The One Who Got Away

By Karen Hussey

Annamarie thought her life was improving until, one fateful day, she had a little too much to drink and her life took an immediate downward turn. She woke to find herself a prisoner in a much larger game. Will she get away or become yet another of his casualties?

He works hard to make sure he remains anonymous, with careful observation, meticulous planning and calculation. Hunting people has been his pastime, but when a situation sparks a memory of his past, he chooses for the first time to let someone in. Will this decision be his undoing?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Page Publishing, Inc.
• Release date: Apr 5, 2022
• ISBN: 9781662466434

Book preview

Chapter 1

Day 1

It was the waiting that increased the anticipation.

Who was it going to be? He never knew until it happened. Who was going to choose to participate? Who will be more satisfying than her?

He sat in his car across from the bar and waited. This area of town was a little classier than the last place he visited. It took awhile to find it, researching its history and days of watching to find out if the clientele would fit his needs. He actually had to be social and talk to someone to find out about it. That was awful—smiling, laughing, and pretending to care about the menial things they talked about. People, such wretched things. Cockroaches taking over everywhere. The world could use with a few less of them, but that was a problem for another day. He was looking for entertainment, a project. Someone to practice his arts with. His last (relationship? involvement? commitment?) toy had shriveled away to nothing. Really there wasn’t much to her to start with.

Maybe it was all those nights away. He’d fix that though. This time, he would stay closer and be more involved. He couldn’t help that he got bored with her. It was pleasant enough at first, but she became significantly less interesting when she stopped trying. Didn’t take very long either. Just a couple of days, not even a week, then she went silent, and nothing he did was good enough for her. There was no satisfaction if they give up. The slow lingering was mind-numbing. That was when he started looking elsewhere. Started leaving her at home when he went out for days at a time. He thought she would be different from his previous conquests, but in the end, she was equally as disappointing. That’s okay. There were plenty of more fish in this sea.

*****

Annamarie had been through a long week at work and went to the grocery store to get some wine coolers to relax with at home. She didn’t drink often, but when she had the day she had, she felt like she needed it. She worked as a secretary at a bail bondsmen office that had more clients then they could manage. She had been asking for more help for a month and was told that she and her co-secretary needed to handle it. That Friday started out like any other day—phone ringing off the hook, people coming in and demanding she personally get their family member out of jail. They had two clients skip out on their bail the previous Monday, and she had to try and find a bounty hunter as their normal was out with his wife for paternity leave.

Around ten that morning, a client got mad, and they had to call the police after he jumped the counter and assaulted her coworker badly enough to send her to the hospital. Her office was visited again by police that afternoon after she had to call them for a bomb threat. To top off her day, just before close of business, the feds came in and arrested her boss. She was told her office was to be closed until further notice pending an investigation for embezzlement.

Life was spinning out of control, and she needed to decompress. She left work and drove to the grocery store. She was walking through the alcohol section and saw him looking over two different bottles he held in his hands. She stopped dead in her tracks and stared at him. His focus was on the bottles, looking back and forth between the two of them. He frowned and looked up, and his eyes caught hers. She felt her face turn crimson, her breath caught in her chest, but couldn’t get her legs to work. He walked up to her, and she felt her heart fluttering.

I’m just not sure which one I want. What do you recommend? he asked, holding the bottles out for her to inspect. One was a red wine, the other white.

I…, she stammered, managing to pull her eyes away from his to look at the offerings.

He smiled and waited.

She shook her head to try and get her senses back and looked harder at the bottles. One was a natural red, dark in color, the other was a light Chardonnay.

I’m sorry, she said, embarrassed, the heat radiating off her face. I’ve never had either of them. I don’t drink often, and usually when I do, it is just a strawberry daiquiri.

Well, he said, tilting his head slightly to the right, we should fix that. What are you doing tomorrow night?

Annamarie looked back at those eyes, falling into their cool depths, and smiled. I’m free.

Great! he said, breaking into a wide smile. I’m Roger. Do you know where Mixers Delight is?

Annamarie. I’ve never been there, but I’m sure I could find it.

