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I wondered if the negotiations were going straight to my father. What good would that do? He was nearly unresponsive. The man wasn’t in any shape to negotiate for my release. I doubt he could remember an access code to his accounts.
I wanted to scream through the ceiling. This wasn’t going to work. My father was dying. My kidnappers had botched their entire crime. I was about to open my mouth and shout. I wanted to beat on the only door in the room to get their attention. They should let me go now before they were humiliated, but I stopped before my fist made contact.
What if this wasn’t botched? What if it was carefully planned out? Kimble was gone. My father was unconscious. Who was going to look for me? Without me in the game, my father’s properties and fortune became fair game to the other families. Holy shit.
My knees began to buckle. I reached for the wall. I had to hold on. I had to keep from my falling.
I wasn’t sure how many hours passed before I had the first sign of life from the outside world. There were no windows, so I couldn’t judge time. All I knew was that the door opened and before I could run to it, a tray of food slid across the floor along with a cloth sack.
“Wait,” I called out, but the door slammed shut and I heard a loud lock. I wondered what kind of deadbolt it was. The door was metal, that was all the information I had about it.
I leaned over to pick up the sack. Inside was a bar of soap, a toothbrush, toothpaste, and a new pair of clothes. I glared at the T-shirt and jogging pants. I’d already circled my living space fifty times. There was nowhere to hide. If there were cameras, they’d get a full view.
The tray of food wasn’t much either. A ham sandwich, an apple, and a bag of chips. A bottle of water had fallen over when they shoved it in the room. They gave me just enough. I scrubbed my hands in the sink and sat on the floor to eat.
After I finished dinner, I took my time running hot water in the sink. I washed my arms and legs and dressed in the clean clothes. I turned my clothes inside out and laid them on the couch. I rolled the laundry bag as a pillow and curled on my side. It felt like it was nighttime, but I wasn’t entirely sure. I wasn’t sure of anything. All I could do was wait.
Days passed the same way. I was given three trays of food a day and a change of clothes only every other day. I beat on the door until the side of my fist was bruised and my voice was hoarse. I begged for them to let me out. I threatened them. Swore I’d have them buried alive or wiped from New Orleans’ existence. I made a lot of threats over my kidnapping.
Nothing I said mattered. No amount of planning or waiting for that damn door to open mattered. Someone was watching me, that much I knew. The food never arrived unless I was on the other side of the room. They had enough time to deliver food and clothes before I could sprint across the floor.
I’d never felt that level of isolation. The misery of being forgotten. Of becoming a living memory. Each minute, hour, and day that passed I knew I was slipping away. I’d never felt so powerless in my life. I made a vow to myself during my kidnapping when I escaped that Kennedy Martin would never be powerless again. It was a vow I kept.
12
Knight
Kennedy spoke. She told me her story. My stomach turned at almost every word. I couldn’t believe it. This was four years ago? Someone took her? Kidnapped her? Was there a ransom? How in the hell did this even happen? I had to contain my anger and resentment—none of it was directed toward her. I tried to listen and not explode.
Finally, she looked up, even though she hadn’t gotten to the end.
I wanted to fold her in my arms and make promises I might not be able to keep, but I knew she had survived without me. Did she need me now? Was that why it was so easy for her to keep me at a distance? My stomach felt as it I had been punched hard. There was a tight knot I couldn’t get rid of .
“How long were you in that room?” I asked. I had tried not to interrupt. I had to force myself to keep my fucking mouth shut.
“A week,” she answered. “I thought it was around six or seven days, but I wasn’t sure until I returned home.”
I swallowed hard. “How did you do it? How did you get through the days?” I still didn’t know how she had escaped. I’d let her tell me at her own pace.
Her eyes lowered. I was scared there was something else she was going to tell me that would rip my heart out.
“The truth?” she posed.
I nodded. “Always the truth. I can take it.”
She pressed her lips together and inhaled. “It’s a little hard to tell you.”
I inhaled, steeling myself for something horrific. “It’s okay. No rush. We have the rest of the night,” I assured her.
She shook her head. “I can already tell it’s not what you think. It was you, Knight.”
“Me?” I leaned a little closer toward her.
“Yes. You.” She shrugged. “I’d lie down on that awful vinyl couch and dream about what it would be like to see you again.”
“You dreamed about me?” I couldn’t believe it.
She nodded. “Yes. It passed the time. What would happen if I saw you again? I used to dream about it. Every night I was trapped in the basement I had dreams about you. Dreams that were so vivid I would wake up, my chest pounding, my heart racing. I thought you were next to me, or maybe had just walked into another room. I think I actually called your name a couple times, or at least I thought I did. Then reality would start to break the illusion. I remembered I was locked in a basement, and my skin would cool, and I’d have to find a way to go back to sleep. I’d try different things. Walk through the dream step by step, trying to make sure I remembered it. Or I’d create a new one. One where I could make sure everything happened the way I wanted to picture it—not some distorted dreamverse where weird characters showed up or the setting was someplace abstract. I had this one fantasy. One that changed in bits and pieces the more time passed.”
