Page 57 of Kept in the Dark
The word echoes around in my head as realization sets in slowly enough that it’s probably concerning. I’m being kidnapped. This is a kidnapping.
I’m being kidnapped?!
No. No way. This isn’t supposed to be a thing I have to worry about—I’m a big girl. I am simply too large to be thrown into a trunk and taken against my will. I even joked about it once on an online date. He said he only dated women who weighed less than him as a personal rule, and I said, “Well, at least I won’t get kidnapped,” and knocked his drink into his lap on purpose.
Doesn’t feel like much of a joke now.
My body shifts and tosses with every turn and bump, banging into the corners and sides inside the trunk. The only way I can keep from turning into a pinball is by wedging myself against the side in a deeply uncomfortable position, facing the door, with my head jammed into the corner. I’m too tall for this shit, so my legs are bent at the knee, and my shins are pressing into the trunk door. Though the bottom of the space is lined with something, it feels hard as a rock pressing into my hipbone and shoulder.
The road noise drowns out the sound of my own labored breathing, cutting straight through layers of metal and padding to fill this small, dark space. The vibrations through the floor rattle my whole body, making my teeth chatter together. I scream and bang on the roof, but I doubt anyone could hear it over the roar of the engine. I give up when my hands and arms feel bruised.
Okay, I’m officially freaking out. It’s pitch black, and I’m locked in, stuck in this position. I’m not claustrophobic, and there’s plenty of air in here, but having a body still flooded with adrenaline wedged into a small, enclosed space where I can barely move is not a great feeling.
A frustrated, terrified tear slides down my face sideways, drawing a path across the bridge of my nose and through my temple. I feel panic closing in on me, so I shut my eyes—that way, the darkness is my choice. And it’s not like I could see anyway, even if it weren’t dark. When Dimitri jerked me back, I lost my glasses. He probably ran over them.
At least it’s evidence.
I breathe deeply, then I scream again, putting all of my fear and rage and despair into it.
It actually helps a tiny bit. It calms me a little anyway, which is what I need. I know this elevated pulse and rapid breathing is an adrenaline-fueled response. If I can slow my racing brain, it should help give me some clarity.
Think, Nicole.
I don’t have my phone anymore, but at least the police will be looking for me. I can’t hear any more sirens, but they were on their way to the marina. Unless those gunshots and that explosion was…
No. I refuse to consider the possibility.
I gave the dispatcher my full name and told her I was being held against my will by a man named Dimitri or Lev. They’ll find his boat. They’ll find my hair and DNA everywhere—his, too. They’ll figure out who he is and track him down.
Fuck. If I know this, so does he.
He’s going totake careof me. I made myself into a problem he can easily solve.
A fresh wave of fear washes over me, and I bang on the lid of the trunk again.
“Help!” I scream.
But it’s the dead of night. I don’t know where we are, but I didn’t see a single light from a house or business through the pines and marshy areas by that dock. Even if anyone were awake and it were possible to hear me over the noise of the muffled engine, I’m not sure there’s anyonetohear it.
I know when we get on the highway because I can actually relax and not have to tense and brace myself against every bump and turn. The tradeoff, though, is the cutting cold of the wind whistling through the not-so-airtight cabin.
I use the respite from all the painful, jarring movements to explore my surroundings. There are a few bags in here with me. One has our dirty laundry, one has the trash we accumulated, and one was already in here. That one is too heavy to move. It takes a few tries, since I’m limited without my sense of sight, but I get it unzipped and reach inside to feel around.
I find something like cold metal. It’s got a strange texture, and my heart rate spikes in tentative hope as I feel along it and make out the shape. It’s… it is! A gun!
I clutch it to my chest, nearly crying with relief.
Maybe I’ve never shot a gun. Maybe I’ve never even held one. Maybe the fact that I’m blind as a fucking bat means that I’ll never hit my target, even if Dimitri is roughly the size of a grizzly bear.
But I know enough about guns to recognize the power it gives me. My odds for survival just went from 0% to, like, 20%.
As the metal of the gun slowly equalizes to the temperature of my body, I realize that I’m shaking. And not entirely from fear. The wind has been stealing my body heat, which was already hard to regulate because of the adrenaline.
Fuck. I can’t go into shock. I need to hold on.
Hours later—I can’t tell for sure, but it must be—we stop. Like, not just stopping at a light or a stop sign. The engine turns off, and the car shakes with the movement of a door slamming. I tuck the gun into the waistband of my pants with a silent prayer that it doesn’t accidentally go off and shoot me in the leg or something.
My breath catches, and I tense, waiting and ready for the inevitable. Any second, he’s going to open that trunk door, and this might be my only chance.
