The Abduction of Vanessa Ryan | Excerpt

 

CHAPTER ONE

Is he aware? Does he care? Is what I feel even relevant?

No.

Slowly slipping away right before his eyes and I’ve lost the motivation to care. I’ve lost the energy to work things out. Lately the relationship has been on a repetitive rinse, wash, repeat pattern. I feel taken for granted. Sadly, that’s a feeling I know all too well.

Do I leave? Do I stay? Is it worth expressing my feelings when the conversation always ends up being about me?

I’ve slowly given up and not because I want to.

I’m exhausted.

I roll over to my right side and glance at the clock on my nightstand.

Two-twenty-seven.

Another sleepless night of overthinking and holding back tears. Once again, I feel numb and question my worth. I'm not sure if he still loves me. I often wonder if he genuinely wants me around or if he's merely tolerating me because we're at that age where that's expected. Tolerate.

I wish my sister was still alive. She would have the right answer. I always found a way out of the darkness with her help. My best friend. She took everything along with her when she died. Five years have passed, but the pain of losing her still feels like it happened yesterday. Without her, I feel like I’m on an emotional rollercoaster, wondering if what I’m experiencing is a nightmare or reality. I guess it’s one of the same.

Count to ten.

Deep breath.

Try to think of something funny.

The tears fall from my eyes. By controlling my breathing, I’ve learned to cry silently next to the man who means everything to me.

Can he feel the bed shake or the quick gasp of air I take after holding my breath for so long to mask the cries? If he does, I wouldn’t know. It’s been years since he’s rolled over to pull me into his arms and hold me until the pain subsides. He stopped drying my tears years ago—even the ones he’s caused.

And I tolerate it because it’s the easiest thing to do.

Feeling at home in the silence is bittersweet. I'm not burdening others with my struggles to overcome life's challenges. Keeping to myself has become the norm for so long that I am unsure if I can open up to anyone else. It’s just been me and the silence. Just the two of us. I feel a strong, unbreakable bond with the silence.

Life in your fifties was supposed to be rewarding. We should have everything figured out and enjoy the time we have left on earth with our spouse. At least that’s what I assumed life would be like at fifty. Perhaps that's the case for most couples. Or maybe some of them are tolerating it too.

It’s sad lying here in bed wondering what it feels like to be held. And I mean, truly held. Not the brief cuddle, then roll over to sleep on your own sides of the bed for the rest of the night. Lately, the memories of being loved, touched, and kissed are causing great emotional pain. 

What’s wrong with me?

Why doesn’t he love me like he used to?

Why doesn’t he grab me and passionately want me like years ago?

Is it true what they say when you reach this age, men become uninterested in you? Even your own spouse? Their desire for a youthful appearance has caused them to lose interest in you. I don’t know what to think anymore.

I’m tired.

Tired of silently tolerating this life.

I’m exhausted.

I’m tired of feeling numb.

 

CHAPTER TWO

“Nessa, are you sure? This is a big decision.”

“It’s been years of trying to get my marriage back on track. And you know, when we do, it’s great. But it's temporary. Weeks, or sometimes even days later, it’s back to the same ol’ way. The temporary fix hurts worse than just calling it quits.” I exhaled and smiled at her. “It's like stabbing myself with a dagger. I'm the one in control of it. It's too tormenting. I’m just done.”

“And you're positive you don't want to give talking to him another go before you do this?” She gave a sly smile after taking a sip of her lemonade. “You never know what one more try could do.”

I laughed. “You know how many times I've mentioned what's been bothering me just to have him twist it all right back around to be my fault? I just can’t anymore. I don’t have the energy. You can only try so much until you’re just done.”

I took a sip of my coffee and glanced at the door as a group of women walked into the café. They were joking about some incident that took place the last time they had a girls’ weekend and about how nice it was to have two days with no kids.

Must be nice to have a group of close-knit friends you can take trips with, I thought. Painful feelings rained down inside me as I unintentionally compared their memorable moment to my life.

“I support you. You know that. I’ll always be here for you. But…” Trish continued. “Are you sure you want to do this? Look at your life. You don’t have to work. He supports you in anything and everything. You’re free to do whatever you want, when you want. You have the mansion, the gated community lifestyle, fashion wardrobe, the yacht, the cars…Vanessa.”

She swirled her lemonade with the straw and looked at me.

The laughter from the group of women echoed throughout the café.

“I don’t deny that. And my life isn’t horrible. I just want to feel love again, you know. Someone to ask me about my day and how I’m doing. Someone to cuddle in bed and watch a movie with. Just someone who is there for you, especially when life feels overwhelming. I’ve been begging to be seen, heard… something. You’ve helped me tremendously, Trish. And I appreciate you always being there for me, especially after my sister passed away. I know I sound like a broken record, but it means a lot to have you to talk to, spend time with and vent to about women's things.”