It’s downtown off Fourteenth Street. I’ll meet you there, say eight o’clock?

She nodded. Eight o’clock.

He nodded back, put the bottles back on the shelf, and picked up a six pack of daiquiris. If you say they are good, I’ll give them a try. They exchanged phone numbers and he left.

She had watched him go and didn’t realize she was holding her breath as he walked away until he rounded the corner. She looked again at the number he had given her. She smiled broadly and left the store without the alcohol.

The next night, Roger had arrived early at the bar. Mixers Delight was a new bar he had stumbled across while driving on patrol. They had been open for only a couple of months and already had quite a following. The motif was artic sea based, with the lighting, walls, and ceiling decor in various shades of blue and white. The floor was large tiles made to look like ocean waves. To the left of the main entrance rested a scattering of tables for socializing and a pool table with blue felt instead of the typical green. Straight in from the door, the bar was decorated like the side of a ship with planks running horizontally and large portholes showcasing the different beverages under and behind the bar.

The portholes under the bar house intricately etched icebergs in the bulletproof glass. The right wall was lined with five booths and a waitress station. The booths held seating for four with a center table, flanked by high-backed benches with velvet blue coverings providing privacy and comfort. The seated areas were lit with hanging frosted chandelier lights shaped like icicles, with small areas that were clear on the tops, letting the light reflecting through them cast stars onto the dark blue ceiling. Soft music played in the background, adding to the ambiance.

The steady hum of private conversations and laughter bounced off the walls. Waitresses bustled about the room serving a mixture of drinks and small appetizers. They were adorned in white sailor outfits, tantalizing but respectful, with skirts down to the knee, white flair neck tops with blue accent lines and blue sashes tied around their necks or holding back their hair. The bartender, wearing a blue sailor shirt open to his mid-chest, talked cheerily with the patrons sitting at the bar. The room was comfortably full, with most of the booths and tables occupied.

Roger had frequented the bar with some of his fellow police officers, and it had become his favorite place. As an officer, he got discounted drinks when he showed up and presented his badge, and because of the large amount of police patrons, there was never any trouble. The bartenders and waitresses were always appreciative of the extra reputation it gave them, the patrons respected them, and the shady characters avoided the area.

Roger had made arrangements right after talking to Annamarie, and when he came in, he tipped the bartender and waiters a little extra for holding his favorite booth for him. He liked to sit in the front corner. He felt it was the most private booth, being the farthest away from the bar, the waitress station, and the door to the kitchen. It also provided the best lighting for an intimate evening, and when he sat on the edge of the bench, he was able to see a majority of the room. Best seat in the house, in his opinion.

Roger put his drink back down on the smooth lacquer surface. He gazed across the table at Annamarie. She was perfect. Around five foot nine to his six foot two, she fit perfectly at his shoulder when he put his arms around her at their greeting. She was slightly overweight, but her build was pleasant to look at. He didn’t like skinny, dainty women. He wanted someone who could hold their own, who wouldn’t be intimidated or broken by his muscular build. She wore a plain dark purple V-neck shirt, black slacks, and an open business jacket. Her hair was pulled back in a relaxed ponytail. She wore a thin gold necklace with a teardrop pearl jewel at the nape of her neck. Her perfume was noticeable but not overpowering, and her makeup was natural, emphasizing her high cheekbones and dark brown eyes. She wore flats, which he thought was intriguing.

Annamarie gazed fondly across the table at her date. His startlingly blue eyes and quick smile had attracted her the first time she laid eyes on him. His easy personality and gentleness only cemented that feeling. She liked him.

The pleasure has been all mine, he replied.

Even though they had just met, they were both comfortable with the other and talked like they were old friends. The conversation had been easy as they drank, danced, and laughed the night away.

She’s the one, Roger thought, and although they hadn’t talked about moving in together, he entertained the idea.

Annamarie looked at her watch and grimaced at the time—almost one. The bar would be closing soon, and she needed to get home.

I’ve had a wonderful evening, Roger. Thank you for the drinks.

