Chapter Two

I stared out the window, trying desperately to recall some of the landmarks, signs, or landscape passing quickly by outside. Unfortunately, everything in the south is covered in thick tangles of trees and kudzu vines, and I wasn’t having much luck.
He was eerily silent, and my skin was starting to tingle and crawl; we had ridden this way for nearly two hours.
“I’m going to have to put you to sleep.” He said suddenly, shattering the quiet in the car. I made a small noise in the back of my throat, horrified. He laughed, and I shivered violently. Was this it, then? I would go to sleep and never wake up? Surely that’s better than the alternative.
But again, I was wrong.
“No, not like that; you have to be hungry by now, and I need to get you food without putting myself at risk. I want you to be comfortable. Unfortunately I don’t trust you enough to let stay conscious for that; far too difficult. We’re about to go through a densely populated area. This will be much easier, I promise.”
He pulled the car onto a rough, rocky shoulder. I squirmed in my seat, wondering if I could’ve undone his bonds had I struggled more during the ride. Suddenly the door to my left opened, and there he was. I didn’t have time to turn and look at him before I felt a sharp pinch on the back of my arm. I recognized the biting pain of an injection, and started to try and scream. He must’ve anticipated it, because suddenly the door slammed shut and I was once again alone in the car.
The world started to blur around the edges again, and the light streaming in from the windows was growing dim. What did he give me? How long would I be asleep? I fought the drowsiness until my eyes were tearing and my limbs were shaking; I couldn’t let myself sleep. This could be my one chance of escape!
You know I didn’t have a choice. Do we ever have a choice?
Finally, I laid my head back onto the headrest and breathed in deeply. An old child’s rhyme suddenly filled my head, and I laughed darkly.
Now I lay me down to sleep,
I pray the Lord my soul to keep; if I die before I wake,
I pray the Lord my soul to take.
***

I was achy, and there was a sharp pain in my stomach—hunger. My mouth was dry and everything was dark; it took me a few minutes to remember where I was. My eyes snapped open, and the light was blinding. I realized with indignation that I was wearing clothes different from the ones I was wearing when I was kidnaped. My previous clothes had been blue jean shorts and a Beatles t-shirt, with a white sweater tied around my waist; now I was had on a simple pale pink dress, sweetly buttoned down the front. My white lace sweater was neatly folded in my lap; for some reason, he allowed me to keep it. The dress was surprisingly beautiful, but I never would have chosen it for myself; too girly. Suddenly, the man opened the driver’s side door, and lankily climbed into the car.
“You’re awake! Do you like your dress? Are you hungry? I have some food for you here, what would you like?”
The influx of questions made my head swim and throb. “Where are my clothes?” I asked. My voice was high and trembling; I sounded like a small child.
“Gone—I didn’t want you matching any missing person’s reports. I bought the dress at a little boutique on our way out of Mississippi. I think it looks great on you. I didn’t know what kind of food you’d like, so I bought a few things from around here; I have some plain rice from a Chinese place if you’re still feeling nauseous, a hamburger and fries from McDonalds, and some pizza from an Italian place.” He offered me the bags of food; I realized my hands weren’t tied up anymore.
“I’m not hungry.” I whispered, turning to face the window.
“You need to eat, Alice.” He commanded. “I won’t have you getting sick or too skinny while you’re with me.”
“I’ve been asleep. I don’t know what you could’ve put in my food.” I snapped.
“I only bought it ten minutes ago, and I’ve been driving ever since. I have the time on the receipts if you would like to check.” He said calmly.
I wanted to icily ignore him, but the pains in my stomach were too sharp to ignore. I reached for the McDonald’s bag as angrily as possible to compensate. I read once that when small animals are cornered by predators that they try to make themselves seem meaner, bigger, more aggressive; anything to avoid being prey. I realized as I unwrapped the hamburger that I was very hungry; too hungry to have only been asleep for a few hours.
“How long was I under?” I asked, taking a huge bite of the sandwich.
“Just over twenty four hours. I gave you a few doses. Don’t worry, the injections were a pain medicine. Nothing too harsh.” He talked about drugging me like he had given me some mercy, like it didn’t matter. It made me furious, but I decided to pick my battles. I ate quickly, barely tasting the food; the hamburger and fries were gone all too soon. He tossed back a tall bottle of water to me.
“You’re probably well on your way to being dehydrated by now. Take small sips of this, don’t gulp; you’ll be sick, especially since you ate so fast.”
