Chapter 5 Charlie
Charlie
My head hit the side of the window as the car turned, hitting a pothole. “Ouch,” I mumble beneath my breath. We must be leaving the parking lot. My mind replays the event, trying to remember any clue that could help me put together an escape plan.
I had finished my call with the girls and was putting away my phone before continuing my walk to The Lantern Nook.
I looked down for a second when his arms came around my chest and a hand covered my mouth.
Strong arms, great forearms—okay, so I felt him up a bit when he was hauling me toward the alleyway nestled between an empty storefront and commercial real estate office.
It was the storefront I was going to check out for my bakery, which made sense why he dragged me behind the building toward the empty lot.
I remember a car, a blue electric sedan that I didn’t recognize. I know everyone in town, and no one drives an electric car in this town. It only means one thing—this guy is definitely an out-of-towner.
I need to figure out how to get free. I have never been good with keeping calm under pressure.
I usually overreact and this might be one of those situations that I should overreact.
Maybe if I’m unhinged enough, he won’t want to keep me.
If I am going to pull off this plan, I have to act like I want to be here.
Trick him into believing this is the best thing to ever happen to me. Reverse psychology, baby. Classic.
Crossing my legs, I prepare my arsenal with all the unrealistic dark romance stories I have read while praying my sister notices I am gone and doesn’t chalk up my being late as a normal “Charlie event.” I start with step one of my plan. Distraction via conversation.
“Okay, so let’s just address the elephant in the room,” I say, putting more chipper in my tone than I had. “You, mysterious masked man, have literally every red flag I could possibly want in a book boyfriend. Kidnapping, check. Silent and broody, check.”
I wiggle to adjust the sack over my head from tickling my nose, waiting for any signs of life from him. Nothing. Not even a grunt.
“Okay, strong silent type, I see you,” I say brightly.
“So,” I say, trying to act nonchalant, “what’s your tragic backstory? Mafia? Childhood trauma? Did your ex betray you with your sworn enemy? Please tell me you’re not just, like, a random guy who got lost on his way to a gas station robbery, because that would ruin the vibe.”
The man lets out the longest sigh I’ve ever heard in my life. Like he regrets not just kidnapping me but also being born. Good, it is working. Time to dial up the unhinged meter.
“Honestly,” I press on, teeth chattering from the cold, “if I d-don’t develop Stockholm Syndrome by chapter f-five, I’ll be disappointe-d-d. Don’t let me d-down.” The chill of the first cold front seeping through the car makes me regret not putting on a jacket before I left my apartment.
You could hear a pin drop in this car, but then the sound of the vent blasts through the silence.
I can feel the heat enveloping me in a warm hug.
My lip curves up in a small smile—aw, he notices.
That’s kind of sweet. Maybe he isn’t so bad after all.
Said every true crime victim before they got murdered. Right. I can’t let my guard down.
What else could I throw at him? Something that would make any man’s eye twitch, but women would eat up with a spoon. Oh. Gossip!
“Speaking of disappointments,” I chirp, feeling much warmer than before, “do you have a radio in this thing? Like, if you’re going to abduct me, the least you can do is give me some tunes. Preferably Taylor Swift. Actually—did you hear she got engaged?!”
Still nothing. I’m starting to worry this plan might not work.
What if he’s immovable? Stubborn. Unflinching.
Oh god, is this how I die? My body, found in an alley, next to my Kindle.
OH MY GOD, my Kindle! The book content there, the cops would see it, they would go through my library and see all my books.
No, absolutely not. I have to trust that Claire would know better and delete all my history before they got to it.
“Oh my god, you haven’t, have you?” I gasp. “This is huge news! Taylor Swift is engaged! Can you imagine the wedding? The dress? The guest list? I’m telling you, if she doesn’t release a secret double album as wedding favors, I’m writing her a strongly worded DM.”
The man exhales so hard I think the windshield might fog up.
I’m getting to him. This is perfect. I continue rambling, all while using my foot to feel around for my bag.
I could have sworn I heard him drop it on the floor of the car.
I remember because I heard my Kindle thunk and a little part of myself died.
I can get hurt, my bruises will heal, but not my Kindle. Not my baby.
I spent months scraping away, saving for the newest edition, the color soft.
I wanted to see those pretty covers in bright, vibrant colors.
I told myself if I could see the pretty cover on my Kindle, I wouldn’t buy the physical books.
The lies I tell myself. In my defense, I have bought fewer physical copies.
I’ve moved on to the special editions! The ones that are coveted by the bookish community.
The ones that if I got robbed by a book lover, that would be what they steal. What can I say? We’re special ones.
“You’re quiet,” I say. “Which is fine, broody is hot, don’t get me wrong.
But this is a long drive, and I don’t want us to miss a bonding opportunity.
Think about it—we could be besties by the time we get to your creepy abandoned warehouse and/or mansion.
If you’re planning to chain me up in a basement, you should know I am very particular about basement decor. ”
I step on something hard and internally wince—my poor Kindle.
I wiggle left and right, trying to slyly reach my tote bag.
With my hands bound behind my back, this simple task is nearly impossible.
I’m holding my breath at every shift. I can’t get caught before my plan even takes off.
Feeling for the bag with my shoes, I angle my body sideways to lean toward the strap of my tote.
I bite the inside of my cheek, fully concentrating on hooking the strap with my fingers.
Finally, after what feels like an eternity, I manage to hook a corner of the strap under my bound hands.
It’s awkward, uncomfortable, and I nearly drop it twice, but inch by excruciating inch, I pull it up behind me.
My heart hammers in my chest, and I swear I’m going to pass out from holding my breath for so long.
Keeping the chatter up so he doesn’t get suspicious, I start to think about all the mafia hero starter packs. “By the way, how’s your knife collection? You have one, right? Dark romance guys always have one. Or guns.”
The car hits a bump. I bounce in my seat, grinning like a kid on a carnival ride. Oh, he’s flustered, this is good!
“Wait—are you allergic to cats? Because that would be a dealbreaker for me, personally.”
Nothing. Man, is this guy alive or did a robot kidnap me?
“You know,” I continue, “this is kind of romantic. Just you, me, and the open road. Classic captor-captive setup. Ten out of ten. No notes.”
I wiggle both hands in my tote bag, feeling around for my phone.
The rope around my wrists makes every movement awkward—like I am trying to pinch things with crab claws.
As I rummage through what feels like an endless pit of junk, I can’t help thinking maybe my mom is right for nicknaming my bag Narnia.