The Captor

The grimy beige walls surrounding me towered above, looking down, mocking the fact that some plaster was able to hold my life in its hands. My memory of how I got into this unfamiliar room was foggy, but I had the sinking feeling that it was sinister. I peeled my skin from the cracked brown leather recliner, my sweat having glued my wrinkly thighs to the porous leather. I walked over to the door and tried to turn the knob, but it wouldn’t budge. I looked for another option and began trying to pry open all the windows, only to find that they were all sealed shut. I glanced back over to the door and noticed that in my panicked attempt to open it, I missed the fact that that there was a lock on the inside. I highly doubted that whoever had trapped me here would be stupid enough to miss a detail like this, but it was my last chance of escaping. I began to approach the door, but panic settled in when I heard footsteps approaching from the other side. I inched away from the door and swiveled my head to try and find a hiding place, but I was too late. I heard a key sliding into the lock, eerily turning, and finally clicking to unlock. The door swung open with ferocity and the doorway was filled with a looming figure. His icy gaze bore holes through my soul as he stomped in my direction. His pale arms, webbed with protruding purple veins, reached forward as he placed a carafe filled with a clear liquid and two glasses on the small wooden table next to the recliner – I imagined the carafe to be brimming with whatever substance was making my memory so foggy.

“What do you want from me?” I questioned, trying to maintain some composure to appear less weak. “You can’t keep me here, they’ll find me.” As the words left my mouth, I realized that I didn’t know who the supposed they was, I just needed to believe that someone would get me out of this situation.

My captor left the room and returned immediately holding two plates, placing one next to the carafe and sitting on the edge of the stone hearth directly across from me with the other. I wasn’t touching anything prepared by his sinister hands, so I stood and watched him eat, still trying to figure out what exactly was going on. He lifted a chicken drumstick from his plate and bit into it with animalistic ferocity, juice dripping from the corners of his mouth. He stood and began walking towards me as I slowly inched away, never turning my back to him. He stopped at the carafe and poured a glass. Still chewing his food, he began chugging the liquid and I watched as chicken bits floated back into his cup. Now that he had shown me that the liquid wasn’t drugged, a new fear washed over me. If he’s giving me water, he must be planning on keeping me here for a long time.

The man turned his body away from me and I seized my moment. Grasping the carafe, I thrust it at his head with all my strength. He stumbled to the ground, and I fled for the door. I tried to make it to the front door as quickly as possible, but my joints ached, and I could hear movement coming from the room I was being held hostage. As I passed through the living room, the mantel above the fireplace lined with photos caught my eye. I paused; I couldn’t help it. Something was so familiar.

“Mom?” I heard whimpered from a few feet behind me.

The fog cleared and I turned to see two sky blue eye staring wishfully at me through the tears welling below the surface. His milky complexion became spotted with pink as the tears began to fall.

The overwhelming confusion and terror settled as I stepped towards my son. “Oh Robert” I exhaled, embracing him as tightly as possible. I could feel the warm viscous blood coat my hand as I placed it to the back of his head. “Oh no my beautiful boy, I’m so sorry” I sobbed into the arms of my oldest son. He buried his head in the crook of my neck, and I could feel my shirt dampening from the warm tears now pouring from his eyes. As we continued to hold one another, I looked over Robert’s shoulder to the photos lining the mantel above my fireplace. Robert and his beautiful wife standing on either side of my granddaughter, lifting her by her delicate arms and swinging her in the air. They were walking down the beach I’d been taking my kids to since they were toddlers. My handsome George, sitting in his brown leather chair, rectangular metal lined frames hanging from the tip of his nose as he read the paper like he always had, oh how I missed him. Robert at his graduation from Brown, smiling gleefully with his siblings, my Sarah and Johnathon.

“How is everyone?” I whimpered, still wrapped in Robert’s warm embrace.

Suddenly, the front door swung open, and terror rushed over me. I struggled to free myself from the suffocating grasp of the barbaric man slithering his arms around me like a python. When I was finally free, I looked down at my hand to see that I was bleeding. What had he done to me? There was a man on either side of me, staring me down, holding me hostage.

I decided to make my best attempt at escaping and scurried past the men, ducking into the first room I saw. I shut the door and locked it behind me. I tried to pry open every window in the room, but they were all sealed shut. Having tired myself out beyond capacity, I sat in the cracked brown leather chair by one of the windows and tried to think of a way out. Only then did I notice the shattered glass and crimson blood pooling around the shards. I sat in the chair, accepting my fate while the sickening smell of roasted chicken filled the room.