The Transfixed

chapter five

Bridget woke up as her head hit the side of something hard. The last thing she remembered was taking a sip of the water Harriet had brought to her. She ran her dry tongue over her chapped lips and gazed faintly around at her blurred surroundings.

The first thing she noticed was that the thing her head had knocked into was the barrel of a handgun being pointed at her skull. She followed the finger wrapped around the trigger upwards until she was staring into the eyes of one of the friendliest men she'd ever met. 

Sam Hawkins.

He was grinning at her. "Nice to see you're finally awake. I was about to kill Harriet for putting too much sedative in your drink." He was still a man of smirks and laughter... but now, his eyes shone with a different emotion: ruthlessness.

Bridget attempted to move her arm, and instantly became aware of her bound hands. Her eyes widened around her, seeing dusty floorboards and moonlight streaming in from a nearby window. They were in a hotel room that wreaked of smoke and cheap air freshener. Three bulky silhouettes stood motionless by the front door.

She was sitting in an office chair, her hands and feet fastened to the sides with zip-ties. Searching  aimlessly for audible words, she settled on glaring at his smiling face instead.

"What? Confused? Scared? Angry?" Sam laughed like he was telling a great joke. To prepare for the punch line, he leaned towards her, his heavy gaze never faltering. "Good. You should be." Then he lowered the gun from her head and slid it in the holster beneath his suit jacket. 

Bridget's eyes widened when she saw what he was wearing. "That's the same tux-" Her mouth clamped close, and the rest of her realization was pieced together mentally. The dark-haired man from the party was one in the same with Sam Hawkins. The sedative that he'd tried to give the random target in her vodka was a test for Bridget. 

But even knowing that these two men were the same, that didn't explain the reason behind any of it.

"You're probably wondering why I'd go to such lengths to kidnap you, right?" Sam cut in to her thoughts, practically reading her mind, "I mean, a normal person would just find out where you live and snatch you up in the middle of the night- or better yet, drive up in a white van and tell you I have candy. So why bring my private jet into the picture? Why bribe all of the flight attendants?" He questioned rhetorically.

Bridget swallowed.

"Nobody knows you're missing. Yet." His dress pants stretched as he crouched to her eye-level, "But they will, eventually. And when they do, it'll be too late." His breath smelled like vodka as it blew outwards with each word he uttered.

Moments passed. The room was silent save for the sound of the city outside the window.

"How do you know I won't escape?" Bridget said finally, her voice coming out stronger than she felt.

One of Sam's shadowy henchmen snorted.

Sam himself appeared equally as arrogant as he rolled his heels back and straightened to a standing position. He had long, spider-like legs, and an angular face that was sharp and erect. The tally of murders he'd committed weighed on his soul and showed in the lines on his face. His twenty-something years fought for dominance over the aging effects of guilt-infested crime. "You won't." His voice was as calm as a silent night, and sharper than a shard of glass.

Instead of arguing the point, Bridget ventured for answers. "What do you want from me?"

"Not every simple question can be countered with a simple answer, Miss Briggs." Sam returned, setting his cool gaze somewhere past her head.