His Gentle Beauty

Unorthodox Art

Eliza:

I had earned the privilege to sit in the front seat. Although my wrists were tied to the head rest and my ankles were tied to the bottom of the seat.

"I think I liked the trunk better,"

"You're quite mouthy today, aren't you. How come I haven't seen you like this with MacGyver yet, hmm?"

I paused, he'd been watching me? How long had he been planning this?

"Did you think this was just some impulsive transaction?" He chuckled, "I don't think so."

"I'm going to throw up if we keep driving," We'd been driving for over an hour and my motion sickness couldn't handle it. "I will aim my barf at you." I added.

Disregarding my honest threat, he continued, "How's dear old mommy and daddy, huh? I'm sure they'd be interested to know where you've been these past few weeks. And living with two men," he gasped, "the scandal."

"I bet your parents were fun like mine. Abusive. Have you ever considered whether you were a born or made psychopath?" I questioned innocently. "I've always been fascinated with the nurture vs nature debate."

Finally. I seemed to have caught him off guard.

"It's okay, I know a lot about psychology and I would never judge you for what you can't control. If you ever want to talk about it I'm here." I watched him silently stare at the road. "It must feel isolating. I don't believe you don't like people. I think you were rejected and judged by others as a child so now you reject them first, in a more extreme way like murder, but still." The killer remained still, absorbing my words. "I'm sorry, I'm very sorry you're hurting."

As I talked, I became more genuine with my words. I started off with the intention of picking apart his mind, like he was trying to do with me. But I realized I'm not like this man, and I don't have to be. If he kills me, I want to die as my authentic self. Not engage in his mind games.

"Murdoc," He whispered.

"Pardon?"

"Of the many names I've collected over the years, Murdoc is my preference."

"Thank you, that's a very cool name." I complimented, holding back my nausea as we pulled into a motel parking lot. The realization of my predicament settling in once more like a punch to the gut. I was kidnapped by a man I've never met, with no clue why he wanted me or what he planned to do with me.

The killer, who I now knew as Murdoc, unbuckled himself and walked to the passenger's side of the car. I noticed he left his gun in the cup-holder, I was gaining trust. The man freed me from the seat and walked me toward the motel stairs. I cringed under his touch.

"I'm surprised Eliza, you've hidden your androphobia well... just not good enough to convince me." The amusement seeping from each word Murdoc spoke.

"It seems you know a lot about me, I don't know much about you." I began the conversation. Slowing my steps in fear of what might happen if we reach the motel room. "Why would you want to take me, of all people?"

"It's not you I want." He clicked his tongue, tugging me up the rickety steps, "You see, your precious Boy Scout is the real prize. I am simply introducing myself to you."

The subtle mention of MacGyver made my blood boil, this creep wanted my MacGyver. There wasn't a snowball's chance in hell, that would happen. Ever. I didn't care that I wasn't skilled in martial arts, I could learn. I would do anything to keep him safe.

"I'm not a piece of property you can just take and return later," I glared as he stopped in his tracks. Good. I wasn't sure how much farther until we reached his room number.

"You don't want me to bring you back?"

"Not if you're going to use me to mess with MacGyver."

We continued on our way, a soft double chin had formed as he looked down on me, "How noble." He paused again. "You make me feel the way my son's mother used to... Although it doesn't really matter. She's dead now."

He pulled out a key from his pocket, shoving it in the door.

No, I can't go inside. I'm as good as dead in there.

"Let me guess, you killed her after she gave birth." I said, using my last ounce of confidence.

Murdoc's empty eyes doubled in size, staring wide at me.

"It's not very original," I countered, hoping to stall. Suddenly, I was thankful my euphoria decided to come out today. "Suffocated her with a hospital pillow or the IV cord? And here I thought you were an artist."

The door swung open. His facial expression told me I had made the wrong move. I'm dead.

"I'll show you art." He spat and shoved me into the motel room.