I thought I was strong. I thought I would be strong. But to be honest I’d never tried to fight Mr. Skint. The only moment of resistance that I can remember was- well the first time it happened. I think I was- I don’t know, nine? Yeah. Yeah, I was in third grade. Or I would’ve been if I were in school. I have a temper. I always have. Whether it’s genetic, or from lack of love, or something I picked up from Skint I’ll never know…. Maybe it’s all three. It’s terrible how much Eugene and Katrina still don’t know. I’ve only yelled at them two or three times. Mostly at Eugene.
It’s weird. I fought back once. He got angry at me. I don’t remember what for. And he hit me. I started crying, and when he hit me again, I tried to grab his wrist. It didn’t work. Of course, he was stronger than me. Maybe that was why. I knew I wasn’t strong enough, so why try? I realized that first “punishment” that fighting back only made him angrier, and only made it hurt more. But this time I’d be stronger. I was sixteen. Not nine. I could fight back if he tried to hurt me. And I was firm in that.
We drove for two more hours. With every mile, my anxiety built. I wanted nothing more than to wake up in my room back in Odyssey. Back in that beautiful house that I’d learned to take for granted. The one hope I hung onto was that I’d called Jules. See, we’d set up a system. A sort of code in case anyone was ever in trouble and couldn’t explicitly say so. If I was ever in trouble I’d call her “Jewel” in the first sentence I said. If she understood she’d say “Hello” back. She understood. Another perk: So that they’d always know where I was, Eugene and Katrina got an app where that tracks my phone. I took comfort in that. Everything would be fine. Eventually we’d stop at a hotel for the night. That’d give the police enough time to get there and save me. I just had to wait.
By the time we made it to our destination it was one in the morning. We’d crossed over the border of Illinois, which made me wonder if we were going to Chicago. If we were, we didn’t make it there that night. The hotel we stayed in was nice, and once we were comfortable behind the barrier of a locked door, he explained that he was making “honest” money now. “In sales,” he said. What that meant precisely I didn’t care, but the likelihood of prostitution sent a sick feeling to my stomach.
I looked around the room. Two beds sat to the left of the door, which locked from the inside. I thought about running. There was a kitchen area farther back, and a bathroom before that. I sat down on the bed. The orange and white fabric bringing a little comfort. My heart was still faster than usual. I briefly wondered if Skint would be stupid enough to leave me here while he went into the bathroom or something. I took time to think through my escape. If he made the mistake of taking a shower, I could get out. I’d grab my phone from his leather jacket, which he’d thrown on a chair in the corner after we’d walked in. Somehow being quiet, I’d then unlock the door, and just like that, I’d be free. I’d take the stairs. Whether it was quicker than the elevator or not, I wasn’t sure. But it seemed faster in my mind. After that, I’d just run. Keep running, hide, get as far away as I could. Then eventually I’d maybe find a crowded area to hide, where I’d wait for the police to come. I could also wait until he was asleep.
Skint threw some clothes in the closet, and then turned to me. Dragging over a chair from the kitchen, he told me to sit in it.
“Why?”
“I can’t have you running off, now I can I?”
I thought about running right then, but of course, that’d ensure a chase scene. Was I faster than him now? I wasn’t when I was fourteen, but I’d gotten a lot stronger since then. If he was chasing me, I’d have to take the stairs, most of which I could jump. But one problem. I didn’t have my phone. It was too far away from where I stood. But I wouldn’t give in.
“I’m not doing what you say.”
“Yeah… I figured not.”
He fished some rope and duct tape out of his backpack, then came at me. Stepping forward, I drove my fist into his skull. I would not be a victim. Shocked by my rebellion and power, he went in for a hit himself. Ducking, I grabbed his wrist. This time, I’d be in control. I pushed him into the wall, those furious eyes still mocking me, despite my upper hand. NO! MAKE HIM PAY! I WILL BE IN CONTROL!
Let me have control.
My breath was caught in my throat. ‘What?’
Let me have control.
Tears blurring my vision, I let go.
‘Jesus. Help me to love,’ I quickly prayed, before I was thrown to the ground.
He hit me a few more times. I didn’t resist. He forced me into the chair where he secured my hands, feet, and upper body. Once I was successfully gagged, I’d never felt so trapped. Compared to now, of course, that was freedom, but at the time I felt almost helpless. But I had hope. Jesus was with me and I could feel Him. I just had to be patient. Before I knew it, I’d fallen asleep.
I sat in my office staring out the window, a root beer in my hand. Taking another sip, I appreciated what a peaceful evening it had been. Spring light beams were pouring in as the sun said its final goodbye for the day, showing affection through golden rays, which smiled from behind Odyssey’s mountains and trees. It was quiet in the station. Most everyone was there, with nothing to do, but drink root beer apparently. Some of the younger officers had been complaining about the lag in excitement over the past week, but I was enjoying it. It was strange. I usually hated it when I couldn’t work. Work was what I used to run from my memories. But I had started counselling recently, and it was working. I could actually take time to breathe and still feel physically alive.
My can began to feel lighter as the last bit of light disappeared under the oaks that outlined my daily view. I sighed.
“Sir,” Martin’s voice invaded the silence that’d I had been rather selfish with.
“Mhm?” I responded, my disinterest causing my finger to pluck at the tab of the can I hadn’t sipped from in a couple minutes.
“It’s Katrina Meltsner. She says Buck’s missing.”
“What?!”
“That’s what she said. Should I-”
“Do you have her on the phone?”
“Yeah. Right here.”
He handed me the smartphone, confusion tipping the edges of his brown pupils. I held the phone up to my ear,
“Katrina.”
I could hear her crying from the other side.
“Listen. I need you to calm down.”
“Okay. Okay. I-I’m sorry,” she whispered, panting.
“Alright. What happened? Buck is missing?”
“No. No he’s- I think he was kidnapped.”
“Why would you say that?”
“We have this- code. If someone isn’t safe and can’t say where they are because someone was there, we have different ways of addressing each other and- it’s not important. But Jules was supposed to meet Buck and he used the code.”
“Okay.”
“We also have a tracker on his phone.”
“Well, where is it?”
“Eugene’s checking it now… Illinois,” her voice cracked slightly, and sobs came back to her throat. I smashed the can in my right hand, and threw it in the trashcan at my feet. Taking a deep breath, I tried to calm her as well as myself down.
“Okay, okay. Can you two come to the station?”
“Yeah.”
“Great.”
The couple were escorted into my office about fifteen minutes later. At my suggestion, both concerned parents took a seat. I offered them root beer, but was quickly turned down. I got a coke for myself anyway. It was going to be a long night.
“Alright. Believe it or not, you two are under fortunate circumstances. You know where he- or at least his phone is.”
They nodded.
“So-”
“Could it be Mr. Skint?”
I sighed, knowing she’d bring it up.
“It could be. But that doesn’t mean it is. If we’re thinking practically-”
“If we’re thinking practically, it’s very likely that’s precisely who took him. Why are we not, to borrow the colloquialism, out there looking for him!?” Eugene interrupted.
“That’s what we’re going to do. Is there any other information I need to know?”
“I don’t think so…”
“Okay. Then we can leave.”
Martin and I took a car, leading the way. Eugene drove between to more police cars. With Eugene’s phone up front, I watched as the small amount of light Odyssey peacefully shone was left behind us. We drove for three hours. Katrina called me about four times to ask where he was, or how much longer, what did I know. I knew nothing. I knew her kid was probably in danger. But how would that have calmed her down? I did my best to calm her questions with non-answers, and kept my eyes on the road, praying he wasn’t hurt.