Page 3 of Oh No, My Kidnapper Is Hot!

Since my attempts to get information out of Mr. Grouchy didn’t go well, I’ll have to move on to Step Two: Escape. At the lack of recognizable landmarks outside, I focus my energy on checking out the cage I’m in. I can figure out the location issue later.

My prison appears to be… very prisony. Two entrances and exits, one at the side and one at the back. Locks on the outside. It reminds me of a big, metal dog crate. In fact…

“Am I in a dog kennel?” I ask, disgusted. “Did you lock me up like adog?” Aaaaand swerve. Ouch. Nevermind. It turns out I do not care that much about being essentially equated to a dog. A female dog. My eye twitches.

Smartly, I keep my mouth shut. Let no one say that I cannot learn.

I go back to checking the locks on my hopefully-not-a-dog-prison. It looks like he’s added some sort of auto locking keypad. I can’t see the face of the lock, but if I move my fingersjust soI can feel eight buttons facing out toward the van doors. I check both locks and come to the conclusion they’re the same.

Perfect. Now I know that the cage is locked. Inside the van. Which is also locked. And hurtling down what appears to be the highway at breakneck speeds. Possibly literallybecause, again,I have no buckle.

Being kidnapped is really not all it’s cracked up to be.

Panic niggles its way in, beating through my heart and clogging up my lungs. I dig my nails into my thighs and take several deep breaths in an effort to stave it off. I can’t afford to pass out again. I have to get out of this yucky, revolting van and away from wannabe Ted Bundy up front.

A few more deep breaths. I focus on the green of my scarf and the feel of denim on my legs. I take one more big inhale, smelling dirt and a hint of something I can’t quite identify. It’s not as unpleasant as I would have expected based on the state of the floor in here.

I’ve been through worse than this, probably. It’s just an itty bitty kidnapping in the world’s nastiest van with the world’s hottest baddie. I can handle that. Absolutely no biggie at all. I am so capable of escaping this totally-not-a-big-deal situation.

I just need to move on to Plan C: waiting for an opportunity to enact Plan B. My problem will be solved in no time at all.

While I wait, I take off my scarf and spread it out as wide as it will go to give me a cleanish spot on the floor to sit. I choose a corner, the better to brace myself against impending whiplash.

Wherearewe? There’s only distant trees out the window. I keep watching, breathing, waiting for something familiar to show up among the trees.

I’m so focused on looking out the window that I don’t notice us slowing, and it isn’t until we’re nearly to a full stop that I realize what’s happening. I pop up from my seat on the floor and am thrown against the cage a fourth time as the van takes a sharp right instead of coming to a halt. Again, ouch! What did I do that time?

“I wasn’t even talking!”

I get no response from Grouchy. By the time I right myself and make it back to my scarf seat, my view outside has changed from distant trees to close trees. The smooth asphalt of the highway has turned into the crunch of gravel under our tires. We’ve turned onto a drive? I don’t like this progression. I don’t like it at all.

After about 10 minutes, we come to a full stop. Or at least what Ibelieveis a full stop. I give it a minute before I move. No need to reacquaint myself with the cage walls. We’re old friends already. Nothing more to learn there.

When I’m sure I won’t be flung back down, I sit up on my knees to peer through the window. We’re at a tall, fancy gate. The kind with pointy spikes on top and a guard shack.

A guard shack – with a guard! The driver’s side window rolls down, and I scramble to my earlier spot at the metal slats. This is my chance! One big inhale and I’m ready.

“Help! I’ve been kidnapped!” I scream only a little bit louder than necessary, considering the guard is only six feet away from me. Grouchy cringes and covers his ear. The guard – a man with tanned skin, dark hair, and an unfortunate case of crazy eyes – cringes as well. He glances at me before looking back to my captor and raising his eyebrows.

“All right, Stryker?” he asks. I’m sorry,what? Is “Stryker” alright? I am sitting in the back of this disease-ridden monstrosity, and he’s asking ifStrykeris okay? I’m in a kennel! An actual, literal kennel! For dogs!

“I’ve been stolen!” I yell. “Call the cops!” I rattle the cage to emphasize my plight. This guard doesn’t seem too bright. Aren’t they trained for this at the academy for gate guards, mall cops, and corporate security officers? What’s he even out here for if not to save abducted women?

The guard’s eyebrows rise higher on his forehead, and “Stryker” tackles the incredible feat of moving one trillion pounds of muscle to turn and look at me. His face is four inches away from where my fingers are curled on the metal slats. I jerk them back.

“Shut. Up,” he clips. Is he for real right now?

“You’re kidnapping me!”

He rolls his eyes, hefts his body back around, and offers a card to the guard. I turn toward the man as well. “Please! You have to help me. He grabbed me off the street and locked me in the back of thisdisgustingvan and… and…” Come on, Millie, sell it! “And hehurtme!” My eyes tear up, and I give a loud sniffle.

Crazy Eyes is not impressed.

“She for Archie?” he asks.

Who’s Archie?

I don’t want to be for Archie. I don’t want to be for anybody. I want to go back home to my nice, cozy car. She is cubey and green and all things comfort. The exact opposite of the moving infection I’m currently in. Best of all, she has no incompetent guard, no mysterious “Archie,” and absolutely no ragey abductors. Just the soothing scent of an expired lavender air freshener and a travel-size pack of tissues that would be so, so helpful right now. I sniffle again. If only my scarf wasn’t covered in filth from the floor. It would’ve made a nice, if large, hanky.

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