Hasty Resolution Page 6

  We sit in silence, staring at the etched map in the dirt. She chokes down more tears before breaking the silence.

  "I’ve never held a gun before, let alone fired one. Not even a BB gun. I wouldn't know what to do with a gun once I got my hands on it.”

  Liz wipes her face with the sleeve of her hoodie. "I would be one of those idiots who shoot themselves just trying to load a gun.”

  I smile at her confession, glad she is speaking.

  I stand to hold out my hand to help her off the ground. "Let's go to the main cabin first and fill the tub up for you...or shower.”

  Liz doesn’t make eye contact. She is looking everywhere except at me.

  "Whatever you would like and I'll wash your clothes and get food in you."

  She continues to ignore me. I don't blame her. She has no reason to trust me. I wouldn’t trust me.

  "Come on; the bears and wild moose can wait. Let's get you hydrated and equipped.”

  I urge her to take my hand. She reluctantly takes it so I can help her to her feet. Liz’s dirty hand slides into mine and I feel a sense of warmth. I want to carry her back to the cabin, although she would most likely oppose the idea if I suggest it. I'm simply happy she is by my side and not crawling through the electric fence into the unfamiliar wooded areas.

  As we near the cabin, she comes to a standstill and surveys the property.

  "It’s kind of cool that you have your own lake," she says.

  "Yeah, it's perfect for fishing, diving, boating, or just swimming," I tell her.

  I like that we are making small talk, just as we were on the roadside by the fields.

  “It’s utterly breathtaking and beautiful,” she adds quietly.

  Liz points to the main road entrance and asks, "Is that the main road out of your property, and if so, where will it take me?"

  "It will take you to more dirt roads and, depending on which way you turn, you'll eventually end up in Edmonton or Calgary."

  She screams, "Canada? I'm in Canada! I thought when I stepped out of that shack over there I was running through the high Uintah Mountains in Utah, the Rocky Mountains in Colorado, maybe somewhere in Idaho, but not Alberta, Canada!”

  Liz’s screams echo across the lake. Her vocal chords are going to be severely impaired if she continues to scream with so much intensity.

  Chapter 8: Liz

  Running out in the open, even without shoes, felt better than being in chains. It was a stupid thing on my part; I knew that from the instant I bolted. Breathing in the fresh pine air instead of stale cabin air was amazing. Screaming felt good, really good.

  However, my captor became alarmed at the intense sound coming from my lungs and my outward display of panic.

  Not positive if this man will lash out at my behavior, I quickly calm myself down. I have observed firsthand his superhero strength and speed. I inadvertently witnessed his anxiety attack. Intentionally enraging this man is not something I want to do. I need to stick with my original gut feeling and stay calm. I will myself to be smart about this situation. I also need to stop crying. Enough already! I need to keep my emotions locked inside. I need to build a tall, strong defensive wall.

  I breathe in deeply and ask, "How did I get into Canada? Crossing borders, even into Canada has not been an easy thing, at least not since 9/11."

  He points to a stack of wooden crates on a flat trailer bed, the same crates that were loaded on the back of the truck when I first stopped to talk to him on my Sunday morning walk.

  "Potatoes.”

  Potatoes. The only word he utters. I look down at the black polka dot-like bruises all over my arms. He hid me in a crate of potatoes to get me across the border. This guy is a crazy lunatic! Who does something like that?

  "Isn't that human trafficking?" I ask.

  He nonchalantly replies with a smirk, "I think it is human trafficking only if I sell you and I have no need for extra cash at this time."

  Does this man think he’s being funny? I have an urgent need to charge and clobber him. I want to beat and kick him repeatedly. I know I am physically frail and emotionally weak and it would take something more than my fists and feet to cause any sense of physical pain to this solid man.

  I follow on his heels past a majestic lake to the main cabin, nestled in a grove of aspens, junipers, and pine trees. Hugged by a wraparound porch and suspended with sturdy logs, the log structure doesn't look weathered by any means. It appears rather new with light logs covered in heavy shellac. This property is nothing less than magnificent.

