could float here forever.

Yet, something urged me to wake up and to wake up now.

“Your friends, family, job—that’s all gone.”

My brain held the weight of a boulder inside my skull—a thousand pounds keeping my chin to my chest. I couldn’t raise my head. Couldn’t open my eyes. I wasn’t usually this groggy in the mornings. It felt as if I were suffering from the world’s worst hangover. If ever I’d had one to compare it to.

“I expect you’ll be frightened. Angry. Confused.”

A hand brushed my cheek. It traveled the length of my jaw, warmth transferring from skin to skin. Pressure lifted my chin, and my head snapped back without my ability to keep it straight.

“Pay attention. You hear me?”

The voice was too harsh in the quiet. I was so tired. Why couldn’t he just let me sleep?

His image shimmered in the darkness behind my eyelids, smiling as he had only before we’d imploded. His eyes were always brightest when he laughed—a dozen sapphires embedded within his irises, each facet shining more brilliantly than the next.

“Richard?” I called out, but my lips refused to open, muffled behind a barrier. I reached up to push it away, but my arms remained cemented behind my back. Something was wrapped tight around my wrists. The ache in my muscles flared as if waking from a long sleep. My shoulders burned, radiating down to my fingertips with each minute movement. My lower back, my neck, my hips, my knees—everything twinged, forced to hold an unnatural position for far too long.

The claustrophobia lingered at the threshold, instinct tapping at my mind: Wake up. Something’s not right here. Unease flared in my stomach, and I managed to right my head. Where was I? Why couldn’t I open my eyes?

That’s when the panic hit, and the haze disintegrated completely. A whimper caught in my throat, and I thrashed in vain. Thumps accompanied my exertions, sharp barks and shrill squeaks of wood on wood as if a chair were grating a floor.

“Shh, calm down.”

His tone softened, dancing at my memory’s edge. I knew Richard’s voice, but he sounded so different. What was he playing at?

A hand touched my hair, brushing back the strands forever escaping my ponytail. I stiffened, and his touch fell away. A woodsy, spicy scent lingered in the air, the smell both foreign and familiar. My breath sounded loud in the quiet, amplified as they skated across the material hiding my mouth.

“There now, that wasn’t so hard, was it?”

Footsteps crossed the space in front of me, heavy and modulated. Thwomp, thump, thump. Nothing else penetrated the silence. Where were the tires whirring on the 405, the bass thumping in the streets, the voices chattering outside the dorm?

“Listen up. I’m only going to say this once.” The harsh bite returned to his voice.

“I don’t like questions. They piss me off, so don’t even bother.” An intake of breath. More footsteps. “Crying, screaming, begging—it won’t make a difference. There’s no one out here to help you.”

I waited, my heart slamming against my ribcage. I tried to relax my muscles, to even out my breathing. This was a joke, nothing more. It was only a matter of time before someone broke character. A muffled snigger, a namedrop or an outburst of “just kidding!” that would make this all disappear. Didn’t they realize they’d taken it too far?

“I’m not a patient man, and I don’t give second chances, but if you do as I say, we won’t have a problem. I don’t want to hurt you, but I will if you force my hand. Got it?”

I kept perfectly still. My mind raced through every possible scenario—Richard, Loni, the squad—I wouldn’t put it past any of them. This had to be a prank. But I couldn’t quiet my nerves. Every synapse in my brain fired off a warning. Adrenaline coursed uselessly through my veins, demanding I choose: fight or flight.

“I’d like to take this off.” I flinched when something ran across the material covering my mouth. “But I need to know you’ll behave. Can you do that for me? Nod if you understand.”

I dipped my head once, and the tape tore free in one fluid motion. I cried out as pain flashed, burning like my skin had gone with it. His thumb traced along the sensitive sting of my lower lip. Not the same tender pad of Richard’s touch—no, this was different. Holding my breath, I dug into the sensation. A finger curled under my chin, a callus’s roughness scratching beneath my jaw. My father was regularly manicured, his hands often softer than mine, but it had been ages since we’d shared so much as a handshake outside the camera’s spotlight. And who else might have such an intimate touch?

I tried to turn my face away, but his hand flexed, holding me still. The pressure of his fingers metamorphosized—tender to uncomfortable to agonizing. My stomach flipped. Maybe this wasn’t a joke. Hadn’t my body been telling me all along? I had a good scream, and I sucked in a breath, preparing to use it. He was ready for me.

Liquid hit the back of my throat, and I choked on it, my tongue erupting in a chemical explosion. I coughed, gagged, retched on the chlorine taste as it burned through my esophagus. I couldn’t put out the fire—couldn’t even breathe.

He’d sprayed me with bleach.

“I told you not to scream,” he said.