I smiled at her.

“And yes, from a financial perspective, my marriage appears perfect. There just has to be more out there, you know? You can't tell me intimacy is over at fifty.”

“Well, you make sure to call me once you get settled wherever you decide to head towards. I could use a vacation and a change of scenery might be nice.”

“Of course. You’d be the first one I call.” Little did she know there was no one else to call.

“I’d recommend we stop and grab a drink to celebrate your new venture, but I have work to do.” She smiled as she sipped the last of her lemonade and glanced at her watch. “Looks like it’s go time. Meetings…” she sighed. “Gotta love the corporate world. You’re really lucky, Vanessa. You have the freedom to do things at your own pace. You can be who you want to be and do what you want to do. Not me. I have to make someone else rich just to pay my rent and buy food. I’d be happy to stumble across one of the twelve good men left on the planet and live happily ever after. Someday.” She smiled as she stood and leaned over to give me a hug. “Take care of yourself.”

The group of women approached the large table behind us and began settling in the chairs. Their constant laughter and giddiness felt like miniature lacerations to my heart. I hope they’re grateful for their friendships and hold on to them dearly. Maintaining close friendships becomes a challenge as you age. 

At my age, it’s hard to make new friends. The friends I had made over the many decades of life were now occupied with grandkids and family life. Having no kids, myself, parenting was the one area I didn’t fit in with others. Well, I guess that’s not the only area. To be truthful, it felt like I didn't fit in anywhere.

Trish and I finalized dinner plans for the next night before we parted ways outside the cafe. It was nice to have someone to go out with, especially when my husband devoted his entire life to the office. I considered myself a single-married woman. This weekly dinner date was something Trish proposed a few years ago. I turned her down the first few times after my sister passed away, but I’m glad she coaxed me out of my shell and made me get out of the house again. It felt nice. 

I straightened my purse strap on my shoulder and walked to my car, basking in the sun's warmth. It was a gorgeous summer day. I waved to a blue Chevy truck that came to a halt at the crosswalk so I could cross. He waved back and nodded.

  As I unlocked my car door and plopped in my seat, I wondered where I went wrong in life. I mean, yes, I made some disastrous life choices, but doesn't everyone? I also made exceptional choices of which I’m proud of. I have a lot of things in my life that I take pride in. Sad fact is that no one shared in those accomplishments. I celebrated alone. Well, silence was there.

Me and silence. And the feeling of both sweet and bitter, repeating itself. 

 

 

CHAPTER THREE

“Drop the keys on the passenger seat!”

I jumped when hands gripped my neck from behind the driver’s seat and squeezed just enough to send a warning message. As I gazed at the car ceiling, I attempted to catch a glance from the rear-view mirror, but he held my head back, obstructing my view.

“Drop the keys on the passenger seat now!” He repeated sternly.

All those safety videos showing women how to walk with keys in your hand ran through my mind. It was too late for me to fumble them and attempt to get a key between my fingers. I slowly moved my arm over the center console and dropped the keys on the passenger seat.

“Close your eyes!” His demands were a harsh low tone. 

I closed my eyes and stayed still as he removed his hands from my throat. I thought about honking the horn, reaching for the door handle and bolting from the car, but he grabbed hold of my head and wrapped a scarf of some sort over my eyes. I froze in my seat, from the fear of the unknown. For all I knew, there was more than one person in my backseat. I cursed myself for not checking through the windows before getting inside the car. 

I thought for sure someone would see what was taking place in broad daylight. This was a busy parking lot. A tiny strip mall that had people in and out all day long, and well into the evening. I always parked in the second row under the streetlamp and next to a sign that mentions the lot is under twenty-four-hour surveillance. Someone had to see something. 

“Slowly move over the center console to the passenger seat,” he demanded. “Slowly.”

I felt something metal touching my neck and knew things were not going to end well if I didn’t do as he demanded.

“Okay,” I whispered. “Okay.”

I heard him snatch the keys from the seat as I lifted my right leg over the center console. I placed my foot on the floor of the passenger side, then reached for the the passenger side door to ease myself over. As I lifted my left leg over the console, I plopped into the seat. I heard him move from the backseat up to the driver’s seat.

The doors locked, and my heart raced as he put the keys into the ignition.

“Buckle your seat belt.”

I did what he asked and let out a small cry when he squeezed a handcuff onto my left wrist without warning. 

“Give me your other wrist.”

I slowly moved my right arm towards the center console and winced when he squeezed on the other cuff. He moved the chain of the cuff around, letting me know there was no way to pull and escape. The cuffs were attached to something around the center console.

