Reduced to Ruin

Chapter 14

The days dragged on. We had fallen into a routine. Unbelievably, my stomach pains and nausea were subsiding. Not that I trusted him. Oh, no. I just knew what to expect, as long as I didn't rock the boat. That first couple of weeks, he was very kind to me and treated me with respect. As much as a kidnapper could.

It wasn't difficult to figure out he was trying to build a life with me as his soul mate. It was only a matter of time before he'd want to have sex with me. And I wasn't sure why he was waiting. But I was grateful for that and spent much of my time figuring out the best way to escape. I even had dreams—and nightmares—about it. I determined long ago the door was my best bet.

I had two prospects. One, I could wait until James opened the door while I casually stood by the refrigerator. I would catch him by surprise, push him out of the way, and then lock him in with the key that will still be (hopefully) in the lock. What would happen after that, I didn't know. The timing, though, had to be just right.

My second idea was to push the pins out of the hinges of the door, quietly take it off its frame, and hope the deadbolt wouldn't be a problem. I wasn't mechanically-inclined and had no idea if the second option would work. But all my hopes were on a scene I once read in the book, Flowers in the Attic. The kids who were trapped in an attic by their demented grandmother took the pins out of the hinges of the door to escape. My plight was similar, and it certainly seemed plausible.

Any time I thought of these ideas in great detail, my hands would become clammy, and I would feel anxious with anticipation. I'd daydream of my dad, Lisa, and all of the things I missed that were symbolic of the freedoms everyone took for granted—going to the beach, speeding down the Pacific Coast Highway, going to my favorite restaurants, seeing a movie . . . I missed so many things. One day, this nightmare with this crazy man would be a small blip in my life's history.

But, every time I thought I would finally escape, I was brought back to my conversation with James in the van when he threatened to kill my dad. It was one thing to murder me, but I couldn't put my dad in danger . . . So inevitably, I would chicken out every time and tell myself I would try next time. I just couldn't bring myself to do it.

A few days before Thanksgiving, James came into the apartment, practically jumping with excitement.

"Hi, Corrine," James said. "I have a surprise for you."

"What?" I asked. I clicked off the news and stood up.

"I went shopping and got you some new clothes."

"Great," I tried to sound grateful, but really, I couldn't care less about fashion. If he knew anything about me and my clothing selections he stole, he would've come to the same conclusion.

James put down the pile of clothes. "The Thanksgiving dinner at the Mannings' is in a few days, and it's time for us to pick what you're going to wear."

"Well, it really doesn't matter to me. Just pick whatever."

"No, no, no," James corrected. "We're going to have a fashion show."

James was clearly a cultured, metrosexual man.

"Oh no, really, that's not necessary," I chimed. "Just pick something comfortable."

James put his hand around my shoulder. My back stiffened.

"Oh no, I need to see these on you. I only picked out three dresses."

He led me into my bedroom with the dresses draped over his other arm.

"Try the black one on first," James added, as he closed the bedroom door.