The next morning, I wake up to the sounds of nothing. No, howling wind, no footsteps or any sign of human life, no cooking sounds coming from downstairs, nothing. I rub my eyes and sit up in bed. I listen a little closer for even the slightest sound of anything but nothing reaches my ears. I look around the room to see that a fresh pitcher of water was brought up to my room. Probably Connor's doing. I have no way to tell what time it is but it's light outside, the room a little brighter today than normal. I'm guessing the sun finally broke through today against the clouds. It's about time. My eyes no longer hurt and I'm sure that I'm probably no longer sick. My nose has cleared up and my head feels fine. My throat still feels a bit scratchy but other than that, I feel great. I would feel better if I wasn't in a strange house full of strange people keeping me hostage in the middle of nowhere but under the circumstances, I feel alright.
I stretch my soar muscles and feel them relax. I sit for a second. I wonder if it would be wise to walk around the room a bit or even get out of bed. I start thinking about going to the door to see if I can hear anything from there. I know that someone's footsteps would give me enough warning to run back to bed and pretend to be asleep. Even if someone was going near the stairs, that was more than enough time to fake being still deep in my slumber. I decide that I'll see what I can hear through the door without thinking twice about it. What harm could come from that? I push the sheets off of me, only now noticing that someone put a second blanket on top of the thin white one I already had. I don't meditate on it, I quickly get up from the bed and over to the door, quietly. I lean my head against the door and listen closely, my ears working overtime. The result is the same. Nothing but still air and the sounds of only my breathing and nothing else. Not a TV or a clock or even the air conditioner. Silence. Ear ringing, dead silence. I wonder where everyone is. In the past six or seven days I've been here, the house has never been so quiet before. There was always something making noise. Whether it was pans slamming together in the kitchen or the sound of someone else's breathing. It seems unnatural for the house to be this quiet, especially since I'm here, the whole reason why any of us are here. I back away from the door and back to the bed and sit down. I notice my boots next to the nightstand and slip them on. I wait. I don't know what for but I do. What else is there to keep me busy? There's no doubt in my mind that the door is locked, probably dead bolted by now. And I don't exactly feel like calling for someone to let me use the restroom just to see if anyone but me is still alive. And the window. . . the window. After all this time, I never thought to check how well the boards were nailed in. How could I be so stupid?
I get up from the bed and walk over to the boarded up window. I start with the bottom board and pull at it. The nails stay put but at least one of them is loose. The one above that has been freshly nailed in, the nails shiny and gleaming and not rusting like some of the others. The third board is a mix, some rusted and some new, but when I pull at it, two nails come loose and threaten to pop right out of the wood. The fourth board has no hope, I can tell just by looking at it that it would break in two pieces if I pried it off, the wood having the issue of being weak. the fifth board gives me no problem, it's too high to keep me inside if I where to climb out. I want to make a break for it now, rip off all the boards, jump out of the window and run for it, not bothering to look back even just to curse the place. But I know that without knowing where I'm at or even where to go from here, I'd get lost especially now that I know that the house is surrounded by trees that could easily hint at a forest being around here somewhere. I decide that it'd be best for me to wait, however frustrating it may seem, until I can at least learn which direction to head in to hopefully find a highway or another house somewhere nearby. Or even just a place far enough away from here that I can hide out until it's safe to venture on.
I sit back down on the bed and stare at the window. One day I'll climb out of the window and run like my life is on the line, practically because it is. It doesn't matter how or what I have to do in order to escape, I'm finding my way back home and out of this captivity. That's a promise. I'm not about to give up hope just because it seems like the most reasonable thing to do in this situation. If I have to do this without anyone's help, then so be it. I'm not giving up. They can't break me.
All of a sudden, I hear the lock on the door turn. I quickly suck in a big breath of air. How had I not heard any footsteps coming up the stairs down the hall to my room? Where was my blindfold? I don't have time to look for it, none at all. Great, Amber, your stupidity just shortened your life quiet a bit. I nearly have a heart attack when the door swings open. I can barely form a thought as I see Connor slip through the door and close it behind him. I let out a breath or air and put my hand over my heart, feeling it pound like the heaviest of drums.
"You scared me." I tell Connor.
"Where's your blindfold?" he asks, eagerly. I watch as he looks through the sheets on the bed and lifts the pillow in search of the black cloth. He looks worried and frantic. My heart rate goes up again.
"What's wrong?" I ask him.
"Where is it? We need to find it. Look under the bed." I do as he says. I kneel down but the floor is empty underneath it. The only thing I see is a few dust bunnies. I get back up as Connor rips off both blankets and shakes them out. The blindfold falls to the floor and he quickly scoops it up. He throws the blankets back on the bed and walks around the bed to me.
