Light flooded the closet. He hauled her into the room, where the glaring overhead bulb blinded her and weakness threatened to buckle her legs. When he let go of her arm, she collapsed, and he wound a chain around her right ankle.
“What are you doing? Why are you doing this?”
Except for thick, raspy breathing, he remained silent.
“Please let me go. Please. I won’t tell. Just let me go. I’ll disappear, and no one will ever know.” Tears shed in the closet had dried stiffly on her T-shirt and jacket. She was soggy between her legs. She cringed, realizing her bladder had let loose. Was she leaking blood, too? Had he seen?
He read her mind. “You’ll be able to get to the bathroom but nowhere else. And no tricks or I’ll stick you back in the closet and throw away the key.”
She glanced around the room. A closet and a tiny window. A bed.
“I need to go now. To the bathroom.”
He pointed to the doorway.
Shackled like a criminal, she managed to stand. She held out her arms, silently begging him to untie her.
“No funny business,” he mumbled, removing the rope.
She stumbled into the hall and slipped into the nearest room, which happened to be the bathroom. She shoved the warped door against its frame, unable to close it completely because of the chain, and completed her business.
Three rolls of toilet paper sat on the shelf over the toilet, and she stuck a roll under her T-shirt, in her armpit.
Infused with newfound strength, she returned to the bedroom. “What are you doing?” She could handle this. She could talk her way out of this stranger’s clutches, having wheedled her way out of awkward situations with her parents.
He ignored her.
“Please let me go. I promise not to tell.” She held her left arm stiffly at her side to keep the toilet paper in place.
He mutely stared.
“Please.” She clenched her hands, her unkempt nails digging into her palms. “Who are you?”
“Wolf?” Was that a joke? “What do you mean?” She had never heard of anyone with that last name. Or was it Wolf with an “e”? His name must be spelled with an “e” to distinguish it from the animal, wouldn’t it? Then again, wasn’t he an animal?
“I’m Paul Wolfe. That’s all you need to know. And don’t even think of escaping.” A yellow-nailed finger jabbed into her face. “I’ll kill your parents if you even think about running. I’ll get even. Even…” His eyes glazed until he shook himself out of an apparent stupor and glared at her.
WOLVES DON’T KNOCK, a psychological drama, is available on Amazon, print or e-book. Also available from the author.