  Greeting us at the front door is a leaping, over-excited black Labrador retriever.

  "This is my puppy, Zeke; well, not really a puppy anymore. He's just about ready to be an outside dog." He rubs the fur on the black dog, which excites Zeke further.

  Zeke walks over to me, sets his paws on my shoulders, and licks my tear-stained cheeks. Zeke is about to knock me over, when he is pulled off me and made to stay on the porch instead of coming inside.

  The cabin is warm and inviting from the moment I step in the doorway. It looks professionally decorated. It has an enlarged wrought-iron chandelier hanging above the main living area. The pebble stone fireplace extends from the floor to the vaulted ceiling. A flat screen TV hangs on the wall across from the fireplace with customized cedar shelving encasing it. The kitchen is part of the great room living area and has a stone surface counter top with modern appliances. Everything is very open and meticulously clean. It’s adorned with rustic, leathered upholstery and has a masculine charm about it.

  Walking straight to the kitchen to fill a glass of water from the sink, he motions me to step further inside the cabin. I go no further than the entryway. I remain unmoved as he extends the glass of water.

  "Maybe I should hose myself down or bathe in the lake before I come in," I suggest.

  He laughs. "I think the water pressure from the hose would be too much for your bruises. I thought you'd prefer the shower or jetted tub in the upstairs loft." He points to a lacquered log staircase that leads to an upper loft area in the cabin.

  "I just feel too dirty to come in right now.”

  I am too dirty and too doubtful to enter. I have no idea what this man has in store for me. He tends to my basic needs, but what will happen next? My mind runs wild. I must stay alert to my surroundings and not let my defenses down.

  "That's nonsense. Help yourself to whatever you can find upstairs.”

  He takes the glass of water from my hand.

  "I think I have some Alka-Seltzer. Let me add it to your water to help your stomach." He plops two antacids into my glass of cold water before gesturing to the stairs.

  I halfheartedly follow his command. My hand grips the banister to hoist myself up the stairs. I am nervous about the trail of dirt in my wake, along with what horrors may await me at the top.

  At first, all I see are two oversized leather chairs with a table between. A log railing divides the overlooking loft to the great room below. I imagine myself tackled and tied to that banister for another week. I swallow my fear. He did not follow me up the stairs. There is a clattering of pans from the kitchen below.

  I look to my left to discover a closed door. I waver in opening it. To my surprise, I find a welcoming master bedroom suite with a king-sized bed. I close the door and lock it behind me as a sweep of relief runs down my spine. I want to soak my bruised body in the oversized tub, but if I submerge myself, I fear I would only find myself sitting in murky water created from my filthy, sweaty body.

  The last of the fizzy water slides down my throat before I place the glass on the bathroom countertop. I peel my sweat-soaked clothes from my skin and place them in the porcelain sink. I stare at myself in the mirror. I don’t recognize the hollow-eyed woman staring back at me.

  I turn the water on in the shower to rinse the first layer of dirt from my skin. All of the grime from my body flows down the shower drain, symbolically resembling my stress, pain, and sadness. The warmth of the water is comfo
rting. In the enclosure of the shower, I feel safe, like I can finally breathe. I lather my hair, rinse and repeat several times, using the excess lather to wash my bruises, my scratches, and soiled nail beds.

  After I turn off the water and pat myself dry, I wrap myself in a terrycloth robe I find hanging next to the shower.

  I run the sink water to rinse out my T-shirt and spandex cropped pants. There are muffled voices beyond the bedroom door. I feel my pupils dilate in fear. Has he captured other people? Does he have other women chained somewhere? Perhaps it is the TV. The front door shuts. I turn on my heel and head to the bedroom door. I place my ear against the door to ensure no one is on the other side and then tiptoe into the loft. There is the hum of an engine outside the cabin. I creep down the stairs and peek through the slats of the cherry wood plantation shutters to find the man waving to a truck driving away from the cabin. I run to the front door and haphazardly slip on a rug, hitting the back of my head with a loud thud.

