Kidnapped!

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I’m pretty sure I’ve been drugged. The past few days…the memories dance around each other. What’s real? What are drug-induced dreams? Even now I feel myself drifting–

I was writing. That’s what writers do, they write. I yawned and stretched– no sleep the night before, insomnia kicking my ass as usual– then it all goes black. At some point… I hear the low murmur of voices. I can’t make out words or where they are coming from; the voices are just there, background noise in a black void. I can also feel myself breathing. Rapid, short, shallow breaths. I will myself to slow down, it would be stupid to hyperventilate right now, but my brain’s not quite grasping what I’m telling it. Things are muffled– disorienting; I feel like my body is spinning out of control, like I’ve been on a bender and the bourbon did me in for sure this time. “Mm not gunna do it again,” I promise myself. A promise I’ve made a dozen times and never kept. The darkness calls, pulling me down, easing the spinning, shutting out the voices– at least for a little while.

A heaviness lays over me. I turn into it, wrapped in its warmth and the comfort it offers but slowly the voices work their way back in. Further away maybe than before? I claw my way out from under the false comfort I was snared in, shaking my head. There’s something I need to do… something…

Lurching to my feet, I stumble to the doorway. Doorway? “Where the hell am I?” I whisper. The world tilts sideways on me and flashes of light start dancing in my peripheral vision. “Don’t pass out!” I pray under my breath and trembling, shuffle into the hall. Leaning against the wall to steady myself, I glance around and notice a door just a few feet down the hall. I make my way down to it, pausing to listen for the voices to have changed, to have moved, to be coming for me again.

When I reach it I notice that the door is slightly ajar. Taking a deep breath and with my heart racing, I push it open and peer inside.  An office and it was empty! My knees nearly buckle with relief. I step inside and notice a computer with the screen up and windows open was sitting on the desk. Crap! Someone was in here not that long ago. Struggling to wade thru the fog that circled my brain I decided to take a chance and try to reach someone. Maybe I could get them to come rescue me.

I don’t know how many tries it took but eventually I got into my email account. Trying to remember my password in a normal state-of-mind is difficult enough but after what was done to me? Once I got in I felt overwhelmed. I remember that clearly. There was SO much! How many days had I been gone? How was I going to take care of it all? Yeah, definitely overwhelmed! Then I tried to think of who would help me. My eyes drifted down thru the emails as my brain tried to filter thru the list of people who could possibly come get me out of wherever-in-the-hell I was. I clicked on one, one of my favorites, and started reading it.

I couldn’t help myself. I really couldn’t. I never can. It just comes up out of nowhere and takes over and then it takes forever to stop.

I started laughing. In great loud, hard whoops… with the occasional snort thrown in.

The voices stopped. I heard footsteps running up stairs. I closed out my email and shut the computer down. My laughter had taken on a maniacal edge but there was nothing I could do.

They grabbed me up and carried me out; kicking, screaming and laughing one name over and over again…

BECCA!

The darkness calls, pulling me down, easing the spinning, shutting out the voices– at least for a little while.

Oh my god. What if this is the dream? What if this is more of their game and they’re just playing with me? The most frightening thing is they don’t talk to me, I h– wait! Sshhh! Do you hear them, the voices? Their coming back. Their coming back. Their coming… ::whimper::

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6 thoughts on “Kidnapped!

  1. Is it strange that I find it slight arousing that you were shouting my name?

    I started laughing while typing that last sentence and hubby asked my why I was laughing. I told him what I was typing and to whom and I got a very strange look. I guess he doesn’t get me. 😉 Oh well.

    Really though, your fiction is very good. I hope you’re feeling better.

    x,
    Becca

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