Mollie
The man was lying back against the headboard of the bed, quietly reading a book. He’d been reading for a while. Though Mollie had no sense of time down in this dungeon he kept calling The Vault, she was pretty sure many hours had passed since he’d forced her down the steps into the darkness.
When they’d arrived, he’d immediately flicked on the lights, shoved the gun into her back, and forced her into the furthest corner. Her heart raced, and her body trembled as he forced her down to the ground. Terrifying images of what he might do to her flashed before her eyes like strikes of violent lightning. He’d stuffed the gun into the waistline of his pants behind him, knelt beside her, and pulled her legs out in front of her. Then he’d grabbed two shackles, which were attached to a long, thick, metal chain, and secured them around her ankles. Mollie watched him as tears, mascara, and blood from a cut above her eye streamed down her dirty face, over her neck, and between her breasts. His demeanor was eerily calm, and his face was cold and devoid of any emotion whatsoever.
She’d watched him use a key to secure the locks on the shackles. Everything happened so fast, she’d not gotten a very good look at him until then. His blond hair fell to his chin and was tucked behind his ears—a style she normally found attractive on a man. He dressed in all black, and Mollie had caught a whiff of some sort of cologne when he’d first come up behind her. What kind of kidnapper wears cologne? He moved silently and robotically, making him seem almost inhuman.
“Why are you doing this?” she’d said in a hoarse whisper. Her throat was scratchy and dry from screaming so much, and it felt like she’d swallowed razor blades.
“Shut up, Mollie.” When he’d secured her to the chain, he’d stood and stared down at her with an unnerving smile. “You’re even prettier than I imagined.”
Imagined? What the hell does that mean? She opened her mouth to ask him, but before she could get a word out, he drew his hand back and said, “Don’t speak unless I tell you to. Do you understand?”
Mollie had nodded and wiped her face with her sleeve. For the first time in her life, she’d actually thought she might pee on herself out of sheer fright.
“Here,” he’d said as he pulled a handkerchief out of his shirt pocket and tossed it to her. “Clean yourself up. I want to see that lovely face nice and clean.”
Mollie had done as he’d commanded and wiped her face. When she was done, she’d handed it back to him without saying a word.
“That’s my girl. Now, I’m going to lie down for a bit. It’s been an exciting night, don’t you think? You should probably try to get some sleep too.”
He’d turned around and walked toward the bed. Mollie wanted to ask for a blanket, but was terrified to make a sound without his permission. So instead, she’d curled up into a ball and wrapped her arms around her legs. She’d watched as the man kicked off his boots and lay back on the bed, on top of the covers. He must have caught her staring, because he’d sat up and propped himself on one elbow.
“I can see that you’re scared, so I’ll tell you a little secret. I’m not going to kill you. Not for a while, anyway. I have big plans for you, Mollie. But for now, I need to rest. You should do the same.”
Within a few minutes, he was snoring lightly. Mollie had sat there for God only knew how long and dreamed of ways to escape from this lunatic, until finally he’d woken up, brought her a small cup of water, grabbed a book off the shelf, and returned to the bed to read.
Now he seemed engrossed in whatever he was reading, and Mollie was shivering in the corner, trying with all her might not to break down and cry. She didn’t want to give him the satisfaction. Plus, it would do her no good. He’d made that perfectly clear. But she couldn’t just give up and accept her fate. She was made of tougher stuff than that. And she was a writer. She had a creative mind, and surely she could use her talent to come up with a way to escape. But first, she had to try to get him to let his guard down. She remembered seeing a Dateline NBC story about a girl who’d been abducted. This girl had talked to her kidnapper calmly but relentlessly and had finally gotten him to see her as a human being, not some nameless, disposable victim, and he’d released her. But what could she say?
She studied the man as he continued reading his book. Something about him was different than any person she’d ever encountered before. When he stared at her, it was like there was nothing at all behind his eyes. No compassion, no remorse, no guilt. He truly did not look human. His chin-length hair was smooth and tucked behind his ears, and his nails were neatly trimmed. The features of his face were angular and symmetrical, and had he not been a monster who’d kidnapped her, chained her to a wall, and held her captive in a dungeon, she might even have said he was attractive. Her overly-exhausted and terrified mind wondered briefly if he was a vampire, but she was still alert and sane enough to remind herself there was no such thing. He was a normal human being, so there had to be a way to get through to him.
It was clear he already knew her name, which meant she wasn’t chosen at random. This realization sent another chill up her spine, and she knew that if he had chosen her specifically, there must be a reason. She had to find out what that reason was. Mollie gulped back her fear and tucked her feet underneath her, careful not to rattle the chains.
“What are you reading?” she asked in a near whisper.
At first, he didn’t answer. He simply licked his finger then flipped the page on his book.
She summoned her courage and told herself that being nice to this crazy man might be her only hope of getting out of this alive. “I can’t tell from here, but it looks like a big book. Do you like to read?”
