Sam grabbed an unused diaper from the passenger seat and opened his car door. The woman opened her passenger side door and bent down and placed the sack of groceries on the seat of her car. She was too preoccupied to hear him approach.
“Excuse me,” he said.
The woman retracted out of the car and faced him.
“Do I know you?”
“I’m sorry to bother you, but do you know how to change a diaper?” he said.
She looked at the diaper in his hand and then back at him.
“Who do you ask?”
“My sister asked me to watch my nephew for a few hours, and I can’t seem to get the darn thing on right.”
He angled the diaper in the directions of his car.
“My car’s right over there,” he said. “Do you think you could help me?”
The woman hesitated and studied the man’s car for a moment and then shrugged her shoulders.
“I really need to get home.”
The man smiled, but not just any smile. It was one he’d practiced in the mirror over and over again until it conveyed what he needed it to—trust me.
“It will only take a minute,” he said.
As they walked over to Sam’s car he remained a few paces behind her. He glanced over his left shoulder and then his right. All was still, and since the store closed in five minutes, he was certain it would stay that way. He watched the woman peek through the window of his car and relished the startled look on her face when she didn’t see a baby. With a look of perplexity, she turned to face him.
“Where’s the—”
The man reached into the front pocket of his hoodie and pulled out a needle and quickly inserted it into her shoulder. In an instant her body went limp and she sagged into him.
Happy anniversary, he thought to himself.
When he arrived home, Sam pulled the woman out of the trunk of his car and tossed her over his right shoulder. Her exposed thigh pressed against the flesh of his face and he could feel her body quiver. It made him feel alive again. The way she looked at him when he opened the trunk and looked down on her reminded him of a fawn, but she didn’t move or make a sound. He was a little disappointed by this and expected more of a challenge.
Sam took the woman downstairs and opened the door to the basement and walked past his bottle collection. And for the first time she tried to scream, but it was muffled by the tape he used to secure her mouth. He stopped for a moment and turned towards the shelves and patted the side of her leg.
“They’re beautiful, aren’t they?” he said. “Do you see that row there at the bottom? There’s nothing on it now, but in a week or two, it will be all filled up.”
The woman twisted her body and thrashed from side to side and tried to release herself from the tight grip he had on her.
“That’s more like it,” he said.
He entered a side room that was adorned with a single motif in mind—plastic, and he laid her body across a padded board in the center of the room. He secured her into the wrist and ankle restraints and then removed the duct tape from her lips.
“There now,” he said, “that’s better.”
A tear trickled down the side of her face and he took his finger and brushed it away.
“There’s no need for that,” he said.
“Are you going to kill me?”
He smiled and ran his hand through her hair.
“You have beautiful hair,” he said. “It’s so soft. So well taken care of; I admire that in a woman.”
“Please don’t hurt me,” she said. “I’ll do whatever you want. If you want money, it’s yours, and I won’t say anything to anyone, I promise.”
He lifted his pointer finger and placed it in the center of her lips.
“Shhh,” he said. “I need you to hold still for me. Nod if you understand.”
She didn’t move.
“I asked you to nod if you understand,” he said.
She bobbed her head up and down.
“This next part is going to hurt for a moment,” he said, “but I find it’s best to get it over with.”
Kindle Edition Copyright © 2011 by Cheryl Bradshaw
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, businesses, and incidents either are the products of the author’s imagination or are used in a fictitious manner. Any similarity to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental and should be recognized as such.
First edition eBook March 2011
Cover Photo Copyright 2008 © barsik at bigstock.com
Cover Design Copyright 2011 © Julie Ortolon
All rights reserved.
No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored or transmitted, in any form, or by any means whatsoever (electronic, mechanical, or otherwise) without the prior written permission and consent of the author. www.cherylbradshaw.com