Held (6 page)

“My mom got sick and I had to go home and take care of her. After she died, I wasn’t interested in scho
ol anymore. I never went back.”

“That’s a pity.
You said you were married. Where did you meet your husband?”

“He was the friend of a friend. I met him at my friend’s birthday party.”

“How innocent. When was that?”

“Seven years ago.”

“Do you love him?”

“Of course. Why would I have married him if I didn’t love him?”

“I’m not saying you didn’t love him at one time, but many people fall out of love. I was just inquiring as to whether you still loved him, after seven years.”

“Well I do. More now than then, in fact.” It pissed me off to have this asshole asking me personal questions, but if it kept him calm, I would suck it up and push through.
Besides, I knew there were far worse things he could be doing to me other than prying into my personal history.

“Do you believe that he loves you as much as you love him?”

“Yes.”

“Do you think he’s searching for you right now, as we speak?”

I imagined Wade and what he must be going through. I had no doubt that he was devastated. We’d never been apart. I’d never failed to come home, nor had he. We went to bed together every night, and we woke up next to each other every morning. We didn’t fight, we didn’t argue, though from time to time, we disagreed. My heart sank as I thought of how sad he must be.

“Yes, I do.”

“Do you think he’ll find you?”

I could tell by the way he stopped what he was doing and studied my face that my answer would be pivotal.
Quickly but carefully, I weighed my answer. I wasn’t sure what to say, but I felt that I should say no. Ron thought he was smarter than other people and if I said my husband would find me, he would be furious, feeling as though I thought he was too dumb to outsmart my husband. He may even move me to another location, one not nearly as nice as this one.

“Probably not,” I said.

He smiled and nodded. I sighed, relieved to have answered his question correctly.

H
e carried two plates to the table and set one in front of me. The aroma of the eggs and buttered toast made my stomach rumble. He sat across from me, and we began to eat. I didn’t have to ask why I was eating my scrambled eggs with a spoon and he had a fork. It was obvious. A fork was a weapon. And though I supposed I could possibly put out one of his eyes with the handle of the spoon if I got really lucky, I knew that wouldn’t happen. Even if I did manage to cause him sort of damage with the rounded utensil, I was still handcuffed to the heavy table.

“Is it my turn to ask you questions yet?” I asked after the first bite.

“I suppose that would be fine.”

“Where were you born?”

“Milwaukee.”

“Is that where you were raised?”

“No. My family moved around a great deal, so we were never in one place for long.”

“Was your father in the military?”

“No.”

“Then why did you move around so much?”

“My father was a criminal and always on the run. Milk?”

“Yes. Did your parents fight a lot?”

He was quiet for a moment as he poured us each a glass of milk. I thought he wasn’t going to answer, but as he handed me a glass and returned to his seat, he said, “My father seemed to think of my mother as a punching bag. He beat her more days than not, and never for a good reason. It was always something like her spaghetti was too dry or her hair was out of place.”

“Why didn’t she leave him?”

“A mother of six? Not likely to happen. She had no way to support so many children, so it was easier for her to endure my father’s beatings than try to make it alone in the world with such heavy baggage.”

He took a couple of bit
es without saying another word.

“Did he ever beat you?”

“Yes, many times. He beat each of us. Except the girls. Their punishments were far worse than a beating.”

I knew what that meant so I left it alone.

“Were you a good student?”

“Yes, as good as one can be with a home life such as mine. I studied hard and made good grades. I had no friends. I was never one place long enough to make any.”

“Did you go to college?”

“No. I was too busy working to support my family. I had barely enough money for us all to eat, much less waste on college.”

“You seem pretty educated, though. I mean, you talk better than most people.”

He nodded. “Yes, I suppose I do. That’s years of hard work and practice. I learned a long time ago that if you want people to take you seriously, you can’t walk around looking, acting, and talking like you have no proper upbringing. I may have been raised in a poor, abusive household, but I certainly don’t want people to look at me and see it.”

I opened my mouth to ask him something else, but a scream stopped the words from forming.

Looking at
Ron, I couldn’t tell if he’d heard it or not. Surely he had. There was no way he couldn’t have. It was loud. It wasn’t until he shook his head slowly while staring at his plate that I realized he had.

“Is that the woman in the basement?”

“I’m afraid so.”

“Why’s she screaming?”

“Because she hasn’t learned her lesson yet,” he said with a hint of anger. “I’ve told her many times that I can’t have her screaming like that. If the neighbors were to hear her, I could get in a lot of trouble. Yet she insists on screaming. I suppose I shall have to punish her again.”

Afraid to
know but more afraid not to, I asked, “By punish her, what do you mean?”

He looked up at me and chewed slowly. “Are you sure you want to know? It isn’t pleasant.
I wouldn’t think someone as beautiful and innocent as you would be interested in such atrocities.”

I wanted to know and I wanted to tell him as much, but I also didn’t want him angry at me for being something other than what he thought I was.
I got the distinct feeling that it would send him into a rage like none I’d seen so far. Besides, I probably didn’t want to know.

“You’re right. I don’t want to know.”

He nodded and said, “I thought so. Let’s just hope you never have to find out.” Seeing the look on my face he added, “When I brought you here, I had every intention of putting you in the basement with her. But I so enjoyed your fire that I decided to keep you up here with me. The basement is no place for a woman like you, a woman I like so much.”

“Has she always been down there?”