Annamarie stood, and they embraced. She started walking unsteadily toward the door. Roger came after her.

Are you sure you are going to be able to make it home? he asked with a little concern in his voice.

I’ll be fine. I’m just going to take a walk first and clear my head. If I’m not feeling better, then I’ll take a cab. I’ll call you when I get home, okay?

If you are sure, he replied hesitantly. One thing he had learned from his mother was how to treat a lady. He knew when to be more assertive and when to back off. He respected her enough to let her make her own decision and wanted her to not think of him as overbearing if he forced the issue. Her independence was not an area of debate, and he hadn’t been invited home. He didn’t like it but could see that her mind was made up.

She smiled at him and nodded. I’m sure.

Okay, he replied. He turned and walked into the parking lot next to the building and got into his car. He intended on taking a wide trip around the block and then subtly following her home to make sure she made it. She watched him start the engine and waved at him as he pulled away.

It was a cool night; the autumn leaves were just starting to fall off the trees and sprinkled the sidewalk. The slight nip in the air was enough to make her pull her coat tightly around herself. There were a few people leaving the bar and a couple walking toward her. She half walked, half stumbled her way down the sidewalk. She was in her own head, thinking about the evening they had and how much she liked Roger. She hadn’t realized how tipsy she felt, and she nearly fell over when she turned the corner. She caught herself on the streetlamp and had to wait for the dizziness to pass before proceeding.

So much for that. No more Sex on the Beach for me. Well, maybe, just not the drink. She laughed to herself. This is so stupid. She pointed ahead of her. I can’t even walk that way. She paused. There’s no way I’m driving home.

She reached for something that wasn’t there and stumbled again. She was able to catch herself before she fell, laughing at herself again. Good thing I’m not in heels. Maybe I need to wait a little more.

She stopped trying and looked up at the stars. It was a clear night, and she thought they were beautiful. She just wished they would stop moving around.

All of a sudden, she felt an arm wrap around her waist, pinning her right arm next to her body and a moist cloth pushed against her nose and mouth. The sickly sweet smell made her gag when she took a deep breath to try and scream. She struggled against the person holding her but was uncoordinated and not able to get her free arm to do what she wanted it to do.

What’s happening? Her vision started to fade and her legs felt weak. What’s… Her mind fought wildly against it, but the darkness poured in and she fell into the firm form behind her.

Chapter 2

Day 2

Wow, my head hurts.

The throbbing and pounding of her head was more than her usual hangover.

Maybe that drink was stronger than I thought it was. What was in it again? I can’t remember. It’s way too early for this thinking thing.

Annamarie tried to open her eyes but had to close them right away. The world was just too bright to look at, and her body felt too heavy to move.

She waited for the pain from being blinded to subside. Her head was a pounding relentless bass drum thumping to her heartbeat. It eased up slowly, slightly. She went to rub her face, but the attempt rewarded her with a sharp pain to her wrist, so she stopped and left her arm where it was on the bed.

A soft moan escaped her lips.

I wonder if I ended up pulling it when stopping myself from falling, or maybe slept on it wrong. She twisted her right wrist and heard a faint jingle that she dismissed. Strange that it only hurts when I try to move it. And what is that smell? It’s awful. Did I puke on the floor? How did I get home? And why am I cold? Did I kick the covers off?

She sat still for a few more minutes before cracking her eyes a sliver, trying to look around. Patches in the white ceiling where the popcorn had been removed reflected the sunlight into the room. She peered at it, thinking that she was dreaming.

That’s not right, her mind thought, but she couldn’t remember the thought as it quickly passed. She blinked a few times, her eyes adjusting to the glare. Her head drifted left, letting her take in the source of the light through partial lids.

Her eyes landed on the far wall. The empty solitary double-paned window centered on the far side was coated in a film of dirt, and a large crack ran through the lower left corner of the bottom pane. The olive green paint around the boarder of the window was flaking, and the stained bird wallpaper was peeling in sections revealing small swaths of gold wallpaper beneath it. There were no lights on, but the daylight illuminated the area well. There was a chill in the air.

