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I pushed off the couch. I grimaced when something sticky adhered to my palm. I felt shaky on my feet, but there was no way I was lying down on the green vinyl again. I wiped my hand on my pants.
I had to think. I had to try to figure out how I ended up in this room, and more importantly who put me in it. There had to be an answer somewhere. I walked with careful steps following the perimeter. The walls were bare. I stopped when I heard something clatter overhead.
I waited for a door to open. For some sign that whoever had taken me wanted money, a payout, a price for my father to pay. But the activity continued without anyone bothering to see me.
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.