“Why did you change my clothes when I was asleep? Did you…” My voice trailed off as an involuntary shudder rippled through me, and I forced my thoughts to go blank; I refused to imagine what I didn’t know.
“No, never! What do you take me for? I would never do something that…disgusting.” He seemed genuinely insulted that I would accuse him of this.
At this point, I started to draw his boundaries. The one thing I knew about him was that his moral lines were obviously skewed beyond that of a normal person. He was not above kidnapping me, drugging me, and using force, but sexual abuse crossed some sort of line. I wondered vaguely if he once had a bad experience in his past.
I needed to figure this man out. It was my best chance.
“What’s your name?” I asked gently, trying to undermine the offense I had caused.
“I can’t tell you that. You know what I look like, and soon you will know where I live. My name is a huge trust issue for me; you knowing my name could be my undoing.” I saw his grip tighten on the steering wheel as he spoke.
“Well, you know my name…” I murmured. I wanted to keep the conversation going; the empty silence was worse. “Where are we going?”
“My house. I developed rules; I’m okay with you knowing what I look like, obviously, and where you’ll live. My name is the only thing that’s off limits. I feel that we won’t be able to connect with each other if you could never see my face, and knowing where you live will give you some security. I’m only renting the house, and my name isn’t on any of the paperwork—I used a pseudonym, so there’s no risk to me. If you ever escaped, a physical description alone won’t help. I want you to be happy, to thrive.”
We had been driving on empty back roads since I had been awake, and some neighborhoods loomed in view. He turned right into a subdivision called Brook Wood. The houses we passed we varying shades of brick with beautiful manicured lawns—some were two or three stories. He pulled into the driveway of a classic looking red brick house that looked to be two stories, with several windows and a wrap-around porch. The front yard was spacious and perfectly green. A large oak tree shaded most of the right side of the yard, and a large tire swing hung lazily from its branches. Rose bushes and climbing ivy decorated the white wooden porch where a few rocking chairs sat, swaying in the wind. I could see French double doors leading out to a wrought iron balcony on the second floor. The front door was made out of dark brown wood with an ornate glided door knob.
“This is beautiful.” I whispered. He turned off the car and snatched the keys from the ignition. Climbing hurriedly outside, he jogged over to my door and yanked it open. Grasping my upper arm hard, he pulled me from my seat and onto the hot pavement. I yelped in pain; I hadn’t realized my shoes were missing, and his fingers were digging into my skin. I squirmed again, thinking I could break free and run towards another house, but in a sudden shift he lifted me into his arms. He braced one arm under my knees and the other at my back, bridal style. I stilled, thinking he could easily slam me against the pavement, hurting me badly. He walked swiftly up the tile walkway that cut through the yard leading up to the porch. He bounded up the steps easily, and passing the rocking chairs, strode to the door. Bracing my knees on his leg to free his right hand, he opened the door wide and stepped over the threshold.
“Welcome home, Alice Marie Camp.”

I blink in the unwelcome darkness of the inside of the house. I already miss the bright warmth of outside, and it's only been a few seconds.
"I hope you'll be happy here. Would you like to have a tour?" He says quietly, politely. He's still holding me in his arms, and I have my first real chance to look at him head on.
He has fashionably rumpled blonde hair, and somewhat tanned skin. His eyes are green and clear, and his cheeks and chin are scruffy with blonde stubble. He's young—probably in his late twenties, or just barely thirties. He's...well, handsome. If I saw him on the street, my gaze wouldn’t have lingered; he seemed so normal. But on closer inspection, I notice a malevolent sparkle in his eyes that are so intently fixed on me. I squirm in his hold, trying to feel and gauge his strength, and am not surprised; his torso is hard and his arms steady, which will make slipping away at any given moment difficult.
I look down and over slightly, and see that he's wearing a wrinkled blue button down shirt and worn blue jeans, with brown leather dress shoes.
I realize suddenly that I have not answered his earlier question, and whisper, "Yes."
He sets me down gently. Having not stood up straight unassisted for over twenty four hours, my head swims and I wobble unsteadily. His hands find my shoulders to steady me on my feet.
He closes the door and pulls out his phone; he taps quickly, repeatedly on the screen and I hear a disembodied voice say, "System armed."
"The house has a special security system that locks it from the outside. If it's breached in any way, it will automatically call my phone. Everything is outfitted with motion detectors, all the doors and windows, so I'll know exactly when and how the breach occurred." He speaks too fast, and looks at me anxiously, as if waiting for me to be impressed or praise his thorough planning.