A few moments later, the ignition started. As he backed from the parking stall, I wondered why no one had come to my rescue in broad daylight. Where were the witnesses? 

Was I that invisible to everyone else, too? Just like I was to my husband. Could they not see into the car? See the scarf around my eyes? Surely this must look of concern to someone.

“You can have my car,” I mumbled.

“Shut up!” He spat. “Not a word!”

I swallowed a lump in my throat and tried to focus on the turns he was taking. I had lived here long enough and didn’t need my eyes open to know where he was going. That part alone was a little reassuring.

However, I was kicking myself for letting my guard down. For thinking that something like this would never happen in broad daylight in a busy parking lot, right after lunch with my best friend. I did everything women are told not to do.

Do what he says. The voice inside me was screaming. Listen to my surroundings. Take note of his voice.

Since panicking would be unproductive, I attempted to rehearse what was occurring. His voice didn’t sound young, yet it also didn’t sound old. Somewhere in the middle. He wasn’t driving erratically and obeyed all traffic laws including the use of the blinkers. And he stayed within the speed limit to not draw attention to himself.

He seemed calm. Demanding, but calm. Like he’s done this before. It felt like he knew exactly what he was doing.

It surprised me how calm I felt, but my heart was racing. My mind was going places it shouldn’t, and I knew I had to pull myself together.

He merged right onto a side road. 

I knew where he was headed – the Interstate.

Sure enough, a mile down the road the blinker came on and he merged left towards the ramp. I held my breath as he sped to merge with traffic.

We crossed the bridge into the next state.

I still knew where I was. The car was becoming overwhelmingly warm inside due to the warm weather. He had yet to turn on the AC and I decided to stay silent and not push him over the edge further. I was still alive and knew I had to stay calm if I wanted to survive. 

He stayed in the right lane and never passed another vehicle. I knew his reason. Should he pass, it would be much easier for anyone in another vehicle to spot me. With a scarf across my eyes, that would certainly bring upon some questions, or at least warrant another glance into the car, and maybe even a 9-1-1 call. 

After what felt like an hour on the interstate, I attempted to lean against the headrest, but the cuffs were not allowing me to lean my head back far enough. I struggled in my seat to get a little leeway with the cuffs, but it only pulled on my wrists. 

I wanted to ask him to let me move my seat forward some, but let out a sigh instead and rotated my neck to ease the stiffness.

He was silent as he continued driving the speed limit down the interstate.

I felt the car slow down and merge right onto a ramp. When we came upon the stop sign, the blinker sounded and seconds later; he made a left turn.

Over the interstate.

I wasn’t sure what town we were in, but he continued driving North.

After a few more turns, he was no longer using the blinkers and although I didn’t know the exact location of where I was; I knew the vicinity. It was a few hours' drive after we crossed the bridge.

He slowed almost to a stop and turned right. The ride became bumpy, kind of like a non-maintained dirt road filed with potholes in the mountains. The cuffs scraped against my wrist bone with every jerk of the car. 

The stiffness of my neck and not being able to rest it against anything was on the verge of painful. I winced a few times and tried my best to keep silent.

The car came to a stop. He turned off the ignition and removed the keys. I could hear him jingling the keys as he opened the car door and stepped out. Seconds later, I heard a chain clanking and movement of some sort. Then he was back in the car, putting the keys in the ignition and inching forward.

Again, he stopped the car, turned off the ignition, and removed the keys. The door opened a second time, and I heard the same sounds in reverse. The movement of something, and then a chain clanking.

A gate.

We’re somewhere North of the Interstate, at a remote property on a non-maintained road filled with potholes and a gated entrance with a chain.

Keep repeating what you smell and hear, Vanessa, I said to myself. Stay calm.  

After another section of bumpy road, the car came to a stop.

Again, he turned off the ignition, removed the keys, and opened the door. This time he closed it, and I could hear him walking around the vehicle. I jumped when he opened the passenger door and leaned inside.

I couldn’t quite place what he smelled like. The cologne was something I recognized, but it meshed with other scents that made it hard to describe. 

I could feel his warm breath along my neck as his hands roughly grabbed hold of the cuffs. I winced in pain as he unbuckled my seatbelt and directed me out of the car. He held tight to the cuffs as I stepped onto uneven ground. He slammed the car door shut, and I stumbled behind him in high heels as he pulled me along by the cuffs.

“Steps,” he said sternly.

I accidentally kicked the first step, and he caught my balance.

Silence.

He let go of the cuffs, firmly grabbed hold of my arm, and guided me up the rest of the steps.

He fumbled with keys, and I heard him unlock a door, kick it open and tug my cuffs. I didn’t know what I was about to encounter once I stepped foot inside, but then again, I knew. 

You know? 

Statistics have a way of etching pain, the unimaginable and death into your mind.