Abducted
Little does he know, when she pulls in front of him just as he turns into the parking lot, that this event has changed the course of his life. His coffee splashes on the floor when he hit the brakes. A quick flash of anger as he watches her drive on into the parking lot, oblivious to the fact he had the right-of-way. He sees her again after he parks, when she passes in front of his van; a suburban clone, blonde, ponytail, distracted by some frivolous conversation on a cell phone while trying to see over the hood of a tank-size SUV.
She stops a few cars down to wait for an elderly couple get into their car and vacate their parking space. Why didn’t she take the space six cars back and simple walk the extra distance? Two cars pull to a stop behind her. They have to wait for her to get out of the way. She honks, apparently to hurry the elderly couple.
He shakes his head. How many of these clones has he seen before, the type that thinks the world revolves around them, utterly unaware of the real world, or other people’s sensibilities, spoiled from the moment they’re born, little girls that grow up selfish and self-serving, then marry the ambitious fraternity man that has to have just the right female to call his wife?
Maybe this bothered him more these days, now that his business had gone under, now that he had lost his house and was living in the lake cabin left to him by his uncle, all heaped on the pain of losing his wife in an automobile accident less than a year before. A year ago this obnoxious female wouldn’t have roused a second thought.
He watches her maneuver the big SUV into the parking space, step down out of the cab and start toward the grocery store, stopping to confront the cart attendant about a cart that had gotten in her way. He can see the boy trying to be polite even though she’s talking down to him, likely accusing him of not doing his job.
She’s blessed—his whole world has fallen apart. She will fill her shopping cart with expensive organic food and the latest high-energy sports drinks. He’ll buy sugar and coffee and maybe a pot roast. His money will run out within a few months. He feels powerless, like the world had passed him by and he will never catch up. His optimism and ambition have been reduced to pangs of inadequacy, failure, unable to solve problems or make decisions; a low that often feels like a physical pain, a low he had never realized even existed.
His hand-held basket is half-full by the time he spots the woman again. This time she’s confronting the store manager. He stops a few feet away, looking for his usual breakfast cereal, close enough to hear the blonde’s complaint. Something the store had advertised is out of stock. She won’t let it go. The manager listens patiently as she rants about a properly managed store. He feels a sinking feeling inside his chest. Something snaps. He looks at the groceries that have accumulated in the basket—he can buy this stuff some other time.
Back in the parking lot, he moves his van next to her SUV. His plan will land him in prison, but that doesn’t matter. Can life be more miserable than it is now just because he’s locked behind bars? He feels almost relieved. No, he can’t blame her for his tribulations, nor blame her ilk for the woes of the world. But that doesn’t matter either. All he knows is this haughty bitch just happens to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. This particular woman, this debutant incarnate, this wretched wastrel is going to be shown another side of life. Who knows, it might just giver her some character.
He opens the doors at the back of the van, leans in and pretends to be working on something, and he waits, watching over his shoulder. It’s early in the day, not much activity in the parking lot. The sun beats down on his back. His underarms are damp. She’ll be pushing past with her cart any moment. What he’ll do with her hasn’t been undecided, other than giving her a few days she will remember the rest of her life.
He spots her a few minutes later.
There she is. Pure bitch. He wonders if under the façade she has any real human qualities. Probably a family, children, all clinging to their misguided values in a big house on a tree-lined street. Guess I’m about to find out. What happened? Why can he no longer connect with the world around him? Why did his dreams vanish like a wisp of smoke?
His body feels tight. Every muscle operating on impulse. Like yesterday, and the day before that, tomorrow doesn’t matter, only this obsession, this ill-conceived notion to satisfy his hunger for some small taste of justice. How many times has he built cabinets for demanding women like her? The color’s not right. The counter clashes with the wallpaper. There aren’t enough shelves. Then they complain about the bill.
He hears the wheels on the shopping cart grow nearer. He tenses. Just a few more feet. Her image enters the corner of his eye. She’s closer now, just behind him …
Now!
He comes up behind her, throws a tarp over her head, wrestles her into the van. She screams, kicks, twists like an alligator rolling in mud. Her cart rolls on past her SUV. Holding her down with an arm and a leg, he glances out the back of the van and then pulls the doors closed, struggling to hold her down, to cover her mouth. She tries desperately to break free, to scream. He presses his hand on the tarp where her mouth should be, looks around. A shop rag. He grabs it, pulls the tarp off her head and pushes his knee on her chest to hold her down. Seconds later, the rag is knotted tight at the back of her head, her terrified screams muffled and lost on the carpenter’s clutter inside the van.
He’s sweating, nervous, breathing hard. He uses cords to bind her arms and legs. Overpowered by male strength, her screams become whimpers, her thrashing legs draw up and she lays amid the clutter in a fetal position. The woman subdued and securely bound, his head falls back as he sucks great volumes of air through his nostrils. The wave of adrenaline settles, then up through the center of the van and into the driver’s seat. His hands shaking on the wheel, he looks around—still no one in sight. A nauseous feeling overwhelms him as he cranks the engine. It starts after a few sluggish turns. He feels the acids roiling in belly and the sun-heated van feels like an oven. He’ll wait before he cranks the window down.
Looking straight ahead, rigid, he pulls out of the parking lot and starts out through the suburbs. Gated neighborhoods and strip shopping centers fall vaguely behind. He hears squeals and whimpers from the back of the van, feels the eyes of pedestrians and other drivers staring at him, as if the words I am a kidnapper are written in red letters on his forehead.
The world around him seems like a strange, alien place, hostile and unforgiving. He’s alone now, really alone, alone with his single-minded ambition. The road that will take him out of town finally comes into view, his hands gripping the wheel, hot air flowing over his face from the open window, his forehead beaded with sweat.
Read more in Erotic Tales for Enlightened Minds. Available in paperback and Kindle at Amazon.
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