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I motion for everyone to follow me to the back entrance of the warehouse, the only door that I know has no lock. The owner of the building has been allowing the place to fall into a state of chaos, which had previously caused nothing but issues for me. I’ve lost countless amounts of product to the rain because of a leaky roof or fiendish rodents. For now, the man’s carelessness has come to my aid.
We move out, everybody dead silent as we enter the pitch black of the back hallway. The air hangs around us, musty and tainted with the stagnant tinge of mold and rotting wood. I’ve shown these men a map of this warehouse front to back multiple times a day since I put this plan into motion – they could walk this path blind without issues.
When I pause to listen, I can hear inebriated male voices barking and snapping at each other, some in languages that I’m unfamiliar with. It doesn’t matter. All that I need to know is that these men aren’t mine, and they’re trespassing.
The adrenaline is piercing my heart now, blowing up my blood vessels like a speed balling bullet train. The irony of the war within me is the face of my grandmother, practically standing in front of me as my memory is projected onto the black wall. I can see her praying the rosary at her kitchen table, the only person on the planet who wasn’t afraid of my father.
But she’s not praying for me anymore.
I’m on my own this time.
3
Iris
Iwould have just cooperated. I’m sure I could have worked something out, pled for my life, maybe even offered a reward of some kind if I were to be spared.
My eyelids are so tired that I can’t even lift them to see three feet in front of me. It’s not like it matters, because the room I’m trapped in is pitch black. I can still feel how affected my body is from whatever it is they used to tranquilize me. To be fair, under different circumstances, this wouldn’t feel like that bad of an experience.
But these are the circumstances, and I might have gotten myself fucked beyond saving this time.
Trying to reason with such vile people would have been an exercise in futility. I have no doubts about that. However, there’s a lot I would do to avoid being tied up and drugged before I was zip-tied to a metal chair in the back of a warehouse.
It takes me a few moments to realize what’s really happened here. The moment I wake up, I’m positive that I’m trapped behind the stage at my old high school in my hometown. I used to do stage management for the theater kids back in the day, far too anxious to try to act myself. My parents forced me to be a part of an after-school activity, and that was the only one that didn’t involve trying to display some kind of talent that I knew I didn’t have.
When I realize that this isn’t the case and I’m stucksomewhere else, the horror also dawns on me that I didn’t just end up here. Someone deliberately put me here, tying me up as hard as they could before leaving me to wake up on my own.
Where are they? Why didn’t they leave someone here to guard me in case I try to escape?
When I try to move my legs, I realize that I’m not going anywhere, even if I wasn’t tied up. The restraints are just a precaution in case I have a superhuman metabolism that blows through their drug.
It turns out that I don’t, and the after-effects of whatever they gave me are hanging on for dear life.
Given the context, I know better than to try to scream for help. There’s no way that the person who brought me back here would risk having me somewhere that a simple shriek would have me freed.
My hands are tied so tight that I can feel my fingers falling asleep and becoming numb. The thought of my fingers falling off in captivity flashes before my eyes for a moment, and the idea is so horrifying that I’m rendered too nauseated to think clearly for at least a minute.
No matter how terrified I am, I need to get the fuck out of here. I need to calm myself down, then I can—
A door opens to the right of the room that I’m in, which I can now see is an empty office. I’m so disoriented from the darkness and the drugs that I’m surprised to see that the layout of the room isn’t anything like I had imagined it would be. The absurdity of this particular detail isn’t lost on me. Why the hell do I care about the layout of the room I’m being held captive in?
At least I can see that there were no other people in here with me.
There’s a large man with wide shoulders and a scowl on his face who approaches my hair like I stole it from him. He pulls a pair of scissors out of his pocket, and I feel a momentary flutter of joy and relief until I realize that he has a pair of handcuffs in his other hand.
Of course.
I’ve been so deep in my own head about this that I didn’t even realize that my mouth has been duct taped closed.
It’s almost surreal just how badly this has all gone. I hadn’t left a note for anyone in case I got kidnapped or went missing. The only person who knows where I am is John, who likely expected this whole expedition to consist of a half-hour of taking pictures. I picture him safe at home, unaware of my predicament, growing impatient as he shouts at his wife for burning the carbonara. I resent him to hell and back for it, and I resent myself even more for allowing myself to be bullied into this position.
I should have just gone into real estate like my dad wanted.
“Get the fuck up,” growls the large man, somehow unaware of the fact that I would have sprinted for the door the second I realized I could walk if I weren’t restrained. He just needs to feel powerful, and it’s my responsibility to let him feel that way if it will increase my odds of survival even a little.
When he jerks me to my feet, I nearly collapse back into the chair as I feel how strained and sore my knees are from being bound to the chair. I force myself to endure it, knowing that any sign that I will cause problems makes me into a liability.
My hair and clothes are still wet from the rain outside, which feels like it must have been hours ago. I’d give anything to be back in that spot on the pavement, taking photos until the moment I realize that I’m making a massive mistake.
