Kidnapped by a Killer (Edited Version)

Chapter 8

A noise woke me sometime late into the night. The room was pitch black except for a small stream of light coming from a crack in the bedroom door. As I sat up, still half asleep, I could just barely make out a set of voices conversing in the living room. One was definitely Cliff, but the other was one I didn't recognize. Curious and hopeful for a rescue, I crawled across the room to peer through the opening in the door.

Cliff was seated on the couch, a troubled expression on his face. There was a stranger seated next to him who looked to be only a few years older. He was more relaxed than Cliff, but in a way that exuded confidence more than comfort.

"I did my best to shake 'em, but I don't think they believed me," Cliff said. "You know how the FBI can be."

"I do, which is why I know the only reason they'd be so keen one searching your place would be because they have some serious evidence." the guy said, sipping on a beer.

Cliff's own beer sat untouched on the coffee table. "I must have left something there that gave them a lead," he said. "I can't think of what though."

The guy clicked his tongue with a grin. "Come on, Cliff. I thought I taught you better than that," he said.

My eyes widened and I felt my stomach lurch at the realization. This man taught Cliff to be a murderer? The very thought sent shivers down my spine. Fearful of being caught eavesdropping by someone so dangerous, I hurried to move away from the door. However, in my haste, my hand hit the door lightly and it moved with a soft creak. Both Cliff and the stranger snapped their attention to the door.

"What was that?" the man asked.

Cliff looked nervous. "I left the fan on in my room. It probably just blew the door," he said.

My heart thudded in my ears as I saw the man narrow his eyes in my direction. "No," he said.

I tried to scramble away in time, but he had already walked over and pushed the door open, flooding the room with light. Upon seeing me, one of his eyebrows shot up in surprise. Then a wicked grin stretched across his face like had just found the most amazing toy. He crouched to my level. "Why, hello there," he said. I flinched back as he reached for my chin, lifting it thoughtfully.

By this time Cliff was standing in the doorway, an anxious look on his face. He looked like he wanted to stop our interaction, but was hesitant to deny the stranger his interest.

The man turned my head from side to side and looked me over like I was a fine piece of merchandise. At one point he leaned so close I could smell the alcohol on his breath. Finally, he sat back on his heels. "He's cute," he said. He smirked at Cliff over his shoulder. "But I'm surprise. I thought you said you'd never get one."

Cliff shifted from foot to foot uncomfortably, clearly reluctant to speak. However, I swallowed back my fear to speak to the man directly. "One what?" I asked.

The stranger looked back at me, the smirk still on his face. "A pet," he said matter-o-factly.

That title made me feel far worse than I had expected it to and I pursed my lips. "I am not his pet," I said, sending Cliff a look of contempt.

The guy appeared amused to hear this. "Oh? Pardon me for saying so, but you sure look like his pet," he said, motioning to the chain on my ankle. I flushed, embarrassed and infuriated. I glared at him as he stood up, brushing himself off. "You don't seem to have trained him very well. How long have you had him?" he asked Cliff.

Cliff moved to stand in front of me. "A couple months," he said, hurrying to change the subject. "Can we please get back to our conversation?"

The guy ignored him and extended a hand to me, "I'm Rowen. What's your name?" he asked.