"The tour, please?" I ask simply. He nods and takes my hand, winding his fingers through mine. I shiver and try to wrench my hand from his, but he ignores me and his grip tightens.
With his other hand he flicks a light switch; we're standing in a spacious hallway. The floors are dark wood and the decorations are simple; some pictures of people I don't know hang on the walls, which are painted a soft, pleasing shade of yellow, almost looks like liquid candlelight. He leads me down the hallway and into a roomy kitchen with dark granite countertops and shiny silver appliances. The kitchen flows into a seating area with two soft, dark leather couches and a glass coffee table. There is a full wall of windows on the seating side if the room and daylight floods in and brightens the space.
From there I am shown a living room, with plush chairs, floor to ceiling filled bookshelves and a TV. At the back of the living room is a grand staircase, and once we reach the top, there is a beautiful landing that oversees the downstairs. To the left is a creamy white door, and here, he hesitates.
"This is your room." He says, sounding nervous. He slowly opens the door and when we walk in the first thing I see is a huge plush bed pushed into the left corner of the room; it's piled high with pillows and soft white blankets. There's soft, creamy shag carpeting and a light brown wooden vanity on the wall to the right of the door. A bookshelf and a huge armchair are on the right side of the room, with a door way leading to a walk-in closet. But the best part is that this room is the owner of the white French double doors leading out to the balcony I remember from outside earlier.
"Is all of this...for me?" I say softly. He has let go of my hand and remained by the door, almost seeming uncomfortable in the room. He nods shyly. My stomach turns as I notice that I played right into his hands, seeming in awe of the room he prepared me. I scowl and wander back to the doorway next to him, keeping a distance between us.
"There are also clothes and shoes in the closet. The vanity is stocked with makeup and various beauty appliances. Now come on, there's more to see..." He can't get out of the door fast enough, and unfortunately once again reaches over and takes my hand.
Just down the hallway from my room is a full bathroom with a shower, bathtub, toilet, and sink. The stark whiteness of it all makes my head spin; it doesn't seem like anyone has used it in ages. The whole house is like that; pristine and sterile.
There's one more door at the very end of the hall.
"This is my room, and you definitely don't want to see that. Come back downstairs, we have a lot to discuss."
Before I can protest, I am pulled back downstairs into the living room. He pushes me into an armchair and steps into the kitchen briefly, coming back with a small golden gift bag overflowing with red tissue paper. He hands it to me, and says simply, "Open it."
I lift away layers of red tissue paper to reveal a white leather journal; the cover is soft and new, and it was fastened with a button closure in the front.
"It's so...nice." I said, turning it over and over in my hands. "Thank you," I add quickly, looking up at him. He’s so formal; I have to remember my manners. I haven’t seen him angry yet, and I don’t want to—at least until I can come up with a plan to escape.
"There are some rules to being here. I think it helps with the structure in our relationship. I took the liberty of copying the list inside the first few pages of your gift. Please read them while I go start dinner." He stands and walks quickly into the kitchen. I try to ignore my frustration—he says ‘being here’ as if I chose to come, like I’m on some luxury vacation.
I breathe a sigh of relief to be left semi-alone. I close my eyes and rest my head in my hands. This was it: the rules. I was stupid and oblivious and got myself into this mess; now I was literally locked into a house with a lunatic. The panic began rising again in my stomach, and I tried in vain to swallow it back down. I opened my eyes and opened the little book sitting on my lap. The first four pages were covered in tiny neat writing, and I groaned inwardly. What would he ask me to do? I was at his mercy, and too afraid to be defiant.
Taking another deep breath, I began to read.
The page was titled, Rules for Alice.

1. Breakfast is served at 8:30 am. Please be dressed and ready for the day by this time; meet me in the kitchen and help set the table before eating.
2. I have to work during the day. The house will be locked at all times from the outside. There are television and books to entertain you. The living room bookshelves contain history, nonfiction, and some autobiographies. Your room's bookshelves contain young adult fiction. The bookshelves in my room contain suspense, horror, mystery, some classics, and poetry. Please be neat and pick up after yourself regardless of location.
3. I get home from work at 9:00 pm. There is a list of meals in the top drawer by the refrigerator; please have one selected and prepared by this time. All ingredients for the list will be provided once a week.
4. There will be mandatory two hours of bonding time for us after dinner each night.
5. Bedtime is midnight; no exceptions.
6. Please wear the clothes provided in the closet upstairs. Be dressed appropriately all hours of the day.
7. If there is anything you need, please tell me before Friday nights, and it will be provided.
8. You will be responsible for light housework during the week. This includes some dishwashing, vacuuming, dusting, and bathroom cleaning. Specific duties of each day will be discussed at breakfast.