"What are you doing?" I ask. He wraps the blindfold around my eyes and begins tying it again.
"Whatever you do, don't say my name or anyone else's name, understand?" he asks. I nod, now finding it hard to swallow. "Stay quiet and don't make any sudden movements or do whatever you're not supposed to do. Just do whatever he says and stay calm."
"What's going on, Connor? Tell me." I beg.
"My father, he's--" He doesn't finish his sentence because that's when I hear pounding steps coming up the stairs. Within seconds, the smell of alcohol fills my nostrils, so strong that I almost choke on the scent.
"Get her up. Now!" he yells. Connor takes me by the arm and helps me stand up. I try to remain calm like he told me but I find it incredibly difficult to do so. He leads me out into the hallway, this time taking his time and waiting on me.
"Stairs." he tells me. I put one foot down onto the first step and slowly but as fast as I can, make my way down the stairs. I can feel Connor's father getting impatient, the sounds of his grunting behind me telling me he so desperately wants to throw me down the stairs like last time. I still have a few bruises from our last acquaintance. He doesn't touch me and when we finally reach the bottom of the steps, he pushes past me, his arm brushing mine and making a shiver go up my spine.
"Bring her in her, boy." He orders. Connor does so and I obey. It feels like we've walked into another room. The smell that wafts around the room is a mix of cigarette smoke and booze. My foot hits a table and I nearly fall. Luckily Connor is there to help me catch my balance again, otherwise I would fall and hit my head on something. A sudden movement that will have everyone on my case.
"Sit her down. And make sure she's quiet or I'll find a way to shut her up myself." The man says. Connor turns me a little and sits me down on a couch, feeling nothing along the lines of comfy or homey with it feeling rough from the fabric and smelling of something that makes my nose turn. I sit quietly, terrified but quiet.
"Listen up, sweet cakes." the man tells me. It disgusts how he calls me that, like he's trying to make me feel as insecure as possible with little words. It works. I hear the TV turn on, the voice of a woman immediately filling my ears. I listen like he told me.
"It's been a week since the disappearance of seventeen year old Amber Collins has shaken the small town of Hawkington, North Dakota and with no updates on her kidnapping, both family and friends of the young girl are rallying together to make a public plea to the people who hold their daughter and friend's life in their hands. Here is a clip from the press conference from early this morning of Amber's parents, Lisa and Jon, publicly begging for the return of their daughter."
My ears perk up at the mention of my parents. I can't see the screen but just by the sound of my mother's voice I can tell she's distraught and it breaks my heart into so many pieces.
"Please, whoever has my baby, please let her go." she says through her tears. "She's so kind and has such a caring heart. She'd never hurt anyone or anything. She's so bright and she wants to be a journalist and she wants so many things out of life. Don't take that away from her." Her voice cracks on the last word and I can hear nothing but her crying. My throat tightens and I feel my own tears burning my eyes.
"Please let our daughter go." I hear my father say. "We don't want you or anything from you, we just want out daughter back. We'll pay you however much you want and we'll turn the other cheek. Just give our baby back to us, safe and sound." The clip ends and the newscaster goes on to tell the hotline number for any details about my disappearance and recaps everything the police found in my house after my parents called 911 when they got back home in the morning and found my keys and phone on the living room floor, the backdoor wide open, and heard Neal crying upstairs in his bed. My eyes release a few tears that I tried holding back, and I thank God that I have something covering my eyes.
"I almost feel sorry to crush their dreams." Connor's father says. "Take off the blindfold, son."
"I can just take her back up--" Connor starts.
"Now, damn it!" his father yells. I hear Connor sigh and his fingers find the back of my blindfold. He unties it and pulls it away from me. My eyes only focus on the TV screen.
"You're a lot prettier without that thing on." The man says. I turn my eyes to him and see that he's a good few inches above Connor, him being already about six feet tall. Towering over my five-four. His father wears a torn sweater and dark jeans, his hair surprisingly neat and combed back, every single one of his dark brown hairs in place. He stares at me with a sickening sneer. "I'm going out to the back to work on something." he tells Connor. "I feel honored that my home is the last place you'll be seeing." He gets up and walks out of the room, whistling to himself. I turn slowly towards Connor.
"What the hell did he mean by that?" I whisper. Connor looks at me with so much dread and pain that I know his answer before he can put it into words. "He's not letting you go, Amber. He's not planning on doing anything along the lines. In one week, he's gonna kill you."