He tilted the book away from his face and looked at her with bemusement. “Do you really want to know?”
“Yes,” she said. “I love to read too. In fact, I want to be a writer one day. I keep a journal and—”
“Shut up,” he snapped. “Do you really think I care?” Then his scowl turned into another creepy smile. “But since you asked so nicely, I’ll tell you. I’m reading War and Peace. It’s by—”
“Leo Tolstoy,” Mollie finished.
“Good girl. You’re smarter than I thought you’d be.”
Mollie tried to reposition the shackles that were clamped tightly around her ankles. Her feet were going numb, and she knew she had to keep her blood circulating. “I love Leo Tolstoy. Anna Karenina has always been one of my favorites.”
The man regarded Mollie with squinted eyes and a slight tilt of the head, as if he were straining to hear something spoken in the softest whisper. “I know what you’re doing.” He closed his book, set it beside him, and swung his legs over the edge of the bed. He stood and walked around it, over to Mollie’s little corner. She pulled her legs up to her chin and wrapped her arms around them, shivering. She regretted opening her mouth. Was he going to punish her for her stupidity?
When he was only a few feet away from her, he squatted low and looked at her with those hollow eyes. “You’re trying to get me to empathize. You think if we bond over our mutual love for classic nineteenth-century literature, I’ll come to see I couldn’t possibly kill you. Am I right? Is that what you’re trying to do?”
Mollie shivered, both from the coldness of the dungeon and the indifference in his stare. “No. I was just…”
“It’s okay,” the man said. “I’d do the same thing if I was in your position. It’s a brilliant plan, actually. And perhaps it would work on someone else. Not me.” He grabbed a strand of Mollie’s hair and slowly wrapped it around his finger.
Her stomach rolled, and she fought back the bile rising in her throat. “You called me by my name earlier. I didn’t tell you my name. How do you know who I am?”
“I know a lot about you, Mollie Cartwright. I know you live alone with your mother in a nice, cozy cape cod at the end of Sycamore Street. I know you never knew your daddy. I know you’re a student at UK, and that you’re studying to be a writer. I know all your dirty little secrets. Most importantly, I know who your grandfather is.”
Mollie forced herself to stifle the terrified sobs that were threatening to escape her throat. Of course this has something to do with Pops. She’d known the truth about him since she was thirteen when some of her classmates had filled her in on the big secret. He was essentially the crime boss of Lexington. Like, the Kentucky version of John Gotti.
Though he had no ties to the Italian mafia or the Irish mob, her grandfather had a hand in almost every crime committed in the city. Nothing happened without his approval. Of course, he still wanted Mollie to believe he was nothing more than a successful businessman who owned several bars and restaurants, so she’d never told him she knew the truth. Because she loved Pops, no matter what he did for a living, she’d always pretended to believe the family’s lies about who and what he was. In fact, Mollie was pretty sure she was his favorite grandchild. But no matter how much she loved him, no matter how many happy childhood memories they had made together, she would never forgive him for this.
“Ahh.” He dropped her hair and stood from his crouched position. “I see it’s all starting to make sense to you now. You know who your grandfather is…what he does. At least, you think you do. I promise you, Mollie, there’s more to your grandfather than you ever imagined. He’s hurt a lot of people, including people very close to me, and that’s why you’re here with me now. Call it retribution, payback, vengeance…call it whatever you like. But I like to think of you as…incentive.”
The man turned and walked back over to the bed, picked up War and Peace, and began reading again, as if it were the most normal thing in the world. As if he hadn’t kidnapped Mollie, brought her to The Vault, chained her to a wall, and terrorized her, all for some sort of revenge against Pops for whatever he had done to piss him off.
Thinking of Pops made Mollie think of home. And thinking of home made her think of her mother. Kitty would be worried sick by now. The two talked every day, and every night when Mollie got home from work, they would sit at the kitchen table, drink hot tea with honey, and talk about their day. It had always been just the two of them from the beginning. Kitty had gotten pregnant at the age of sixteen and never told Mollie anything about her father other than he was an old boyfriend who had skipped out on her when he found out he was going to be a father. It was Kitty’s one and only secret, and Mollie had always respected her privacy, even if it meant never knowing about her father. It pained her to think of her mother pacing the floor of her room and calling her cell phone over and over, praying this would be the time she’d answer. Had she called the police? Were they looking for her already?
It didn’t matter. Though she’d been lying in the back seat on the drive from the mall to this underground hideout, she could tell when he pulled off the main road and drove down a bumpy country road. Then he’d turned, and the ride became even slower and rougher. When he’d pulled her out of the back seat and she’d seen they were in the middle of the woods, she knew no one would ever find her here.
Now the tiny sliver of hope she’d held on to that she could possibly talk her way out of her situation had been shattered, and she knew she had to accept the fact that whatever her pops had done to this man, she was going to be the one to pay the ultimate price for his sins.