It was Night

May 5, 2008
By Leah Frechette, New Bedford, MA

It was night. She knew that - that much was obvious, at least. She knew that she should be acting calm - not hysterical with fear. The rough burlap cloth that covered her eyes scratched uncomfortably against her cheek, uneven and lopsided just enough to let a crack of light appear. Kaitlin hated the cottony feel of the gag in her mouth that made her choke whenever she swallowed nervously, and she had a cloth burn from trying to rub the cloth that was on her eyes against the pillow, making one cheek red while the other remained it's pale, frecled complexion. The binding that was used to tie her wrists would be imprinted on them long after this, she knew, but Kaitlin couldn't truly bring herself to care. Why was she the one who got kidnapped? Of course, she knew the answer - she'd been out late, partying and enjoying her newfound freedom when a guy sidled up to her - nice-looking guy, looked a bit gentlemanly, proper, not the sort that would kidnap someone. But he did, and she was Not Happy. But the bottom line was, she was going - to - get - out - of - this. Fighting not to hyperventilate, she swallowed and gagged at the dry feel of the gag in her mouth. She explored, making like an inchworm and wiggling up to the top of the soft, cushiony bed that she was sure she was on. Kaintlin hissed, recoiling before her head to make a solid 'thunk' against the headboard. Slowly, laboriously - the man was sleeping - she shifted to an upright position and blinked away the few black strands of hair trapped in the blindfold. Setting her bound hands against one of the arches of the headboard, a spike it felt like, and pulling. The binding loosened, fractionally, and she pulled again, eerily reminded of one of those Superman moments when he breaks free of the steel chain to save everyone. Except, she thought wryly, she wasn't exactly equipped with Superman strength. Sure, she worked out. Occasionally. Sometimes. Well. She walked a lot, and that was something, right? Kaitlin thought that she might be going crazy from too much stress. She'd heard, in Psychology class at her college, that stress can cause people to do many strange things. She jerked her hands for who knows how long, and she felt her wrists already bruising and reddening with welts from the rough bindings. Once, she paused when the gentle, unmistakable snoring of the man ceased, but then she continued when it did, and soon the binding was loose enough for her to slip her abused hands through, which she promptly used to quietly take off her blindfold, bending over to untie her feet. She looked up at the window, saw the first morning rays begin to penetrate the window. Kaitlin saw a single, brass lamp by her bed. It was off. She unplugged it, hurling it with all her force at the window, which cracked, and then crumbled, making way for Kaitlin to lever herself up out of the window, sprinting through the alleys and the streets before taking refuge in a resteraunt. She'd never liked Gusteu's, thinking it tacky, but Kaitlin Boulangelo had never been more thankful for that blessed resteraunt than today. Although, let it be said that her parents and her were both, albiet cranky upon realizing what the time was, happy. And they were reunited, and lived. . . happily ever after. Or as much of a happily ever after as one can get in this world of ours.

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