The Way Out of the Dark

I didn’t want to ruin my parents’ night out, and as much as I felt it was necessary, I avoided calling them.

I continued to watch the news and how the sightings have been from multiple sources, some even saw them in a group.

One of the witnesses even said they tried to confront the man but they fled the scene.

They said the FBI believed the killer might be fleeing to Mexico (which never works), going south through New Mexico.

I began to think about the ‘what ifs’. I thought about how close that man was to me. I also began to overthink because it was night and I was home alone.

I was clutching a throw pillow as if I was seconds from being taken.

I decided to try calling my parents; I’d rather have them come home and be pissed than be me dead or worse.

I called my dad first; he’d be more sober than my mom. It went straight to voicemail. I called it again just in case but I was greeted by his automated voicemail again.

My father would never intentionally turn off his phone. It made me more worried about them than me.

I tried calling my mom and it started ringing.

“Please, pick up,” I said as it rang. The ringing paused and relief washed over me but soon disappeared when her voicemail played.

I must have called my mom’s phone six or seven times before the automated machine told me her inbox was full.

I didn’t know what else to do; I couldn’t drag Lexi over because then she’d get in trouble when my parents came home.

I sighed and decided to call her; the least she could do is distract me from my thoughts.

“Hellooo?” she said and I smiled.

“Hi, I’m home alone and I wanted to call you ’cause I’m getting the creeps,” I said, kinda laughing and she laughed too.

“Well maybe if your mom wasn’t such a drag, I could sleep over,” she said and I sighed.

“I know, I know. But at least we can—” I stopped. There was a sound from behind my house. It sounded like a car door or a trunk.

An argument could be made that it was a neighbor’s but it sounded too close.

“No,” I said, chuckling in disbelief.

“What’s the matter, Taryn? Did’ja get spooked by the neighbor’s dog?” she asked and giggled. In good taste, I chuckled back.

I laid down on the couch and kept my phone to my ear. I rolled onto my stomach as we talked and I heard a creak. A heavy couch on the hot summer floorboards, I thought.

Lexi and I were on the phone for a little over an hour. By that time, I had calmed down and nearly forgotten what was bothering me.

I still had a lingering feeling, though, that there was something wrong. I felt guilt for not trying to contact my parents more. I planned on giving their phones a call after I hung up with Lexi.

“Thanks for making me feel better, by the way,” I said and smiled.

“No problem. Hey, I’ll talk to you tomorrow. Watch a movie or something, but don’t watch those psycho movies you like,” she said, and I laughed loudly.

“Alright, Lex, I won’t,” I said, about to hang up.

Before I could, I was grabbed by my ankles, and I screamed. I turned over to see a tall figure in black.

“NO NO NO! LEXI! HELP!” I screamed as I kicked and thrashed and pushed against my assailant.

I grabbed the arm of my couch and pulled my body against it, wrapping my arms around it. An animalistic sense of panic came over me, where my vision narrowed and I couldn’t see.

“LEXI! PLEASE HELP ME!” I screamed. I think I kicked him in the face because I heard his teeth knock into each other.

He walked up next to me and grabbed my waist, yanking my body away from the couch.

Reaching around for my phone, I knocked something over in the dim light. I tried to feel around for it and touched something.

Whatever it was, I grabbed it and almost let it slip out of my hand. I hit the item against his head, and glass broke. A couple drops of ginger ale trickled down my wrist.

As it broke, I felt his hands escape my waist.

When I stood up and began to run out of my house though, I felt a pain shoot up from my foot into my whole body. I lifted my foot as I stepped and saw a piece of glass in the middle of my foot.

I stood on the ball of my foot and walked slowly down the street. I cried as I felt tiny bits of glass grinding against the pavement, into my foot.

As I got closer to the lit house across from mine, I felt a bit of hope, like if I made it to the door I’d be safe. But that’s when dread started to fill me until it was stuck in my throat.

Even if I managed to make it to the door, I had no guarantee that whoever was inside would let me in quick enough.

I climbed the porch and tripped, hitting my shin in the corner of the stair. I winced and pushed myself forward. As I reached for the door handle, all hope was stolen from me.

I felt the dread and pain in my heart, like when you experience your first heartbreak or when you feel your pocket and your phone’s not there.

I felt two foreign arms forcefully wrap themselves around me and pull me back.

Everything felt like it was in slow motion; I could feel my world become slower and more dizzy, like a carousel ride going too slow and too fast all at the same time.

He had grabbed me, and I could start to see everything I did with my life, as he pulled me up and over his shoulder.

I was dead weight, thinking about my friends and family. How minuscule I was and that I’d be forgotten in a matter of weeks.

