Someone Switched My Phone At A Party And My Life Has Become A Nightmare
I sat in the motel room staring at the bare white walls. The blankets felt scratchy against the exposed skin of my arms and legs. I could hear faint conversations coming from the room next door and a persistent drip coming from the bathroom faucet. I’d been deposited in the room along with Mark and an officer posted at the door just about three hours earlier. I was exhausted, but my mind sparked with fear and anxiety. Sleeping was just not going to happen. I knew Mark was lying awake as well, neither of us wanting to speak. We needed time to process what was happening. I was replaying every interaction I had ever had with another human being. There had to be some recognition somewhere that I was faced with a raging psychopath. Could it be a friend that I made in kindergarten, or a customer that I rang up at one of my many retail jobs, or maybe someone from college? There were just too many possibilities…and no one stood out.
While on our drive out to the motel, Detective Conroy explained the rush to remove us from the house. The stalker had lost it when he wasn’t able to talk to me. Threats poured from him: Mark being gutted, my throat slit, more officer killings. Something he said shook Detective Conroy, something he wasn’t saying to us. He kept looking worriedly at his phone. Anxiety rolled off of him in waves, making me increasingly uneasy. Once our new officer arrived, Detective Conroy rushed out the door stammering a few words about contacting the F.B.I and ordering us to remain in the room no matter what.
I threw the blankets off and climbed out of the rock hard bed. Biting into my nails for the umpteenth time, I tasted blood. I had bitten my nails clear down to the quick. I walked to the window, peeking around the edge of the heavy floral curtain. I could just see the officer standing alert, but bored, outside of our door in the yellow light of the walkway. Coming down the walkway was a man wearing a black zip up hooded sweatshirt, his hands stuffed into the pockets. He gave me an uneasy feeling. I pushed myself into the corner, but didn’t take my eyes off of the man. A gloved hand came out of his pocket. I saw a flash of silver, almost golden in the outside lighting, as the man lunged at the officer. I moved instantly. I dove over my bed and frantically shook Mark awake.
“Mark, get up! We need to move!” I shook him violently.
“What? What are you talking about?” He blinked at me. Gosh, he sure wasn’t firing on all cylinders. In hindsight, I couldn’t blame him.
“The psycho just attacked the cop. We need to get the hell out of here. FAST. We are dealing with the worst police department in the country!”
I jerked his hand towards me to pull him out of bed, dragging him towards the bathroom. The only other exit was the bathroom window. I prayed it would open. I ignored the sounds of struggle coming from behind the closed door. Pushing it from my mind, I dashed across the room with Mark in tow. I heard the beep of the keycard in the lock, a sliver of the yellowish of light started to spread through the room. Mark, finally alert, pushed me aside so he could jerk the window open. He pulled me to the window and all but shoved me out, barefoot and wearing sleeping clothes. I turned and looked for Mark to join me. Instead I saw the dark hood of the sweatshirt at the window. Oh, god. Mark! But I took off running, not looking backwards again. Gun shots rang out, but I wasn’t going to stop.
The ground tore into my bare feet, sharp rocks and sticks digging in deeper with every step. I felt a sharp pain, more than likely glass digging in, but I wouldn’t let it stop me. I ran through the pain. I dodged into a wooded area behind the motel. At least I would have cover if someone followed me. Branches ripped at my bare arms and legs, I tried my best to cover my face, so my arms took a brunt of the beating. I ran as fast and as far as I could. I was taken down by a sharp pain in my side that made me lose my footing. I fell face first onto the ground, slightly cushioned by the debris of leaves and rotting branches. Now this is where you scream, Get up! Get up! Keep going! But unfortunately, despite what you see in the movies, you have limits and I’d reached mine. I had been running for what felt like hours but was more like 15 minutes. I wished I could keep going, run clear to Canada or Mexico. I’d settle just for the other edge of the woods and a good place to hide. I just couldn’t get up, between the stitch in my side and my throbbing foot. I crawled through the underbrush and hid under a small tree that had branches hanging to the ground.
I could barely see, but I felt at my foot and found a piece of glass that had lodged itself near my heel. With nothing else available, I managed to rip a piece of my shirt off. I pulled the glass out and wrapped the wound with the piece of cloth, fairly certain I wouldn’t bleed to death and maybe I could make it a little farther once the stitch in my side let up. I fought to slow my breathing so I could listen for footsteps, a cracking twig, rustling in the foliage, any sound that would let me know someone had followed me in. It stayed quiet, but it was a dead quiet. Not even the chirp of crickets or croaking of frogs broke the silence. It was a dangerous silence. Animals will go silent when there is danger — was the danger me or was it someone or something else? Just what I needed was a bear or a coyote sniffing around, although granted I would’ve rather had one of them than the psycho I was running away from. I was frozen. I couldn’t move even if I wanted to. Every muscle tense, my ears strained to hear something break the silence.
