To read Kidnapped, Part I, click HERE.

The following is a work of fiction. In Three Parts serves as an opportunity to flex my creative writing muscle. 

I am not concerned with the darkness. The hungry growl in my belly is of little concern. I need to use the restroom, and that presents an opportunity to escape. I think of luring my captors back into the room with a simple request to use the bathroom. Filled with male pride, they will free my hands and allow me this dignity. Then and there, I will seize my first real chance to escape.  

Then pride consumes me. No, I must free myself now. I cannot wait any longer, consequences be damned. Taking a deep breath in, I calm myself and turn my attention anywhere else other than a bladder full from a night asleep. Attempting to relax my mind, I focus all my attention on the duct tape holding my arms to the legs of the chair. It then dawns on me, they have made their first miscalculation. With enough twisting and pulling, I figure duct tape should be easy enough to break. I think to myself, “rope would have been much more difficult. Their military precision met an oversight.” 

Pulling and twisting, a small gap grows between my wrists and the legs of the chair. With as much might as I can muster, I pull and stretch the tape on my right wrist. With fingers clasped tightly in a cone shape, I pull my wrist through the hole. “My God! I did it!”  

Using my free dominant hand, I begin work on my left wrist. With a free hand, I find the edge of the tape easily. No tugging necessary this time. I unwrap the tape from my wrist and then repeat the process around my ankles.  

Free, I rub my wrists. I can feel the redness in the dark. Duct tape has one distinct advantage. I am not sure how much hair it left on my wrists. Adrenaline must have masked the pain. That doesn’t matter now. Standing, I turn my attention in the door's direction.  

Reaching for the wall, I realize for the first time how completely dark the space is. Everywhere I look, there is no hint of light. With my hand outstretched, I walk to the left. Within a few steps, I meet the wall. A foam-like material covered it. It feels like something that I would use in a soundproof recording studio. I think, “would anyone have heard my screams in the first place?”  

With my hands guiding me, I feel my way through the space. Gently and attempting to avoid tripping or stumbling over anything, I take small steps to my left. “I must find the door they exited,” I tell myself. Within a few seconds, I reach the corner of the room. “Perhaps this space isn’t as big as I thought?” Turning, I test the wall. I am searching for a frame, hinges, or any sign of a door. Fumbling through the dark, I find a frame, then a hinge. I follow the frame until it leads me to the handle.  

Blown away by the speed at which my freedom has arrived, I step back from the door. I need a minute to collect myself. As I do, I hear the rumblings of music outside. “Oh! This room isn’t soundproof at all,” I think.  

The music sends a chill down my spine. Someone is out there. The timing alone makes me think they know I am free. “Maybe they have been watching this all unfold on a camera somewhere?”  

For a minute or two, I debate turning the handle. After listing the pros and cons in my head quickly, I decide to take a chance. I step toward the door, reach for the handle, and turn with the utmost caution. For the first time since the ordeal began, I can smell freedom.  

When I opened the door slowly, enveloped in the day's light, I saw something that astonished me.  

Be good to each other,  

Nathan