I didn’t have any siblings, how would my parents cope? They were broken enough, and I was the glue holding them together.

I thought about the stupid things I did or didn’t do. How I never really accomplished anything fantastic in my life.

Then it hit me; my life had only just begun, and accomplishing something could’ve been right then. I lifted my head and turned it towards his. The slow motion stopped, and I was ready to go.

I grabbed the side of his head and his shoulder and pushed my knee up into his chin. He let go of me and I hit the ground. I bounced against the pavement, and I ran.

It was awkward and painful because I was alternating from lightly pushing off of my injured foot and pushing hard off the other.

It was the basic concept of limping but I had to consciously think about how I was stepping. All it took was one mistake and it was over for me.

I looked back for a split second to see my assailant on his knees, spitting blood out on the ground; I was about 15 feet away. I thought to myself, I could do this, I have to find someone.

I believe at that moment I began crying for two reasons.

Not only because I felt afraid but because I was alone.

For years neighbors, young and old, stopped me and talked to me but were all blissfully sleeping then. I was also crying because as I had the thought of being alone, a car was driving up my street.

I ran out in front of it, screaming and waving my arms. He stopped short and I limped over to the driver’s side window. I looked back and the kidnapper was hurrying over to the car.

“Please, please! You have to help me, this man is trying to take me! I need a hospital, please!” I yelled, and the man kept his window up.

But when he rolled it down, I felt my attacker rush over and put his hands on my waist. I grabbed the car door at the bottom of the window.

“You can’t let him take me!” I said more quietly, but still distressed.

“I’m so sorry, my sister’s a little drunk. Ya see, she stepped on a broken shot glass,” he said, lifting me up. As he did that, I was shaking my head and started screaming.

“I didn’t know that Taryn had a brother. Maybe I should call an ambulance,” the man said and pulled out his phone. I felt my attacker shudder.

“He’s not my brother. I don’t have one, please, get him off me!” I cried. I struggled against him, and he grabbed my waist tightly.

The man opened his car door, and my attacker began to walk away with me. I anchored my leg around the open window and secured it with my knee.

“Hey, you wait right there,” the man said as he dialed.

It was clear to me now that this guy wasn’t going to get physically involved. I tried to hit my head against my captor’s chin again, but I missed.

“You’re starting to get on my last fucking nerve,” he whispered in my ear through his teeth.

“Please Sir, I just wanna take her to the hospital. Her foot is getting blood all over your car,” he said in a far more different tone than with me.

He sounds pleasant and pleading; I’d believe him too if he didn’t break into my home and grab me. The man on the phone stared at him for a second and hung up.

He stared at his car door and because of all of the struggling and adrenaline, I did leave a couple thick streaks of blood on the outside.

“Alright, son, just make sure she’s safe,” he said as he started prying my feet from the car.

“NO!!” I was enraged. “Antonio Rodriguez, you bastard!! You killed me, you motherfucker! How could you do this to me, you backwards, cow-fucking, son of a bitch!!”

I screamed at the top of my lungs. I was dragged from his car all the way back into my house as I screamed that.

My attacker opened the screen door and tossed me on the ground, and I rolled over twice.

“I’ve had to kidnap a fair amount of people, but you really take the prize,” he said, visibly annoyed, looking through drawers in my kitchen.

The longer sentence allowed me to pick up on his southern drawl. He didn’t seem to have it before when he spoke to Mr. Rodriguez. I assumed that he hid it for that reason.

I started to get up and run again, but he noticed.

“Don’t FUCKING move,” he said, pointing at me. I sat there and picked the glass out of my foot instead.

“This should have taken five fucking minutes. Why run?! You know I’m going to catch you! Your life is obviously miserable, just let me fucking take you,” he muttered to himself.

It was obvious to me that he was a psychopath or a schizophrenic because only tortured people said that kind of shit.

“W-what are you looking for?” I asked meekly, and he shot up a look at me.

“Duct tape,” he said, looking in cabinets.

“I have some in my room, it’s on my desk,” I said, and he walked over to me. He seemed like an amateur.

To me, someone who had killed two people before would already have tape. And the amount of times I got away from him, you wouldn’t see that on someone who knew what they were doing.

“Take me to it,” he said, and my face got red. “You didn’t think I would just let you sit down here, did you?” he said, looking at me like I was an idiot.

I thought even if he took me up to my room, I could maybe grab my bat or a sharp pencil.

“I can’t, my foot,” I said, looking down and realizing how stupid that sounded. I thought I sounded like a toddler.

“I’ve had just about enough of you,” he said. I only got a squeak out before he punched me in the face, and I blacked out.