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I have a good idea of who is behind this shit show. Dante Briggs just messed with the wrong man. Professionally, I could care less about what the man did to me. But this shit here, taking my wife? This is personal.
The police arrive and I explain as best I can what happened, what I know. Bristol and I have made headlines, getting married so quickly like we did but I love my wife and their line of questioning is starting to piss me off and I tell them as such.
Once I show them the tapes from the security cameras, they start asking me questions about Dante, who is clearly visible on the tape putting his hands on my wife. Bristol isn’t making it easy for him to take her. That’s my girl. I watched as he gets her into the trunk of his piece of shit car and drives out of view.
“Alright Mr. Johnston, we’ll be in touch,” the older of the two detectives says handing me his card. “If you think of anything else, give me a call.”
“She’s pregnant,” I say hoping that means they’ll speed up the search for her.
“We’ll add that to her description,” the younger one says. I shake their hands and after their crime scene guys leave, I get the go-ahead to clean up the mess Dante made. “How far along is she,” he asks softening his voice.
“Two months. We haven’t even told anyone yet,” I say. I have to clear my throat since I am probably going to cry like a complete jackass.
“We’ll do everything we can to find her.”
Without her by my side, I have lost it completely. I refuse to see anyone, but the detectives assigned to her case. Everything in this house reminds me of her, but I can’t get rid of anything. She’ll want it when she comes back.
Hours turn to days, days to weeks and weeks to months without a sign of Dante or Bristol. Each passing day kills me more.
That motherfucker better hope the cops get to him before I do because he won’t like what I will do to him.
Simply killing him doesn’t hold any appeal, it’s going to be much worse than that.
Longer than I’d like to admit passes without a single word or sighting of my woman and I begin to believe that she’s dead. At first, I thought I’d know it if she was dead, but now I am not so sure.
My phone rings at two thirty-one morning four months after she was taken from me.
“Hello?” I answer. I haven’t been sleeping well and this was one of the nights I had to take something.
“Baby?” I hear her voice and I wake the fuck up.
“Bristol?”
“Tex, come get me. I have no idea where I am.”
“I am coming, doll. Can you be a good girl and wait there for me?”
“Yeah. I think that I killed him. I had to,” she says.
“Okay. It’s gonna be okay Bristol. I am going to hang up so I can find you,” I say.
“Okay. I love you,” she whispers again.
“I love you too, doll,” I say hanging up.
Four months is a long time to be held captive by someone. I will be there for her every step of the way. First things first, I call the detective and give them the information they need to find her.
Thank God they know what they are doing.
Chapter Eight
Bristol
Waking up in the trunk of a car is not the most pleasant thing in the world especially when I am about to puke everywhere. Thankfully, my assailant stops and pulls me out of the trunk. We are standing in front of a dilapidated house that looks like it was condemned in the seventies if the lawn furniture and ornaments are to be believed.
“What am I doing here?” I ask as he drags me up the stairs.
“I need to be alone with my experiments, You are just collateral.
“Who are you?”
“Dante Briggs at your service. Now get in, do what I say and don’t make a fuss, you’ll be fed, and I won’t hurt you in any way,” he says. I don’t believe a word he says. This is the man that tried to fuck my husband over. I shout so that someone can hear me. Can know that I am here. I am not prepared for the backhand across the face. “What did I just say, bitch? Get in there,” he says shoving me into a room and closing the door. I hear the lock engage from the outside. Looking around, everything in the room looks like it’s from the seventies, except the bed. It looks new and pristine; I almost don’t want to touch it. It creeps me out that the bed is the only brand-new thing in the room. What the fuck? I feel like that could only mean that he means to join me in here. I shiver. I can’t let that happen. No other man but my husband can touch me, ever. I lose track of how long I am in here. The bathroom makes it so I don’t have to leave the room ever and oddly I am okay with that. Dante brings me food and drink, but never stays. One night he lingers, and I get him talking. I find out that he thinks that by kidnapping me, Tex will lose the will to live. When that doesn’t work, he wants to send some of my hair to him. I had no choice but to allow him to cut my hair. I am not sure he ever sent it, but now I have extremely short hair and being in this disgusting hovel, short hair can’t be a bad thing. I tried escaping the first night, but the windows were too high or nailed shut. The door was locked from the outside. I resigned myself to dying here.
