Page 90 of Requiem

Julia 33

I fight my way back to consciousness in stages, first taking a physical inventory. My head is throbbing, likely from the drugs. I don’t think he hit me. Yet. My neck, shoulders and arms are achy and stiff from being tied up. Tied to something … A chair. I’m sitting in a hard-backed chair and each of my ankles is tied to one of the legs.

I struggle to clear my head, grasping for any tiny snippet of memory beyond the van. But there are no snippets. I have no idea what’s transpired in the last … what? Hours? Days? No. It couldn’t be days, so I can’t be that far from home. I listen carefully, trying to discern if Jeremy is nearby before I let on that I’m awake. Nothing. I don’t sense his presence in my immediate vicinity, so I open my leaden eyelids slowly against bright lights. I squint and wait for my pupils to dilate.

As the room finally comes into focus around me, I recognize it as a kitchen. Stove, fridge, cabinets. Breakfast nook … Suddenly my eyes are wide open and my breath hitches in my chest. I fight back a whimper. This is my kitchen! My kitchen in our Port Jefferson house on Long Island!

I take a moment to concentrate on slowing my runaway pulse.

Do. Not. Panic.

I stop and take a long, deep breath, in my nose, out my mouth, which no longer has a gag in it. That’s an improvement, anyway. But why on earth would Jeremy bring me here of all places? I mean, it’s my house. If you want to kidnap someone, you take them someplace where no one will look for them. Of course. I realize I’ve just answered my own question.

It wouldn’t occur to Matthew to look for me here. He thinks I’m somewhere in the city. Damn! Okay. That’s the bad news. The good news is that this is my house. I know it inside and out. Every baby-proofed crevice. The fog is lifting slowly and I am focused enough now to hear him moving around close by. He’s opening and closing doors, moving things around down the hallway.

I take another deep breath and gather my courage.

“Jeremy?” I call out tentatively.

He doesn’t answer.

“Jeremy? What are you looking for? Maybe I can help.”

He’s quiet for a moment and then I hear his voice from behind me “I want a drink. Where do you keep the liquor?”

Okay, that’s easy enough.

“There’s a cabinet in the living room, it’s just to my right,” I point with my head. “Against the wall, next to the big window. Since the baby’s been walking, we keep it locked. You’ll find a key sitting on top of it and glasses on the shelf above. There’s also beer and wine in the fridge if you prefer.”

I’m not certain that he’s left the kitchen again until I hear the clink of bottles in the next room. When he returns, it’s with a bottle of vodka and a glass. He puts both on the counter and sits next to them on a stool, swiveling so he’s facing me.

“This is some place you’ve got here, Jules. No wonder Matthew wanted to relive his pathetic little childhood here.”

“It’s a good place for a family,” I say softly. “A good place to raise the baby.”

He smiles, shakes his head at me and knocks back a shot.

I know how Jeremy thinks. I know what makes him happy and what makes him angry. He’s not wired all that differently than my father was …if I can make him feel powerful, flatter his ego without fawning over him, I might be able to reason with him, convince him that he doesn’t have to hurt me. I don’t have a lot of time here, and the more he drinks, the shorter my window gets. I take a slow, deep breath. I’m okay. I can do this.

“Did you look at him?” I ask.

He furrows his brow.

“Who?”

“You know who! The baby,” I tease him a little.

“No,” he mutters without even looking at me.

“Oh, come on. You must have,” I coax. “I know you did.”

Now he’s looking at me. In fact, he’s glaring. It’s a warning that I’m on thin ice here.

“You must have seen it.”

“What’s that?”

He’s trying to sound disinterested.