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“Where is Andreas? Is he okay?” I demand, trying to sit up. The man pushes me back down with a firm hand on my chest.
“He’s not here,” he says, his tone flat. “But don’t worry, I took care of him.”
My heart races as I try to sit up again.
“What do you mean, you took care of him?”
The man leans down, and I can tell his face is inches away from mine.
“Don’t worry your pretty little head about it,” he says, running his thumb over my lips. “You’re safe here with me. Everything I do is to protect you. Ask that fucking rat, Shane.”
“Shane? What did you do? Who are you?” I cry once more, my fear threatening to overtake me.
The man moves away from me, and he rests his hand on my thigh.
In a low voice, he says, “Shane is a disrespectful, lecherous piece of trash. All I did was take the trash out, Alana. Now, get some rest.”
The sound of his footsteps fading as he walks away lets me know he’s leaving. The door clicks, and I hear it lock with finality as he leaves me alone again.
I cry over what he said about Andreas. He took care of him. What does that mean? Did he kill him? And who is this? Someone has been following me for weeks, and it seems as if this mystery person is responsible.
He has escalated past watching me, and I’m stuck here with him, completely at his mercy. Huddling into the corner of the room, I attempt to make myself as small as possible. My heart threatens to beat out of my chest, and my nose is so clogged from crying, I can’t breathe.
The fear that I feel is unlike anything, and I don’t know what to do. How long has it been since the wreck? I could’ve been unconscious for hours.
If the man is being honest and has done something to Andreas, it could be days before anyone even notices I’m missing. The thought of being alone in this room for days, maybe even weeks, pushes me over the edge. I hyperventilate, and in my panic, I can feel the darkness rearing its ugly head.
“No,” I say out loud to myself, trying to breathe slowly.
Counting backward from a hundred helps me center myself and calm down a bit. I tell myself,You’ll get out of here. Just figure out what this man wants. Play along, and when his guard is down, you can escape.
I sit in the dark, planning my escape for what feels like hours, straining my ears for any movement. The ache in my hands and feet is almost unbearable. I’m worried if he doesn’t come in and undo the restraints soon. I’ll have permanent damage from how tightly they’re tied.
My bladder is full, and I don’t want to wet myself, so I call out into the silence, “Hello? Can you hear me? I have to use the restroom.”
The fear that he won’t care enough to help me makes my voice wobble as I plead for help. I’m afraid he’ll leave me here, unable to move or clean myself up. I count while I wait in the quiet room, and when I reach fifty-seven, the door opens once more.
He takes twenty-four steps to reach me, and I realize the room isn’t big. The air doesn’t smell musty or damp either, so I doubt I’m in a basement. The floor is wooden and unforgiving beneath me, and I can tell it’s free of dust or dirt, which leads me to believe I may be in a small bedroom or something.
“I’m going to help you stand,” the man says as he grabs my shoulders and pulls me against his body.
“I don’t think I can walk. My feet are numb from being tied so tightly,” I warn him, unsteady on my feet.
He doesn’t care. To my horror, he picks me up like a child and carries me to the bathroom as if I weigh nothing. There are thirteen steps from the doorway of the room I’m being held to the bathroom, so it has to be down a very short hallway. He wouldn’t be stupid enough to hold me prisoner in an apartment, so this had to be a secluded house.
He puts me down, and I feel the bowl of the toilet against the back of my legs. I’m humiliated when I realize he has no intention of undoing my hands, so I can use the restroom. Instead, he undoes my pants and pulls them down, along with my panties. I stand there bare before him, and I hear him intake a sharp breath at seeing my nakedness.
Tears streaming down my face, I reluctantly squat over the toilet and let out a stream of urine. The moment is devastating because I realize this is only the beginning of the dehumanization I’ll face at the hands of this monster. I hear the crinkle of something to my left, and I jump when he uses a wet wipe to clean between my legs, each swipe adding to the indignity.
When he finishes, he pulls up my pants and scoops me unceremoniously into his arms like I’m a toy. He carries me back to my room, where I collapse onto the floor in anguish. Once I’m alone again, the breakdown I delayed earlier overtakes me.
44
Chapter Forty Four
Andreas
“I’ve already told you to contact the Indianapolis Police Department. They’ll tell you about the camera we found, and the other calls she made when someone broke into her apartment,” I say. This is the third time I’ve told the cops this story, and my voice is dripping with stress. “I’m telling you that someone has been stalking Alana, and this relates.”
