Special Ones

Most kidnappings happen by people who are associated right? What makes me so special?


1. Prologue

   "You know you're insane right?" I huffed and rolled my eyes, maybe hard enough to be felt on the other side of the phone. 

   "No, I'm perfectly sane thank you. I like having a knife in my purse, what if I get kidnapped?!" I said as I walked out of the automatic doors into the eerily dark mall parking lot.  

   "Like you would ever be kidnapped, you know the chance of being targeted by a random person who's never met you or had any interactions with you is like 1 and 1 million, or maybe even billion, right?" My eyes darted from car to car as I clutched my keys tight in the nippy winter air until I found mine and found no immediate threat. 

   "Says the six foot tall grown man whose chance of being abducted is at least a fourth of that." He laughed and responded with a passive "Whatever".

   "Anyways, I'm going to get off here now I'm just about to my car. I'll be home soon ok?"

   "Alright, see you then. I love you." I smiled, I always loved the way his raspy voice sounded over the phone.

   "I love you too, bye." I hung up and slipped my phone into my purse. 

   Just when you think Winter couldn't possibly get any colder you're drafted for a closing shift at the job you hardly work a couple days at. The only bad part is walking out into the parking lot at night without the coworker who parked in a different lot.   

    I got to my car and immediately blasted the heat, keeping my mitten-ed hands over the vents for quick relief of what felt like minor frostbite. 

   Looking over at my purse to retrieve the phone I had just put away I saw a shoe in my backseat. That's odd, considering the shoe was attached to a leg, that was attached to a man. Who had a gun pointed at my face. 


   "Don't even make a sound girl or you're dead understand?" My throat welled up as I realized the situation I was actually in. I nodded, but kept my body perfectly still; scared to move a single inch. 

   "Shut the car off." I slowly reached for my keys and took them out of the ignition. 

   "Drop them." I obeyed. He opened the back door and got out, keeping the gun trained on my face. 

   "Get out." Paralyzed with fear my legs wouldn't correspond with my brain and I sat frozen in my seat. He grabbed my wrist and yanked me out of my seat. 

   Keeping a firm grip on my wrist he drug me to the bed of the pickup truck parked right next to my car. He opened the silver tool box that lined the window and shoved me down into it. 

   "You better stay quiet. I am not afraid to kill you. Roll over." I rolled onto my stomach, touching the freezing shiny surface with the tip of my nose. He grabbed my wrists and pulled a zip-tie around them so tight I could feel my heart beating in my hands. 

   He slammed the lid down, bursting my ear drums, and climbed off the side of the truck and into  the cab. 

   What am I going to do? I wiggled my fingers and pulled my wrists apart trying, and failing, to loosen the tie. My heart started racing and tears rolled down my cheeks. 

   I'm going to die. I'm only 18 years old and I'm going to die in the hands of a stranger. 

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