Kidnapper in Mind 01
Chapter One (Free for read - No subscription needed)
In a maximum-security prison at night, or to others, what could be considered early morning, the skeleton crew of guards walked in the shadows of the darkened halls as the majority of the inmates slept. In a separate room, far from the population, the figure of a man was hidden by the dim lights as he ate his last meal in a serene silence only broken a few times by his awakening neighbors that shared the same floor as he. The others were individuals who would be going to court the next day to either receive their freedom or an increased sentence. He was the only one who would have the honor to momentarily meet his maker. He would not be there long. He had a plan.
Their cries for attention and broken sobs did not deter him from his meal nor bring up any feelings of past regrets. He ate with ease and enjoyed the morsels that he hadn’t had for awhile with the thought of his soon-to-be death at the back of his mind. He was the picture of a man who still had days to look forward to. He was calm and composed. His orange garb crisped and ironed as he had requested. He even had the audacity to wave and smile at the guards, terrifying them. His smile promised, that when given the chance, revenge was at the horizon and no family member would be spared of those who had mistreated him during his incarceration. They knew not how he thought to achieve such a feat. The prisoner was to be executed. A fitting punishment for a serial killer who had remained at large for years with a body count that surpassed many in history with only a single survivor who rarely left her home.
Said survivor lived states away, in a simple middle-class neighborhood, inside a family house empty of children, with a white picket fence, and asleep. Her husband, with tousled dark black hair snored and mumbled peacefully, a smile emerging on his face here and there. A single arm covered his eyes, his fingers twitching happily from a memorable dream. She was not as lucky as her thoughts of an intense and evil stare came to mind. She was a younger woman in the transition of losing the childish roundness to her face. Her skin was pale and presently she looked sickly as years of hardship dragged on her. Her hair, thick chocolate ringlets, were plastered to her face and neck from perspiration. She thrashed at her side of the bed caught in a nightmare. She tossed and turned, the sheets tangling at her feet and being pushed onto her husband’s side. Her white gown rose a little and crinkled at her extreme movements. A grimace adorned her face and moans of anguish escaped through her dry lips. The upper part of her body was bathed in a reddish hue from the alarm clock at her side, emphasizing the horrors her mind had easily conjured from memories.
Her eye movements increased as her dream reached a frightening crest. Her body arched up from the bed, hand grappling the mattress’ covers with white tight knuckles. Her breath came out harsh and strained as if she had run the whole circumference of the planet. Her dark hazel eyes opened wide and looked out into the world lost in a mist, empty to the existence around her. Her mind was stuck in a maze of memories that others would see as fictional nightmares. Yet, for her they had been reality. They were memories of a past filled with so much death. Some she had been forced to participate in. She could still see the begging of eyes as she stood over them with a knife given to her. She had little choice of the actions she had been ordered to do. She either had to forfeit another’s soul or it would be her own life. She had chosen them. She had been a teenager and desperate to live. That desperation allowed her to do horrendous acts and be alive today to be married but still afraid of others, of her shadow, and random large banging sounds.
She would forever have tortured dreams of tortured souls, either be hers or others. In a state of denial, they had slowly dissipated throughout the two years after she been rescued. Only recently had they returned and increased as she had been pushed unwillingly back into the spotlight as the man who had held her captive was finally to be killed. The news couldn’t help but follow the words and goings of the notorious evil genius Alexander Keys or as the officials called him, the Professor.
She couldn’t blame them for once more uplifting her life from the weak foundation she had created with the only man she trusted. There were no new stories. The lack of them had the journalist bring back the old ones and what better to gain an interview from the only survivor of a mass murderer who was finally going to be given the needle. They had hopes she remembered more, to find if she had been an accomplice after all, or if there had been an error in her statement. Many still questioned her innocence because she had not been the only one in the underground dungeons and yet, had been the only one found alive. The Professor had kidnapped more during a short time, keeping at least up to six in his grasp at once. They wondered on the mystery on how none managed to escape by overwhelming their single kidnapper. What had he done to keep them submissive under a singular hold? They had asked her in the past and she had not been able to answer them as the ability to speak had temporarily left. It took a therapist to help her to even give her statement to the officials. She gave a description on how he played his victims against each other. She admitted that even in their medicated state there had been a possibility for them to overpower him yet something about the man kept them at bay. She swore he was a demon in disguise and that there had been a time when she had been lucid, she swore that his eyes had shined red. They had glowed in the darkened rooms when his shadow had blocked the light on the ceiling.
With many tears, she spilled to the court assigned therapist that she had despised the instances when she had been aware of her situation—when the medication no longer kept her in a blissful state of ignorance and in an almost happy state. She remembered that the Professor would get a face of complete joy when he saw others full of pain at the torture he inflicted on them. Worse were the times when the drugs could no longer blur the agony when her skin was sliced open or at the times when a substance was injected into her system that made the inside of her body feel like it was on fire. The pain, so horrible, she had passed out. Then she would awaken over and over again, to find herself writhing on the cot she had been placed onto by another hostage. Her screams would join the others and even with the accumulated sound, it never seemed to manage to penetrate through the two underground levels they had been kept in, under a house that was not that far from the main and heavily populated city.
Their screams were useless as not even the surrounding neighbors had been any wiser of the depraved actions that was happening near them. They had been oblivious to the monster they lived next to. How could they have suspected the young man? He was handsome with a shock of curly black hair, kind light brown eyes, and a hard worker who didn’t mind taking time out of his career to assist another. He was, or so they said, a compassionate man who had amiable words for everyone. When somebody needed a shoulder to cry or to tell their worries to receive well advise, he was the first person that was thought of.
The man could have been anybody and nobody. If the survivor hadn’t been one of his victims, perhaps she too would have been blinded by his good looks and charisma. That was not to be. Her first meeting with him, she had just been a girl of sixteen and starting the peak of her teenaged life. She had finally grown into womanly curves and due to the new development was gaining the popularity she dreamed of having. The years of being the flat-chested gangly girl had come to an end and so did the bullying. The good years were at her doorstep, ready to open their arms for her, and she was anxious to immerse in them knowing they would only happen once. She never got the chance as it had been quickly taken from her. Years later, the tragic moment when she lost everything continuously played in her mind.
Before her abduction, as the news played the images of the missing people and bodies being found, she had contemplated what she would do when presented in the situation where a man or others attempted to harm her. She was convinced she would put up a strong fight, call, or scream for help. She would be witty, resourceful, using objects nearby for defense. That didn’t happen. Nope. She had failed her own expectations. It had been an ordinary day as summer turned to fall, the first leaves dropping to the ground, the cold arriving with yesterday’s winds. She had been walking with a skip in her steps, humming, her scarf fluttering behind as she took the familiar path to school unaware of how quickly her life was going to change as a man quietly stalked behind her. His feet were silent on the hard pavement. She entered an alley. It was a shortcut that she had taken many times and it was there the Professor attacked. He placed a rag on her face and his other arm encircled her waist. She went to scream but inhaled instead. The world darkened around her. Usually, her nightmares would end there.
Now, a woman of twenty she had post-traumatic stress disorder. She didn’t have the ability to walk outside and had no choice but to order her groceries and products online. Her husband was willing to take the task upon himself but he already did so much for her. She couldn’t ask for more. He already put up with her dreams and fitful sleeping in which she struggled to pull herself out of so that she may no longer be a burden. The depths that her nightmares went were astonishing. One day they would be the death of her.
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