He nodded. “From the moment I brought her here. I didn’t even want to bring her home with me, you see. She kept insisting on it, so finally, I brought her with me. I knocked her out when I pulled into the garage, and I carried her downstairs. When she woke, she fought a good fight. It excited me, I have to admit. She’s got spunk, like you. But her spunk is only to benefit herself. She only wishes to be free. I’ve tried many times to strike up a conversation with her, such as we’re having now, but she’ll take no part.”

My appetite was fading now, and I ate slower as I listened to him talk.

“I do miss good conversation. It gets so lonely around here with no one to talk to. I have so many ideas and no one with which to share them. I’m so glad you’re here.”

“If you long for companionship, why don’t you marry?”

“I was married. To a wonderful woman. But she didn’t understand me. She wasn’t a very good conversationalist anyway. Not nearly as good as you. She wanted to talk about shopping and hair and clothes. I care nothing of those things, and I certainly don’t want to waste hours of my day talking about them. Not when there are far more important matters at hand.”

The woman in the basement, Stephanie, screamed louder and louder until
Ron couldn’t take it anymore. He threw his fork onto his plate and stood. As he stomped his way out of the kitchen, threw open the door to the basement, and pounded his way down the steps, I wished there was a way I could warn her that he was coming. Better yet, I wished there was a way I could help her escape.

Moments after the screams abruptly stopped, the doorbell rang.

My heart pounded and I opened my mouth to yell for help. That’s when Ron’s hand came from behind me and clamped down over my mouth. He whispered into my ear, “If you say one word, I’ll kill your husband and child. Do you understand?” Slowly, he took his hand from my mouth.

“You don’t know where I live,” I said with the fire he liked so much. “So how can you kill anyone I know?”

He smiled, and in an even voice said, “In your purse is a driver’s license. On that license is an address. At that address resides your husband and child.” He went through the kitchen and into the living room to answer the door, leaving me at the table where I sat silently until he returned. I would do nothing to jeopardize my husband and son. He knew that. This was how he was going to hold me here.

When he returned, I asked, “How do you know I have a child?”

“Seriously, Nicole. You’re a smart woman. I find it very unattractive for you to pretend to be dense.” He washed his hands at the sink. While drying them on a paper towel, he turned to me. “You really don’t know how I know?”

I thought for a second, but I couldn’t find a way he could’ve known.

Tired of waiting for it to come to me, he said, “In your purse lies a pacifier. Either you have a bizarre obsession or you have a child. I choose to believe the latter. Am I wrong?”

I shook my head.

“I thought not. I believe I’m right about you, Nicole. We are going to do great things.”

I was afraid of what he meant by that.

For the next month, my days were filled with the same routine. I was released from the bed, allowed to shower, fed breakfast, and spent the day trapped in conversation and cards. Sometimes we played board games, but mostly just cards.

Ron
had changed the way he handcuffed me to the bed. My arms were no longer straight above my head. Instead, they were angled outward toward the corners of the headboard. It was better, but every morning, my shoulders and neck were stiff and sore, and ached for the biggest part of the day. I didn’t complain about it. After all, I was being held captive. If that’s the worst thing I went through, I’d consider myself lucky.

On days when
Ron had to leave the house, he handcuffed me to the bed. He put my arms in the usual position, and he even stretched my legs out and handcuffed each ankle to the footboard. He then used a pink bandana to gag me, saying I sure did look pretty in pink. He would stroke my hair and tell me that he hated to do it, but he still couldn’t trust me while he was away.

Ron
watched my every move. When I asked him about it, he told me he was studying me for the book. When I asked how that was coming along, he said he hadn’t started it yet, but was close. I was close too. Close to losing my mind. I was trying to keep it together, hoping that if I could keep him satisfied with conversation and company, he’d write the damn book and let me go. I pushed away any thoughts that said otherwise.

Stephanie continued to scream from time to time in the basement. It always angered
Ron, who stomped down there in a huff. Moments later, Stephanie fell silent and each time, I wondered if he’d killed her. I knew enough about him now to know it was only a matter of time until it happened. As selfish as it was, I couldn’t help but wonder what was going to happen to me after he’d killed her. Would I take her place? Would he begin to do the things to me that he apparently enjoyed doing to her? I hoped not. But I just didn’t know.

Every night, he undressed me. And every night, as I stood before him naked, he kissed my neck. Once I was strapped to the bed, he kissed and touched my body in various places. Though there had been a couple of times when I was sure it was going to happen, he still hadn’
t raped me. It made me nervous because I could tell by the way he kissed and touched me when I was naked that he wanted me. Badly. Even if I’d failed to notice the lust in his touch, I wouldn’t have failed to notice the bulge in his khaki slacks. I wasn’t sure how long he’d hold out before giving in to his desires.

During the second week,
he noticed my leg hair had grown to be stubbly, and said we were going to have to do something about it. Personally, I wanted the hair to grow as long the hair on my head if it meant it would turn him off to me physically, but he insisted we get rid of it. Of course, he wouldn’t buy a razor and let me shave my own legs. And it was a good thing for him he didn’t. I would’ve disassembled that sucker and went to slicing and dicing on him in a hurry. But he did buy an electric shaver and shave them himself. It was humiliating, but again, if this was as bad as it got, then fine by me.

The third week, I had my period. He bought the tampons I needed. In fact, anything I needed, he provided without so much as a complaint. Had he not been a psychopath, he woul
d’ve made an excellent husband.

The fourth Wednesday into my captivity,
however, things went wrong. Horribly, horribly wrong.