“I brought you some coffee.”

She rested her hand on my shoulder.  I took the cup from her.

“Thank you, Mrs. Reed.”

“Any time,” she said.

She sat down in her chair and rocked slowly.

“It’s a storm tonight.”

“Yes, ma’am, it is.”

She turned to face me and placed her hand on my knee.

“Honey, its go’n be all right, you hear.  God is working and I know he will keep her safe and bring her home.”

I dropped my head and looked into the cup.

“I just wish I was there, wherever she’s at.”

“I know,” she said.

I stood up and walked to the edge of the porch.  Mrs. Reed started humming another church song.  I knew this song well.  I Got A Feeling That Everything Is Gonna Be Alright.

I could feel the drizzle of rain dancing on my face.  Rain is good sometimes. It’s a sign things are going to grow. It cleans the earth. I took that rain as some sort of confirmation that everything was gonna be all right.  Jimmie Earl was inside watching the news.  He turned the volume up.

“Breaking News, we now have a photo of the serial killer who calls himself The Reaper.  Police are asking that anyone who has seen this man or have made contact with him, to contact the Tuscaloosa Police Department or Crime Stoppers….” He turned the volume down.

I studied his picture on the screen.  I’m gonna get you, you son of a bitch!

*   *   *

She always woke up feeling nauseated with a slight headache, like she had many times before.  Dazed and confused.  She didn’t know how long she had been held, but that she had seen the same man with a bandana covering his face who always brought her McDonalds and a can of Sprite for food.  The only toilet she had was a urinal pan under the bed. Some considerate soul had left her a roll of tissue.

She tried many times screaming for help and even asking the guy why was she abducted but there was no response.  Finally on the second time he came with food, she asked again, “Why am I here?”  This time the man mumbled, “Bait for your boyfriend.”

“Jared?” she muffled.  Though she was shocked by his comment, still she was weak.  She had to eat.  She couldn’t remember when she ate last—or if she had at all since she’d been brought here.  And each time she ate, she didn’t remember anything until she woke up again.

She looked around the small room.  There was nothing but a chair, the bed she was lying on, and a door with a small window in it.  There were no windows.  She was wearing a blue medical gown like the ones patients wear when they are seeing their doctors.  Paint was peeling from the walls. The place looked like a building that had been condemned.

She walked to the door and peered through its window.  She could see light and that the room was big.  But she could not make anything out.

“Help!” she screamed.  But only the walls were listening.

“Help, somebody help!” she yelled again beating the door with the bottom of her fist.

She soon tired herself and slumped to the floor. She might have lost consciousness; even her waking moments seemed like a dream, and a bad one.

She heard a car door slam.  She backed away from the door and onto the other side of the bed.  She assumed it was only one person because she only heard one door slam.  She looked around for something to use as a weapon.  Her vision was still fuzzy and the room was dim in what must have been late afternoon light.  She looked around on the floor only to see the urinal pan under the bed.

It was too late.  Whoever it was that slammed that car door was coming inside.  She got up and lay down in the bed and pretended to be sleep.     She peered out the corner of her eye and saw that the man was peeking through the window in the door.  He unlocked the door.  She heard a sliding click sound.  A deadbolt, she thought.

The door opened and the man wearing the bandana appeared.  He walked over to her and shined a flash light over her.  She kept her eyes closed.  She calmed her breathing.  He then placed a bag on the chair and walked out.  She heard the sliding lock again and keys jingling.  She rolled over to see what was in the bag.  It was a Jack’s Hamburger, plain, with small fries and a can of Sprite.

Her stomach growled.  She hesitated for a moment, thinking that it might be poison, but soon her growling stomach prevailed.  As she ate, she began to piece things together in her mind.  Her food was still warm, which meant she was still either in the city or close to it.  The slammed car door, so close, meant she was on a ground level floor.  

She hurried up and ate.  She knew the man would come back to check on her again and take out the trash.

She started feeling light headed.  She held the burger up to the dim light and saw a residue of white powder.  Probably sleeping pills, she thought. She knew there was a reason she was sleeping so much.

She wrapped the rest of the burger up and placed it in the bag.  She ate the fries because she was going to need her strength.  After she finished everything, she bent the can in the middle and tore it in half.  She then reached under the bed for the urinal pan and filled it as much as she could.

She thought to herself, “It’s now or never.”  She sat on the bed and slumped against the headboard.  She needed him to think she was drugged again and out cold, so she kept her mouth open and slowed her breathing.

The keys jingled again.  Out the corner of her eye she saw the man looking through the window.  The dead bolt clicked.  The man stepped inside.  He shined his flashlight over Charlotte again.  Then he turned to walk out the door.  Charlotte jumped up and splashed him in his face with the urine and then used the half of the can of sprite she tore to rip into the man’s neck. He screamed in agony as the blood flowed down and around his neck.

He cursed. He called her every name she had ever heard and then added a few she hadn’t. She hadn’t killed him but she had hurt him pretty bad.  It gave her a chance to get outside into the big room.  She darted out the door and quickly looked around for a weapon.  She saw a heavy-handle straw broom.  She hit the broom against a chair and broke the straw head off.  By that time her kidnapper had clear his eyes with the bandana and saw her with the broom handle in her hand.  He walked toward her.  She had seen his face before, but where? She wondered.  She backed herself to the door that led to the outside.

He reached out to grab her.  She shifted her body to one side and kicked him in the groin.  He belted out in pain.  Charlotte wasted no time.  She beat him in the head with the broom handle until he was out cold.  She then reached in his pockets and found the car keys.  She ran out the door and got in the black van that was parked outside.  She fidgeted for the right key.  She got the van started and sped away.  She looked back to see that the building they held her in was an old day care center that was on the outskirts of the city.  Nobody had been there in years and the county never got around to tearing it down.

Chapter 8

I got the call from Capt. Davis.  Charlotte was safe!  Some Alabama troopers that were posted up on Hwy 69 noticed a black van fitting the description of the BOLO and executed a traffic stop.  They said Charlotte got out of the van and ran back to the troopers’ cars yelling she was Charlotte Reed and she had just escaped her kidnapper.  Troopers put it out over the radio and gave details of the location that Charlotte gave them.  I put the announcement on speaker phone for her parents to hear.

“SWAT is probably there now as we speak.  But she is safe and sound.” Capt. Davis said with happiness in his voice.

“Where is Charlotte?”

“We are waiting for you at DCH Regional.  She is getting checked out.  By the time you get here she will be ready to go.