The Stolen - Jason Pinter [64]
think Ms. Davies would enjoy that?"
I couldn't help but think about the scars already on my
hand, from when a madman played butcher shop with it a
while back. I certainly wasn't aching for more.
I tugged harder, felt my finger slip through one of the
rope's cords. Soon I was able to fit two, then three fingers
inside, and I slowly unraveled the rope. I grabbed the end
gently before it could fall, but my hands were free. My
feet, though, were another matter, and there was no way I
could get to them without Chesterfield man noticing.
Unless...
"See, if you don't answer my question, we're going to
find out just how loud you and your friend can scream.
And trust me, nobody will be able to hear you."
"It can't be any louder than you scream when your
'associate' sticks his finger up your ass."
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Jason Pinter
The man frowned, again sucked down the cig, leaving
a long ash dangling from the tip.
"Come on, dickhead," I said. "Let's see what you got."
The man looked at me, pissed off and confused. "Let's
see if you're this much fun in a minute."
He placed the cigarette between his thumb and forefinger, then reached up with his free hand to steady mine
before he burned off my fingertips. As he raised the cigarette, I took a deep breath and blew the long piece of ash
directly into his face.
It erupted in a cloud of gray smoke, and the man hacked
and coughed and clawed at his eyes.
Before he could take a step back, I pulled off the bonds
around my wrists, wound up and backhanded him across
the face. He went sprawling across the floor. The cigarette
skittered away and went out.
Frantically I bent over and began undoing the bonds at
my feet. They were tight, but soon I was able to loosen
them. Just then the man stood up, blood leaking from a cut
across his cheek. He had fire in his eyes as he ran straight
toward me. At that moment I pulled the bonds away from
my feet, sidestepped the man and shoved his head against
the metal pipe. There was a sickening thud as he bounced
off it, then crumpled to the floor in a heap.
I was wobbly standing up. I heard a grunt, saw the man
begin to push himself up. There was hatred in his eyes. I
didn't hesitate.
I ran forward and kicked him in the head as hard as I
could. The breath left him as he lay there, motionless.
As I tried to get the blood flowing back to my feet, I
noticed the glint of metal coming from a key ring in his
pocket. There were three keys on it. I picked it up, ran for
the door. Unsurprisingly, it was locked. I took turns insert- The Stolen
183
ing each key inside, and on the third one it clicked home.
I twisted the knob, opened the door and prayed Amanda
was all right. I glanced back, saw the man unmoving but
still breathing steadily. Then I braced myself for whatever
horrors awaited in the rest of this house.
But when I ran up the stairs to the main floor, I was
shocked to see that I wasn't being held in some dungeon.
Instead, I was standing in the middle of what looked like
the foyer of a typical suburban house.
"What the hell...?" I whispered.
The hardwood floors had been recently sanded and
polished, and the carpeting on the stairs was white and
clean. Several framed paintings hung from the walls. A
crystal chandelier hung above me, and a family room
with a large-screen television branched off to the left.
There was a doll with braided hair lying on the floor, next
to what looked like a scattered set of a child's building
blocks. Everything was clean. I didn't know what to
make of it.
"Amanda!" I yelled. There was no response.
I sprinted to the other end of the hall, then took the stairs
two at a time to the upper floor.
I ran down a narrow hall. There were three doors, both
closed. I opened the first one. It was a bathroom. Hand
soaps. Clean towels. No window. No Amanda.
I approached the other door. Pushed it. It opened into
what looked like a master bedroom. A king-size bed sat
in the center, with a floral comforter cleanly tucked in.
Oddly there were no photos anywhere, as though the place