The last time I saw my sister was the day before she vanished from my life. I’ve spent the last five years searching for her, clinging to the hope that one day I will find out what happened to her, but every lead has ended up at a dead end.
He took me because he thinks I’m Her.
My instinct is to run. I want to fight my way out of there, but I can’t. This man is my only connection to my sister. I’ll do whatever it takes to uncover the truth. Even if it means falling right into the arms of a psychopath.
“You’re awake,” he comments. His voice is low and gravelly and it sends a shiver down my spine. There is something familiar about the way he looks at me, but I’ve never seen him before in my life. I’d remember him. I’m sure of it. All I can manage is a nod. As if his question needs a response anyway. He can see that I’m am, in fact, awake.
“Where am I?” I whisper.
My heart begins to pound as panic rushes through me. I pull my arms, hard, snapping the rope back to its full capacity, the coarse strands burning against my skin. I wince in pain. He clicks his tongue, his eyes narrowing as he watches me trying to fight my way free. He’s so calm, like he knows I have no hope, and is enjoying the show. The seriousness of the whole situation begins to sink in.
I have to get out of here. The anguish inside me spirals out of control and within minutes, I’m in full meltdown mode. Any hope I had of remaining calm and level headed has gone out the window. Dear God, I’m going to die.
God knows what this guy plans on doing to me. Everything about this situation screams serial rapist and probably murderer. You don’t have this kind of set up without some kind of serious personality problems. This guy probably spent his childhood strangling kittens and burning ants with a magnifying glass.
Am I his first, or were there other girls before me?
“Jesus, calm down. I’m not going to hurt you,” he mutters. His voice is gruff and low, and the furrow in his brow tells me he’s annoyed, like my reaction is frustrating him. How am I supposed to react to being locked in a basement? Am I supposed to believe that because you’re saying it? Of course you’re going to hurt me. Why else would I be here? I shake the cuffs on my wrists again, willing them off me, tears stinging my eyes.
“Calm down for god’s sake,” he growls again, running his hand through his thick, dark hair. Frustration laces his voice, making me nervous, because I get the feeling I don’t want to piss this guy off. But I already have. I’m sure of it.
He leans forward, swiftly unravelling the restraints from my wrists and ankles. I rub at the tender skin beneath them, and jump as his fingers brush past my own. For a moment I forget my own fears and I find myself drawn to him. There’s something about him that is almost intoxicating. It lasts less than a second before my defences kick back in.
Ted Bundy had charm too.
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