  Chapter 9: Jake

  The bedroom loft door closes. I wait for the click of the lock before pulling the latest news off the Internet. Immediately, I log onto the local news reports from Utah to get the update on her missing person progress. Doug and his wife, Jennifer, arrive in the front parkway of the cabin. I abruptly shut my laptop to run and meet my guests before they get out of their vehicle.

  "We can't stay long," Doug yells as he reaches for a cardboard box in the back of his pick-up truck and heads for the cabin.

  Jennifer hollers and waves from the passenger side window.

  “Hey, Jake! I threw a few things together. Not my old stuff, like you asked Doug for, but what I would want if I got stuck in this miserable cabin with the likes of you." She winks as she rubs her enlarged pregnant belly.

  "When is your official due date, Jennifer?" I lean into her window.

  "If this bumpy ride to and from your cabin doesn't send me into labor, then my doctor will induce me the day after tomorrow.”

  She is thrilled that her fifth pregnancy is close to an end.

  "I was wondering what got you here, Jennifer. You never come. I’ll have someone come through and clear the road so it’s not rugged for you next time." I lean on the passenger side mirror, keeping an eye on Doug to make certain he doesn’t enter the cabin.

  "I'll try anything at this point to induce my labor. I'm just glad Doug is going to be home for this one. It's the first time he will have seen any of our five children born in person without Skype. Plus, he'll be all mine. He's referring all his patients to his partner for two weeks. That's the longest Doug has been home in years. The girls can't wait.” Jennifer is beaming from ear to ear and looking all starry eyed as she glances over at Doug.

  Doug sets the oversized box on the front porch, pets Zeke, and returns quickly to the truck. "I'll save you a spot at one of the many tea parties the girls have planned during my paternity leave. They would love to serve up their favorite uncle."

  I politely pass on the invitation with his girls because of the company waiting in the cabin.

  "You know I'm the fishing uncle. We can't change that now," I say.

  "True, but you are always welcome."

  "I know. Enjoy the girls and your new baby. Keep me posted."

  "Will do!” Doug promises.

  I start to wave them off when I remember something.

  "Hey, Doug, one more thing.” I run to his side of the truck.

  “What does it mean if you throw up stomach acid in the morning?" I ask in hushed tones so Jennifer cannot decipher our conversation.

  "Well, Jake, you may be pregnant or you may have an acid reflux issue. Are you experiencing morning sickness? Nausea? When was your last period?" he asks sarcastically.

  "You're such a smartass!" I roll my eyes at him.

  "I don't want you to experience any distress in any trimester, so I'll call in a script for you," he says, rubbing my belly. "Keep getting plenty of rest and watch what you eat because those extra pounds are not good for you or the baby.”

  I whack him upside the head to get him to stop being obnoxious.

  "Bring it in, man!” We hug in a backslapping hug. "I love you, man," he says.

  As I open the front door to the cabin, I find Liz lying on the floor in a terrycloth robe loosely wrapped around her, still wet from her shower, and rubbing the back of her head. I quickly set the box down on the floor to help her to the couch.

  "Didn't you want to introduce me to your friends?" Liz says with fury in her eyes.

  I do not reply. I want to introduce her and, eventually, I will. Someday, it could happen.

  I retrieve a tube of medicated ointment from the hall closet to apply on her wrists. The chains rubbed against her skin too often this past week. I examine her arms, wrists, and ankles. I can do nothing for the bruises.

  "I bruise easily, more than most people,” Liz explains.

  I pull the large cardboard box onto the coffee table. "Jennifer, the gal that just left, is married to my best friend. She put this stuff together. I hope it helps for a little while. You are welcome to make yourself at home upstairs in my grandpap’s old room. He's not here to complain, so it's all yours. I will be out on the front porch with Zeke.”

  I shut down the Internet on the laptop in the kitchen before Liz takes her eyes off the box. I'm not ready to update Liz on her local news stories, especially the special reports on her disappearance. I purposefully close the front door so Liz knows she has the cabin to herself.

