Before
Christina
The day before my seventeenth birthday, I was kidnapped.
The air was crisp but had a stale odor because of the lack of ventilation.
Loud music rattled the walls — a sound I’d heard since the day I was
captured. The handcuffs and chains tightly secured me to the old, rusty
metal frame bed. Even the slightest movement caused my wrists and
ankles to ache. With a tear streaming down my face, I shifted onto my side,
my eyes fixated on the wall.
Suddenly, an ear-piercing scream shattered the silence. I covered my
ears as I repeatedly hummed the “Itsy-Bitsy Spider” nursery rhyme —
anything I could do to get my mind off my impending doom.
The screaming stopped, and heavy footsteps grew louder in my
direction. I attempted to curl my legs in a ball, but the chains prevented
me. The door crashed open and slammed against the wall.
I didn’t look. I never looked. They trained me not to.
Looking always resulted in discipline.
I knew better.
I heard his stomping feet coming toward me. I tried not to cry. Be
strong. My skin burned as he placed the rough cloth around my eyes.
Slowly, he unlocked my chains as the nausea set in. He yanked on my arm
as I struggled to pull it away. I dragged my feet through the dirt on the
wooden floor, kicking up dust as I struggled to resist. I had no more
strength in me to fight.
Suddenly, a loud crash from down the hall caused him to halt.
Thunderous footsteps grew louder, and I held my breath as I tried todetermine what we were waiting for. The rumbling stopped, and an ear-
piercing howl emanated from my left. Unexpectedly, I was yanked to the
floor as my brain registered what was happening. I removed my blindfold,
and she hovered above him, repeatedly stabbing him.
“Run, Christina, run!” she screamed. “Go get help, now!”
“I can’t leave without you,” I pleaded.
She continued struggling with him — a blur of limbs as she groaned.
“Christina! Go!”
As I ran toward the door, I cast a glance at her, fighting him on the
ground. “I’ll come back for you! I promise!” I screamed.
“I know! Go! We don’t have much time!” she yelled back.
The pounding in my chest was like a drum, making it difficult to breathe
as I navigated the dark halls of this place. I expected someone lying in wait,
ready to grab me at every turn.
This was my one chance. I had to save her.
The front door was in sight, and freedom was within my grasp. Not much
farther now. I reached for the doorknob and was relieved when it turned
freely. As I quickly burst through the door, the aroma immediately engulfed
me; I’d forgotten what the fresh air felt like in my lungs.
After a quick look around, I sprinted toward the opening in the woods,
hoping that the thick tree trunks would hide me long enough to get away.
The sun was setting on the horizon, and I would soon be out of daylight.
With each stride, the breeze cooled my cheeks as I raced down the trail,
chasing the sinking light. I ran for what felt like an eternity — my legs
throbbing with pain, my muscles twitching uncontrollably, and my lungs
burning for air.
With each step, my mind insisted I couldn’t go any further. I kept trying
to reassure myself that the pain was temporary, because Penelope’s life
was at stake. I had to fight through it. Right as my mind was ready to give
up, I saw an opening in the woods beckoning me into the unknown.
One final look behind me, and then I sprinted into the clearing.
Relief overcame me as I realized it was a house. I ran to the glowing
windows as the sun had crested beyond the mountains.
Please be a good guy!
I darted toward the front door and banged my fists as I screamed for
help.
The porch light turned on, and I observed a man through the door’s
glass.
He cautiously cracked it open, only revealing a tiny sliver of his faded
blue baseball cap and flannel button-up shirt. “What can I do for you, miss?”I tried to speak, but my mouth was so dry that it felt like sandpaper
scraping my throat, forcing a painful cough to escape. My body buckled,
and I placed my hands on my knees as I gathered my composure. “I’m
Christina Johnson!” I paused like he would know what that meant. After a
brief silence, I continued, “I escaped! I’ve been missing for weeks! My
friend Penelope is still back there!”
The man’s mouth was agape as he opened the door wide. “Honey!” he
yelled. “Call the police! It’s one of those girls that was kidnapped!”
He let me in, placing his hand on the small of my back. I was shaking
from the cold, and the fading rush of adrenaline caused me to collapse in
his embrace. He escorted me to the couch as I watched his wife on the
phone, looking at me sorrowfully.
She walked over to me and placed her palm on my shoulder. “Don’t you
worry; the police are on their way to find your friend.”
I sat there anxiously waiting for the police as the guilt set in for leaving
Pen behind. The woman grabbed a blanket and covered my shoulders as
the shaking continued. My thoughts were filled with the horrible things that
could be happening to her at that house. What if he got the upper hand and
took the knife from her? What if she’s dead already?
I stared at the large black-and-white clock hanging on the wall.
Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock. What was taking so long?
How could I leave her behind? I buried my head in my hands and cried.
In the distance, sirens pierced the air, and I felt myself exhale, knowing
it would all be over soon.
I glanced to the doorway just as a police officer approached. He had a
youthful innocence about him, with a crisp uniform and a face free from the
wear of long years on the job. I watched as he whispered to the residents
who had opened their door to a stranger without question. He looked in my
direction and waved for me to come to him. For the first time in weeks, I
felt like everything was going to be all right. I was safe.
“OK, let’s go find Penelope. Think you can help us?”
I nodded yes and followed him to his cruiser. “I ran down the trail until
I made it here,” I said, as I pointed to an opening in the woods.
I jumped into his car and forced a smile at the couple who helped me.
The woman raised her hand as her husband placed his arm around her
shoulders. I watched them vanish into the reddish glow of swirling dust
kicked up by the tires. As he navigated the path with urgency, I realized
the distance I had traveled to get here. I stared out of the window as we
passed the trees — the darkness absorbing them. The headlights created
shadows along the trail, causing me to see things that didn’t exist —
imagining them out there, waiting to take me back into the torture room.The trees opened, and before us was a neglected, off-white, one-story
house with broken shutters and chipped paint. The yard was overgrown
and not maintained. Trash littered the space, with empty beer bottles
collecting dust.
I glanced in the side mirror and realized a string of cop cars had joined
us, forming a long line like an unbroken chain. The silence was broken by
slamming car doors, startling me as the sea of tan uniforms washed over
the yard toward the house.
“Stay here. We’re going to find your friend,” the officer said.
I hunkered down, terrified of seeing those responsible for what has
happened to me the last few weeks. The cop ran toward the house with his
arms stiff in front of him and his gun out. The cops sprinted to all sides of
the structure in a choreographed mass. My hands trembled as they kicked
the front door and rushed into the property.
Please be alive, Penelope!
I sat there patiently as the light seeped through the wooden slats
covering the windows. Anxiously, I observed their movement from one side
of the structure to the other as deep voices yelled, “Clear!” every few
seconds.
What’s taking so long?
Then silence. The house was dark again.
A few moments passed and they all walked out, looking defeated and
alone as they whispered on the porch.
Where was Penelope?
The officer approached my door and opened it. “Where is she?” I asked
before he could speak.
He hesitated, as if he couldn’t find the right words. “She’s not there.
They . . .” He paused. “Everyone is gone.”