9. You will be allowed one trip out of the house on Saturdays. Destinations will be discussed that day at breakfast.
10. There is a menu of possible lunches in your vanity. Ingredients are provided; please eat lunch no later than 4:30 pm so as not to spoil dinner.
11. You will be expected to remain cheerful, kind, attentive, and loving at all times.
12. You may address me in any manner you wish, since my name will be unknown.
13. Provided all of the above rules are followed, you will be allowed free reign of the house.
I finally reach the end of the list. I can’t believe it; there was going to be no damp cellars and torture like in the movies? Why had he brought me here if my only purpose was to serve as a housewife?
I gulped as I noticed nothing was mentioned in the rules about my release—if I would be released.
Was I going to stay here…forever?
I pushed these thoughts far from my mind. I couldn’t focus on the future, only the present moments.
I was getting hungry again, but had no desire to see him any more than I had to. But as scents of Italian food began to fill the air, I heard him call, “Alice! Dinner time—I made spaghetti!”
He sounded…happy; eerily calm, relaxed, and almost smug.
Steeling myself, I rose from the armchair and straightened my dress. I put the journal back in its bag, refusing to take it with me—his rules could wait.
I bit my lip nervously and walked towards the kitchen.

Chapter Four
The kitchen was bright and warm. He bustled around, busily draining pasta and stirring the spaghetti sauce. I didn’t want to eat with him—I felt like I might be sick, sitting so close to him.
I noticed a neat stack of silverware and two white plates sitting at the end of the counters. I remembered the rules, and shakily grabbed them to set the table.
He smiled at me when he saw my obedience, and I felt violated.
“Sit wherever you like. I’m just filling the serving dishes.” He encouraged. I chose the plusher of the two chairs, moving slowly and quietly, barely making a noise. It was almost a game; maybe if I could make myself sound invisible, I would actually be invisible. “We have a lot to talk about!” He added form behind me. A bowl of spaghetti noodles and a pot of marinara sauce were placed just so in the center of the table, with a large basket of garlic bread on the side. He sat down noisily, letting his chair scrape loudly across the floor. He reached out, and I was surprised when he took my hand instead of one of the bowls of food. He grasped it tightly. “Would you say grace?” He asked.
I almost laughed out loud—a kidnapper having a home cooked meal with his victim wants to pray to God? I quickly recovered when I saw that gleam in his eye again; that shine that reminded me of the glint off a sharp blade. It’s as if he wanted to remind me that he hadn’t hurt me yet, but could if he wanted to.
“I only know one prayer,” I said shyly. Maybe if I played the innocent little girl he’d leave me alone.
“Just do your best.” He snapped. I swallowed uneasily; so much for that theory.
“Dear Lord, thank you for this food and the hands that prepared it.” I tried not to grit my teeth, and continued. “Please bless this food to the nourishment of our bodies and our bodies to your service. Amen.”
“Amen.” He said quietly. Letting go of my hand, he dealt himself a serving of pasta. I listened to the clink of spoons on bowls and his fork on his plate, and tried to recall what my earlier hunger felt like. Spaghetti was one of my favorite meals, but tonight I didn’t know if I would be able to stomach it. I took a tiny spoonful of pasta and drowned it in the tomato sauce, and chose a piece of the bread. I began tearing off little pieces of the crust and popping them in my mouth, just to give my hands something to do.
The silence was more than uncomfortable. I caught him glancing at me three times, expectantly; if he wanted me to make small talk, he was going to be deeply disappointed.
“You must have some questions about me.” He said. His voice sounded uncertain.
“No.” I said shortly. “I have nothing to say to you.”
“Don’t be like that. I…care about you.” He faltered slightly, and looked down at his food.
I let the silence wash over me again, letting it linger. “Why did you take me?” I looked up at him, catching his eyes with mine. I stared, and he took a bite of his food; chewing slowly and thoughtfully, he averted his eyes.
“I’m not ready to talk about it.” He said finally. Was he ashamed?
The anger was getting harder and harder to ignore. “Well when you want to, I guess I’ll be here.” I immediately regretted the sarcasm in my voice, and stared hard at the table. My eyes were welling with tears; anger was easier to feel than fear. Fear felt heavy, dense, and left a bad taste in my mouth. Anger felt strong.
“Ask something else.” He insisted. I carefully twirled some spaghetti around my fork, thinking.
“What do you do for a living?” I said finally.
