I hung up on Evan, clutching my phone in my hand in frustration, wanting to throw it but knowing better. I took up my dinner with my other hand, hoping it was still at least warm when I ate it.
“Just wanted to let you know we’re leaving,” Mom said. She looked like a million bucks; her short chestnut hair was styled with a wave to it. She was wearing a black dress, a young dress she made more comfortable with a cropped red cardigan. It reminded me how she used to be, when she was young and lively, before she started drinking. Dad’s blazer didn’t button over his round belly anymore. It felt so bittersweet, watching them go out for the first time in so long, dressed in their best. It was all-the-more souring because if Mom wasn’t tipsy already, she was going to be smashed by the end of the evening.
I just hope their fight doesn’t wake me up in the middle of the night.
“Have fun,” was all I could say, and I meant it. I really hoped that they would have fun.
I placed my dinner down on the dark coffee table in the living room, my phone face down so I didn’t have to look at it. The couch, my temporary bed, had several blankets rolled up at one end, a pillow set on top of it. I sat down on the familiar black cushions and reached for the remote.
I stood annoyed but determined with my food in hand to warm it up, going into the kitchen. I hadn’t yet turned off the oven light, something I likely wouldn’t do until Mom and Dad were in bed for the night. The door leading to the back porch was at the other end of the kitchen, half hidden by the dust covered dining table. The door was glass, covered by the shade, slivers of my bare legs and feet reflected in the cool darkness of night. As my rotini spun in the microwave, I searched the fridge for a drink. Water was my intended choice but my mother’s mixer ginger ale caught my eye. Glass bottles rattled against the fridge door.
Dad kept the wine in the fridge, as a test to see if Mom would cave and drink it. He trusted her and she trusted that he wouldn’t find the bottles she had stashed elsewhere, so the wine stayed unopened.
Until tonight.
The cork came out with a pop as the riesling fizzled at the neck of the bottle before settling down like a cave explorer, deep into the unknown. I poured myself a glass, swirled it to feel a little fancy and heard the microwave beeping just in time.
I slipped hesitantly into the living room and to the couch, my heart still pounding as I sat down. Maybe it was because of the fresh wave of anxiety that drove me to change the Tv to the local news channel. There was a newscaster with blonde hair and dark eyes talking to the camera, standing in the dark. She was standing off on a dark side street, her face slick against the harsh light from the camera tech. She had the look about her like she was mean in high school. Or maybe I was projecting that onto her, the way I thought Lexxi was a good person.
“Do not try to detain this dangerous individual,” she said. A picture prompt popped up next to her face. The depiction on the screen was blurry and grainy, a man covering his face except for his eyes. The sketch they put on-screen next to it had a well-shaped, older man’s face in color with deep hazel eyes.
I changed the channel, my heart rate beginning to pick up. Then my phone rang, and I nearly jumped out of my skin at the sound. It was Evan. I sighed, taking some deep breaths to try to calm myself down. Then there was a knock at the door and sighed again.
The knocking continued and my phone rang again, echoing against the now quiet of the house. I drank down the rest of my wine in one swig and I reached for my phone, walking over to the windows before answering.
“Why are you standing like that, you know I’m here,” I asked, twisting the hem of my shirt around my finger.
“This isn’t funny Evan, what are you doing out there?” I asked, my chest heaving the words, disbelieving. I could hear Evan shift from the other end of the call.
Then, the brass knob on the front door did something that sent me into a narrow-visioned panic.
It turned.
“Evan,” was all that came from my mouth. Then the front door burst open, slamming against the wall. I screamed. The tall figure rushed at me and I turned, hitting my legs on the couch. I jumped up, running across it. I clutched my phone in my hands, pressing the button on the side of it rapidly.
Distantly, I could hear Evan calling out my name as a fist closed around the tail of my shirt. He pulled hard and it felt like my feet were taken out from under me. I slammed down and my jaw hit hard against the arm of the couch. He pulled my ankles, holding something that spilled and dripped in his hands. I grabbed the arm of the couch and pulled my body against it, wrapping my arms over it. I kicked at him hard, loosing my left ankle from his grip and kicking him in his knee. He fell back, knocking into the coffee table and shattering something. The light in the room suddenly turned sideways as the lamp collapsed.
I got to my feet, pressing my phone to my ear. But the emergency button failed. I had another call going.
The dark figure stood upright, clamping his hand on the back of my head and his other over my mouth, a cloth covering my mouth and nose. It burned my nostrils and made me feel light-headed. I had just enough strength to throw my knee into his groin, hoping it would help. Oxygen filled my lungs when he bent away, groaning limply.
I flew towards the door but slowed with the pain in my foot. When I looked down, there was a bloodied shard coming out of my heel. I reached to pull it out but it hurt to tug and was snug in my foot and I didn’t want to stall any longer.
I ran on the ball of my foot, limping madly down the street. I must have dropped my phone because when I thought to reach for it, it was no longer in my hand. Whatever was on that rag, it was making me dizzy. Where was I going? It was like a dream, the feeling in my legs growing lethargic and I ran slower than it felt.
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 could be safe. But dread dared to fill me until it was stuck in my throat and choking the air from my lungs. Even if I managed to make it to the door, I had no guarantee that whoever was inside would let me in and quick enough.
I climbed the porch and tripped, hitting my shin against the jutting 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 two foreign arms forcefully wrap themselves around me and pull me back.
The figure dragged me back, kicking and crying in his arms. My sob caught short in my throat when the porch light in front of us flicked on. A moment later, an older woman stepped outside.
“Hello?” she called, looking straight at me in the man’s arms.
“Please, please!” I cried but he put his hand over my mouth. It was rough but uncalloused. I bit down on it but it stayed regardless.
“What’s going on?” the neighbor asked, stepping forward but not out past her front door. The sliver of her home I could see looked so warm and quiet. I felt a tear roll down my cheek and between the man’s hand.
“Sorry, she’s drunk,” he said, clearly gruffing his voice. “I’m taking her home now.”
“Stop,” the neighbor called. My mind cleared enough to remember she was Mrs. Lauzon. I went to school with her nephew. I tutored him in Latin.
“I’m gonna call the cops,” Mrs. Lauzon called out sheepishly. She took a step back to go inside to call but waited, watching. He continued to back away, swinging my kicking legs around to walk back towards the house. I tried to hit my head against my captor’s chin again, but I missed.
My attacker pressed a cloth down over my mouth and one deep inhale later, I could no longer move my limbs. Then, I was lifted by something, into a seat that smelled like coins and vomit and let the burning, tingling sensation take over me.
