Chapter 3
LILY
I hear my breath first.
Not the beat of my heart.
Just the ragged, stuttered rasp as I breathe in and then the uncertainty threaded through it as I exhale out.
There is no hum of an air conditioner, no drip of a bathroom faucet . . . just my own uneven breathing and the faint, sterile tang of something chemical in the air.
My heart is quiet. Frozen with fear. Silenced by the unknown.
Something’s not right. My heart should be pounding. Maybe it is and the fear is just louder.
I’m concentrating, trying so hard to not move—to pretend to be asleep so that whoever did this to me still thinks I still am. I’m so focused on searching for sounds that for a moment I don’t register the pressure on my eyes.
I’m blindfolded.
The awareness comes like a drop of cold water down my spine—tight fabric pressing into my eyelids, the faint itch where it rubs against my temple, the bump against the back of my head where it’s tied.
My thoughts fracture.
The bar. The drink the one the brown-eyed man bought for me.
The alley.
The dizziness.
Bellisima.
Panic.
The darkness.
It wasn’t just alcohol.
The bitter taste at the back of my throat tells me as much. Was I drugged?
My head is still in a haze of chemicals, but it recognizes one thing and one thing only—pure, unfettered fear. Empty, panicked shouts ricochet around in my brain but cannot escape, cannot manifest themselves into actual sounds.
Stop. Think. Just . . . think.
Inhale. Exhale. Slow it all down.
Kind of fucking impossible right now. What is it they say on those stupid crime shows my sister watches? Knowledge is power. Take in your surroundings. Try and remember everything.
Inhale. Exhale. Slow it all down.
Easier said than done.
But I try to, relying on my senses since I can’t see.
The bed beneath me is luxurious. Soft and pillowed and such a contrast to the harshness of my emotions and the unknown around me.
Soft sheets. Expensive thread count. Things that should feel safe but don’t. Not here, not now anyway. It has to be a trick. Something to soften the panic. To stop the trembling that racks my body.
But it’s so much easier to think about the sheets. The bed. The cool air of the room. Something tangible to fixate on besides the fear wreaking havoc within me.
Inhale. Exhale. Slow it all down.
I strain to hear sound. Anything beyond the thin veil of fabric on my eyes. A trash truck somewhere. A car honking in the distance. Footsteps.
Music.
There’s classical music playing nearby, muted but quite beautiful. Such a contrast to what I assume surrounds me.
Footsteps. There are footsteps. I hear them come. Then go.
It’s not like I forgot where I was or what is happening but the sudden reminder when I was in my own headspace has the fight returning to me.
My mouth is dry and my jaw feels sore, tired. I struggle and break through the fog momentarily, before frantically diving back under when thoughts connect and synapses fire.
Something rigid rests against my tongue, holding my mouth open just enough to make my jaw ache. It muffles the shouts I’m trying to scream. I can’t alert anyone. I can’t cry for help.
Inhale. Exhale.
I go to reach for my mouth to remove whatever is tied there and realize I can’t.
Oh my God, I’m tied up.
The panic hits again.
I tug on my restraints, shifting. Fuck. My ankles are tied too.
They’re not ropes though that bind me. Leather, maybe? Or something like it. Whatever it is cuts into the soft skin above my wrists when I pull against them. It’s not painful but the pressure suggests I’m not getting free without help. Or mercy.
Terror.
I’ve been scared. I’ve been fearful. But now it’s unadulterated terror.
The need to escape overwhelms me. I struggle, thrashing my body back and forth. I yell for help but all that comes out are muffled protests. My head is still groggy but my body is on high alert, consumed with the unknown and the never-ending darkness.
I struggle to breathe, to think.
Fuck.
I’ve been kidnapped.
Every horrific thought imaginable of what could happen to me ghosts through my mind.
My boys. Tears leak out of my eyes only to be absorbed by the blindfold. Muddy cleats on the kitchen floor. Thumping feet down the hallway. Play fights in the front yard. Freckled noses and goofy smiles they still haven’t grown out of.
The thoughts burn away in the white heat of panic.
I fight against the restraints with all my might, but it does no good. My joints ache, my muscles scream, and despair reigns.
Nothing gives.
Nothing gives except for my first strands of hope.
The tears come harder now. The blindfold so saturated that drops of water slide down my temples to the pillow beneath me.
Inhale. Exhale.
But trying to calm down is futile. The mind-numbing fear is real and raw and takes hold.
Who’s going to look for me? Who’s going to know I’m missing?
I was so upset at Anderson for abandoning our trip, I left my cell in my room so I wouldn’t feel obliged to answer his calls or texts.
I wanted to be unplugged and mindful of where I was. The history that surrounded me. The experience. The history.
The irony.
Now, no one can use the GPS on my phone to track me. Then again, no one even knows I’m missing.
The direness of the situation slams into me like a battering ram.
Huge, ragged sobs hit now. The kind that have no tears but that make you feel like you’re emptying your soul with each and every hitch of your body.
The storm rattles the windows hard enough to shake the picture frames. Thunder booms and then lightning splits the sky. It’s only seconds before I hear the hurried pad of bare feet down the hallway.
“Mom?” Justin’s voice is broken with fear. Josh is right behind him, peeking over his shoulder with eyes wide. Both of them hover in the doorway, pajamas crooked, and hope etched in the lines of their faces that I’ll let them hop in bed with me.
I set my book down on the nightstand and pat the bed. “Come here.”
They scramble in, one on each side of me, and tuck themselves under my arms. I press kisses to both of their heads and breathe in the faint scent of shampoo and little boy.
“You scared?” I asked.
“No.” Two voices, the rushed word from both.
I chuckle. “It’s okay if you are.”
Another crack of thunder makes them both flinch. I chuckle and pull them in closer.
“Maybe,” Justin says.
“Just a little,” Josh adds. It’s okay to admit he’s scared if his brother is.
“It’s okay,” I murmur. “It’s just the sky throwing a tantrum like you two do sometimes.”
I get two pair of eyes glancing up at me and then rolling.
“Why’s it so loud?” Josh whispers.
“Hmm. Well. Sometimes Mother Nature likes to yell too.”
“Like you?” Justin asks.
“Yes. Like me,” I say. “Do you guys want to sleep in here until Daddy gets home?” I glance at the clock. With his delayed flight, it might be hours yet until he’s home.
“Really?”
“Please?”
“Yes.” I squeeze them tighter. “You guys do know that it’s okay to be scared. It’s okay to cry. You don’t have to be brave all the time.”
My words are met with uncomfortable shrugs but their eyes flit up to mine for a beat.
“Daddy and I will always be here to help you through, no matter how scary it seems. That’s our job.”
Justin tilts his head. “But who saves you when you’re scared?”
The question gives me pause for a second but only because it makes me smile. “Daddy does. Your daddy always comes to my rescue when I need him.”
They nod, clearly comforted by the thought and then Josh says, “When we’re bigger and stronger, we can save you too. It will be our job, then. We love you, Momma.”
I snuggle in to them and memorize the moment—their small arms wrapped around me, their hearts beating against me, the trust in their eyes—and know this is the reminder. This is why I do everything I do.
It will be our job, then, We love you, Momma.
The memory came out of nowhere.
Your daddy always comes to the rescue when I need him.
It’s a blessing and a curse.
My breath comes faster. Hard, sharp draws of air as I try to shove the panic down, try to lock it up so I don’t draw those beautiful little souls into the abyss of darkness.
My boys. I keep fighting for my boys.