  Chapter 10: Liz

  Why is this man being so hospitable toward me? Does he not remember how he abducted me, brought me to Canada, and locked me in a shack-like cabin? What does he plan on doing with me?

  The clothes I rinsed out are not dry and the terrycloth robe I am wearing will not stay wrapped around my waist as it should. I open the top flap of the box to search through the contents. On top of the clothes lies a note that reads:

  To Recipient of This Box:

  Here are some things to help you get by while at the cabin. We hope you enjoy your stay with Jake and take good care of him. He is one of the best guys you will ever meet.

  - Jennifer & Doug

  Do they not know this guy abducted and disguised me as a potato in a crate? They must not. Well, at least I can assume the man who took me goes by Jake. Are they in on this too?

  I leave the care package note on the coffee table, a little nervous to accept its contents. However, I am in a state of desperation. The box is large, but not too heavy. I carry it in both my arms to the upstairs room.

  I upset the contents on the bed and take inventory of the clothes and toiletries. Included are running shoes and hiking boots, both in size seven. Everything is too big for me, but I'll take it without complaints since I have no other options at this time. Moreover, the clothes I have been wearing are far from appealing after being worn for so long.

  After getting dressed, I dry my hair, then look around the room to decide where to keep the rest of my care package items.

  The doors of the freestanding armoire creak open. Shirts, slacks, and two perfectly pressed military uniforms hang side by side with the name Henderson on both nametags. The drawers are full of flannel shirts and denim pants. I don't want to mess with any of this stuff, so I close the doors and slide the drawers back in place. I stack my items on the floor.

  The aroma of food cooking in the kitchen makes my mouth water. My empty stomach growls audibly as I follow the scent down the stairs.

  "Do you have strong feelings about what time breakfast should or should not be served?" Jake asks, spatula in hand.

  "I'll eat breakfast any time of the day.”

  I am desperate for nourishment and simply elated to be eating real food, not packaged food stored in a satchel.

  "Perfect," Jake says as he slides a short stack of pancakes in front of me with crispy bacon on the side. He sits down with his plate next to me at the dining table.

  “The armoire was full of clothes and military stu
ff. I didn’t want to mess with any of it,” I tell him as I take a bite.

  “I forgot my grandpap’s things were still there. He passed away last year from a stroke. He was a Navy Seal during the Vietnam War. The other one is my dad’s Marine uniform. He died in combat during the Gulf War. I think they wore those uniforms once. This property was their escape. We would come and stay in the small, old cabin. My grandpap built this larger cabin about a year ago, but he barely got a chance to use it before he passed.” Jake gestures to the interior of the cabin as we eat.

  “Let’s hike to Frank and Barbara’s place this afternoon, now that you’re dressed. Do you want to take the long way or try the shortcut? I’m going to guess the shortcut by the way you took off earlier,” he smirks.

  I scowl, not humored by his remark.

  Jake cleans the kitchen and then leads me outside to the oversized garage. He backs a large ATV from the garage, leaving a smaller one parked in there.

  “You’re going to have to ride on the back. The smaller one would be perfect for you, but something is wrong with its clutch. It needs repairs before you ride it. It’s too stiff to shift.”

  “Well, if it’s not too far, then I will take my chances with the smaller one. I will make do, even if it has a stubborn clutch. I know how to ride it.”

  I am not going to wrap my legs around Jake’s backside or hang onto him on a dirt trail. I demand I take my own.

  “I’ll pull it out for you.”

  Jake pulls a small red ATV from the garage. I straddle the seat and shift the machine into gear. I have to use my entire body to rock the ATV into first gear. I don’t know which is being more stubborn: the clutch or me.

  Jake yells over the roar of the motor, “Follow my lead around the back of the cabin.”

  He points in the direction of the path. I accelerate as I follow the cloud of dirt Jake makes in the trail. The vehicle I am driving is an older model. It continues to struggle as I shift gears to accelerate. I am not wearing the right kind of shoes to avoid the pressure on the top of my foot from the pedal spikes.