I spat over my shoulder, and it dripped down my chin. “Wha— What’s going on?” The chemical ate through my chest, and my voice came out scraggly. I swallowed and tried again. “Richard?”

“Not quite, love.”

And though I knew it all along, the distinct difference in their tones suddenly became glaringly obvious. Where Richard’s voice was playful, this man’s was gruff, husky. Familiarity tingled, but I couldn’t place it. Did I know him?

Weren’t most abductions orchestrated by people the victim knew?

“Why are you doing this?” I breathed. “Where am I?”

“Enough. I won’t say it again.” His hiss brushed my ear, and I jerked away, the chair lurching back on two legs before crashing forward as it regained balance.

“Come on. This isn’t funny. Did Loni put you up to this?” I’d expressed my disgust toward the Beta Gamma initiatives and the horrors they induced on new recruits, but she’d still tried to pledge me once. Woken at two in the morning with a pillowcase over my head, we’d been chased through the woods by some idiots armed with chainsaws. Staging a kidnapping had her name written all over it.

“If this is some kind of a joke—” Something smashed into the side of my face, and I squealed as my cheekbone seared in the blaze it left behind.

“What did I just tell you?” he demanded. “Shut up.”

But the panic didn’t listen to reason. “I don’t like this,” my voice cracked. “Please—”

“I said, shut up!” His hand clamped over my mouth.

I tried to scream, to twist my neck, my face, my shoulders, anything, but he was too strong. Anxiety took root, and I thrashed against my bindings. My breath left in ragged outbursts, grating at my scorched throat.

“Calm down.” His hand slipped from my mouth, brushed my neck, traced the line of my shoulder, then drifted down my arm to close around my elbow. I flexed uselessly. He sighed, and his voice softened, “Stop struggling. I don’t want to hurt you.”

I yelped as something stabbed into my skin, the sharp pain disappearing as quickly as it’d come. Chills snaked up my arm, and a tranquility seeped through my body. My breathing subsided to a whisper, and a swirl of something cradled my chest—something oddly reminiscent of nostalgia. A calm that overtook the underlying fear.

Had he drugged me?

An image flickered behind my eyelids. Darkness. An enclosed space. Carpet scratching against my arms. An engine purring beneath my cheek.

What was this? A memory? I fought against the heaviness pressing on my brain. I had to stay awake.

“’S going on?” My lips tripped over my tongue, slipped on my teeth. “What’s happening to me? I can’t…feel anything.” The bindings burrowing into my wrists mere moments ago diminished to a numbness. My head drooped to my chest. Fingers speared through my hair, forcing my face level again. The action was rough, yet the sensation at my scalp was no more than a tingle.

“It won’t hurt you. It’s just a sedative.”

“I don’t want…to sleep.” Terror washed over me despite the drugs. I couldn’t stop the thoughts from invading as I imagined the vulnerability of unconsciousness. Faceless men, hands tearing at my clothing, roving across bared flesh. And me, trapped within my body, powerless to stop them.

“It’s a small dose. Just enough to help you relax.”

“Why…? Why are you doing this?” The words tumbled from my lips. I couldn’t be sure he heard me.

“You’re a smart girl. I’m sure you can figure it out.”

A memory crept to the forefront of my mind—an assembly we’d had in finishing school a few years back. The speaker had come from a women’s shelter, warning about abductors. Her voice replayed in my head: “It’s important to distinguish yourself. Tell them your name, remind them you have a family. Make them see you as a real person.”

“My name is Naomi,” I started. “I have friends…a family. They will miss me if something happens...”

“What are you—”

“My name is Naomi. I have friends and a family.”

“Knock it off!”

I pictured them all, each face passing in succession: Loni, so reckless, so full of life. She’d panic if she woke and found my bed empty. Richard, our last words thrown in anger. Would we ever get the chance to rectify things? Tiki, the Samoan head chef at the diner; Charlene, our work-mom; Jesse, the busboy with a huge crush on Loni; and everyone else in between. The girls on the squad. My classmates. Teachers. Even my father…

Breathing deep, my voice rose in volume. “My name is Naomi. I have a family—”

“I know who you are!” he thundered. “Naomi Kavanaugh, nineteen years old. Second-year student at Rutherford University. Lives on campus with Loni Davis—dorm 219. Dated her brother Richard. Co-captain of the cheerleading team. Works nights at the Greasy Spoon. Yes. I know who you are, alright?”

My ears rang in the aftermath. I had to swallow several times before I could speak. “What do you want from me?”

People say ignorance is bliss, but I had to know. This guy could be prepping to harvest my organs or about to auction my body off to the highest bidder. Or…he could be about to take me himself. I pressed my knees together as if it could be enough to stop him from wrenching them apart. Was it too much to ask that this be a simple ransom abduction?