The woods stayed silent. No crashing footsteps or the muffled crack of a twig. The crickets resumed their chirping and soon I was also greeted by the croaking of the frogs. I had been the threat that made them fall silent. I slowly crawled out from beneath the tree, looking intently around me. I found a sturdy branch, just slightly longer than my arm, and stood. I had a weapon and a handy cane to help keep some weight off of my injured heel. I tried to orient myself, but I couldn’t remember which way the motel was. I had gotten too turned around. The leaves on the trees were too dense to get a good look at the sky. I sighed and started taking shaky steps in the direction I thought would be opposite of the motel.
I didn’t go for long and before I knew it, I was stumbling into a clearing. There was a small house that had a dirt driveway leading to the main road. It was a small ranch style house, brick edifice, with cleanly kept landscaping. I spotted a nice in ground pool just off to the side of the house. It looked like a nice family home. There was a light on in what I assumed to be the living room, the flashes from a television set reflected off of the window. I could stop here and try for help…or I could keep going. It was like the ultimate horror movie decision. Do I stop for help here and find myself surrounded by psychopaths or do I keep going and the original psychopath finds me on the road? The house looked safe and inviting enough, but looks can be extremely deceiving. Screw it. I decided to try the house. I needed water and maybe they could at least let me clean and bandage my foot.
A young woman answered the door. She was probably in her 30s. She had shoulder-length brown hair and a warm smile. She concerned and bewildered when she laid eyes on me standing on her porch in nothing more than a torn tank top and shorts. I had welts and cuts all over, blood dripping in spots and my hair more than likely was infested with twigs and leaves.
“Oh my god,” she gasped, her eyes going wide. “Are you okay?”
“Look, I’m sorry,” I said. “I’m in trouble. Can I just get some water and maybe a bandage? I will be out of here in no time.” My eyes darted around the dark yard. The woman called out presumably to her husband. A taller man approached the door. He had to be about 6’0″ with salt and pepper hair.
“Oh wow, uhm, please come in. I’m going to call the police, but you do need first aid.” Without thinking, I stepped through the door.
“Thank you. I’m so sorry to intrude. I really appreciate it, but seriously just some water and a bandage for my foot,” I said.
“I wouldn’t hear of it. You just get comfortable and we’ll take care of you. Anna, honey, please go grab the phone and call the police. This young lady needs more than our first aid kit.” The man smiled warmly.
“I’m sorry but I think I’ve made a mistake.” Every hair on my body stood at attention, primal instincts kicking in. I backed away from the couple, their expressions equally alarmed and puzzled, preparing to turn and run. Something wasn’t right. That was all I was able to say before arms wrapped around my neck from behind. Before the world faded I saw the smiles on the man and woman who answered the door.
I sat quietly in what appeared to be the basement of the house. The walls were cold cinder blocks, only a single heavy door as an exit. A small cliché bare lightbulb hung for the ceiling. I was given a small mat and blanket to lie on. Amazingly, the room was fitted with plumbing. No bucket for me. I figured I would have been screwed either way, had I headed towards the road. Whomever put the sleeper hold on me would have caught me and dragged me back here anyway. It was a no-win situation. I didn’t know what happened to my would-be rescuers. I honestly didn’t want to know, especially since I knew what had happened to everyone leading up to them.
I sat in that room for nearly a week, I lost track if not for the food being slid through a slot in the door I hadn’t noticed until my first meal arrived I would not have been able to track the time. It was just basics, a sandwich, a juice box, and chips. Three times a day. I listened intently, hearing muffled conversations through the heavy door. I grew increasingly frustrated. For the first day or two, I beat on the door, screaming until my throat was raw and I could barely manage a whisper. I was only once greeted by a strong slam on the opposite side of the door and a booming voice demanding I shut up or they would kill me. I crumpled to the floor and cried more than my fair share. I was trapped. Every once in a while snippets of the conversation would find their way to me.
“….how long?”
“…yes, both of them.”
“…multiple searches.”
“…nearly time.”
I spent a lot of my time planning an escape. However, being that I didn’t know where I was, aside from a cinderblock room, that was proving difficult. I could storm the door when and if it ever opened, but I had no idea what lie on the other side. Was I in the couple’s house? Was I moved somewhere else entirely? I just had no way to know. I finally decided that I would act. I couldn’t stay in that hole any longer. Even if it cost me my life, I was going to wait for the door to open and fight my way out.