“I’m a doctor; a cardiologist, actually. Graduated top of my class from Harvard Medical School and moved here after…” His voice trailed off, and he shook his head slightly. “I moved here and started working in a hospital a few miles from here.”
“How long have you been working there?” I asked. I wondered vaguely what he was hiding; he was avoiding anything involving timing.
“Six years. It’s a nice place; you’d like my office.” He seemed proud. He finished eating, and rose to clear his place at the table. I copied him, not wanting to be alone in the kitchen. “You didn’t eat much.” He said disapprovingly. I shrugged; I wanted to scream and cry and fight, not eat.
“What do you know about me?”
He looked bemused. “I know your name is Alice Marie Camp, and I know you’re a speech pathology major at Mississippi State. I know you’re beautiful and kind and would never hurt anyone.”
“You don’t sound too threatening. I thought that was the average kidnapper’s goal.” I said, attempting humor. I needed to identify with him and make him feel comfortable; if I found some weakness or fragility, I could use it to help my escape.
“I don’t want to be threatening.” We finished cleaning the kitchen, and he gestured in the direction of the living room. Intrigued, I followed; if he didn’t want to hurt me in some way, why was I here?
We sat in the armchairs again, and the void in the conversation grew. It took a lot of effort not to glower at the gift bag containing my journal, and more importantly, the list of rules. I stared at my hands folded in my lap instead.
“You don’t need to know what came before you; it wasn’t important.” He said quietly, breaking the awkward silence. “You only need to know that I was in a very dark place. I was totally alone in the world, and then I saw you; you were so full of light, so happy and beautiful. I knew I had to have you.”
I shuddered. Had he forgotten? We weren’t on a first date, and we weren’t lovers. I was a victim of my own obliviousness and he was a sick, twisted man who had taken me from my life. He hadn’t hurt me yet, but his intentions couldn’t be good, or even normal.
“When did you first see me?” I asked, trying to keep my voice calm and normal. I scanned his face and my memory, trying to match the two together, and came up with nothing.
He smiled dreamily. “I was delivering a lecture at the University that day. You were at the campus coffee shop; it was a few months ago. You were wearing these old blue jeans and this big red sweater, and all bundled up from the cold. You were wrapped around your coffee like your life depended on it, even though you were in a hurry. In and out, just like that. Everyone who saw you smiled or waved, and you just…glowed.”
I nodded, trying to seem interested. Normally when a guy sees a girl and likes her looks, he wants her number. Of course I came in to contact with a guy who thought it was okay to want—and take—the entire girl.
“What do I not know about you?” He asked. The dreamy smile was still there, and he was totally focused on me. I had never had someone stare so intensely at me, so wide eyed and still.
I squirmed, uncomfortable under his gaze. How little could I get away with telling him?
“My favorite color is yellow; my favorite food would probably be cinnamon rolls. I like music and writing, and college has been my favorite part of my life so far.” I wondered if that would that be enough for him.
“What are you planning on doing after college?” He was sounding softer and kinder with each question, and I felt like I was watching a transformation. His shoulders were gradually loosening, and his posture softening and relaxing.
“I don’t know; move somewhere different, get a job. Maybe meet someone.” My throat and eyes suddenly burned with tears as I wondered if I would still be able to do everything I had planned.
“I knew it. I knew it!” He jumped up from his chair excitedly, reaching over and pulling me from mine. He lifted me in his arms and swung me around, and I screamed in panic. What was happening to him?
“Put me down! Put me down!” Abruptly he did as I asked, and smiled widely. The fear was rising inside of me again. “Knew what?” I asked.
“This.” He leaned forward, and wrapped one arm around my waist, winding the fingers of his other hand through my hair. In one fluid motion, he pulled me against him and kissed me long and hard. I fought and protested, finally breaking free. I slapped him hard; not the wisest choice, but certainly the only one that came to mind. I backed away slowly, pressing myself down into my chair; I distractedly ran my right fingertips over my swollen lips.
Even with a reddening cheek, he didn’t look deterred. He was smiling ear to ear, and sat back down.
“Knew what?” I asked again, voice breaking. He had kissed me so forcefully that I could feel my pulse in my bottom lip; it felt bruised. The sharp throbbing and suddenness of the assault had the tears that were welling in my eyes for the entire conversation threatening to spill over.
His bright mood faded slightly, becoming a little more serious.
“I knew that I loved you. I always have and I always will.” His smile returned at full force, and dread started to pool in my stomach. He grabbed my hand and held it; I was too shocked to pull away.
“And now, I know that you love me too.”