I look through my clutch just to make sure I have nothing to use as a weapon. But the most dangerous item aside from my eye drops is my lipstick. For a girl who routinely travels with pepper spray, I sure mucked it up on the night I planned to be abducted.
The driver pulls into an empty parking lot in an area I’m not familiar with. The only other car around is a white van, one of those creepy ones with a smush nose front and no windows on the sides aside from those in the front doors. The car stops abruptly, and the driver gets out, yelling at someone inside the van. I’m fairly sure he’s speaking in Russian if what I’ve heard from Daria over the years is any indication.
When he comes back and flings the door open, I realize he’s big everywhere. Not just tall, but huge barrel chest, arms like tree trunks, and thighs that bulge even through the cover of his slacks.
“Get out,” he demands, his accent strong.
I follow his instructions, albeit timidly, as I’m not sure what happens next. But it doesn’t matter because within a few seconds I feel a small prick at my neck, and everything goes black.
* * *
When I wake in the back of a van, I’m lying on my side with my hands secured behind my back and my feet duct-taped together. Even though I technically asked for this to happen, I’m still scared to death. Granted, I didn’t ask these guys specifically to kidnap me. And my request wasn’t verbal or anything, but I didput it out thereand now look at me?
I’m a prisoner.
They stuffed a rag that smells like dirty socks in my mouth. And the raised ridges on the bare floor of the van are digging into my ribs and hipbone. The heat of the engine rises from below; the metal acting as the perfect conductor making it almost hot to the touch.
I try to take in my surroundings. But from my vantage point, it’s limited. The entire inside of the van is white, reminding me of the one my mom’s boyfriend had when I was a kid. It even has the same big engine cover between the two front seats. But my mom’s boyfriend had a built-in bed in the back of his, with storage underneath it. And carpeting throughout. I remember thinking carpeting and a bed in a van was the epitome of luxury.
The combination of the heat from the floor and what I think are gas fumes coming into the van from somewhere, are making me kind of loopy. I want to ask who these men are and where we are going, but I can’t remove the rag from my mouth.
When I was a kid, I’d snuck into the theater to see The Silence of the Lambsafter buying a ticket forThe Never Ending Story II. That movie helped to blossom my fear of everything in existence. It’s also the reason I started my list of rules for how to avoid catastrophic situations.
Rule #1 - Never help a guy wearing a cast move furniture from a van.
Netflix Junkie at your service. I know for a fact good things never come from helping men move anything in and out of an automobile. You will end up trapped in a deep hole and someone will use your skin for a jacket.
Every time.
What I need is to stay calm and think this through. I wanted this to happen. Wanted to be kidnapped so that Reed could come and rescue me. So, I just need to focus on the next step since the abduction has happened.
Nothing comes to mind.
It’s entirely possible I didn’t plot out any steps beyond being taken. Which, according to Daria, falls under the category of dumb shit I do without thinking it through. She says if I don’t like something, I ignore it and hope it goes away. That’s why I love movies so much, I don’t like dealing with real life.
If we use this as an example, I suppose she’d be right. But it doesn’t mean I can’t come up with a plan now.
The van takes a sharp corner and I roll from the van wall over to the double side doors with a bump.
Jesus, please don’t let these doors open.
Though, if they opened, I’d have a better chance of escaping.
Of course, I’d have to get untied first.
Shit.
If I could get untied, I’d be doing it now.
Okay, focus, Quinn. Think about the rules.
Rule #2 - Always leave a trail.
Blew that one already.
I didn’t tell anyone where I was going or what I was doing. I didn’t even get into the correct Lyft so there won’t be a digital trail of my trip. And even if I had, I’d be in this new car now so it wouldn’t matter.
Ohmigod!