This isn’t my house. Her mind whispered, but she didn’t understand it. This isn’t my house, her mind said again and through the fog of her headache she started to become aware. This isn’t my house!

It was like being slapped and suddenly she was fully awake. It’s just a dream. This is just a dream. This can’t be real.

Panic welled up in her chest as she opened her eyes wide and took in the scene. It looked to be a bedroom of some kind, grungy brown carpet, a few pieces of clothing discarded on the floor with a broken doll staring accusingly at her. Half protruding out of the closet looked to be the top portion of a metal daybed. The pungent air tasted like a mixture of musty age, urine, and old feces, like someone had left the dog inside for too long or forgot to clean out the litter box for a month. The air was stagnant, and there was a faint smell of cigarettes and vomit. She was lying on a mattress on the wall farthest from the window, her head facing into the room while positioned on her back.

She turned her head toward the wall on her right and saw red letters scribbled on the peeling paper. AU space, ND space, R. She stared at it for a moment, temporarily forgetting her situation.

What does that mean?

She lifted her head off the bed and felt pressure on her neck that startled and choked her. She dropped her head back onto the bed where it was easier to breathe, and the panic returned. What the hell? What was that? She tried to lift her right hand off the bed and felt the sharp pain again on her wrist. This time, the faint rattle of metal fully registered.

What is going on? She tried to lift her left arm off the bed and felt the same sharp pain cutting into her wrist. What is going on? She tried to pull her legs up and felt the same pain to her ankles. She was trapped. Her mind started racing, panic settling heavily on her. What is going on? Where am I? Who did this to me? What do they want? This can’t be happening to me!

Hello? she called out and heard her voice crack and fall flat in the room. She cleared her throat and called louder. Hello? Is anyone there? The silence ate her words and offered no comfort. Hello? she screamed as she started thrashing about on the bed. The old bed frame squeaked in protest, and her wrists and ankles screamed in pain.

Hello! Hello! Anyone? Help me! Help me!

She thrashed and yelled until her voice was hoarse and her wrists and ankles burned. She lay panting, staring up at the ceiling. Help me, she whispered as a tear ran down her face into her ear. She tried to curl into a ball and felt resistance to all her limbs.

Aaaaaahhhhh! she wailed in frustration. She cried quietly, turning her head to keep more tears from getting into her ears.

What is going to happen to me? Why was I so stubborn? Why didn’t I just ask for a ride home? Why did I have to drink last night? Who would do this? What is Roger thinking? What will he do when I don’t call? The last guy I dated waited three days before he called me. Does he know that I’m missing? Does anyone know? What day is it? Sunday? I won’t be missed at work until Monday. No, wait, my office is closed pending investigation. I won’t be missed. No one knows I’m gone! What am I going to do? What…am…I…going…to…do?

Annamarie cried herself back to sleep, buried with the despair of the futility of her efforts.

*****

The sun is shining warm on my skin. A gentle sea breeze blows just enough to keep my hair back off my face. My feet are in the sand, granules filtering between my toes, soft and comfortable. I smell the salty sea air and breathe deeply. I hear the seagulls calling to one another, vying for scraps from other people on the beach’s lunches. I hear the waves breaking on the beach and the excited laughter of children playing. It’s a perfect day. Not too hot, not too cold, not too crowded, but not alone. No clouds in the sky to block my sun. I walk forward into the surf and feel the cool water lapping around my ankles. A dog barks, drawing my attention away from the ocean.

I turn my head to the right and see people playing, resting, and enjoying the day. As I watch, their skin starts to flake away, blood drains down their faces, but they don’t notice it. They melt into puddles that are absorbed by the sand. I turn to leave, and the sand wraps around my feet, preventing me from moving. I start to struggle and sink farther into the sand. The water is rising, up past my knees, my hips, my chest, and finally over my head. My lungs burn with the salt water, and I continue to struggle. The light refracts in from overhead.

*****

Someone is touching me.

Light pressure started on the top of her head and moved down one side, tracing her cheek on the right. It was a gentle touch, a lover’s touch.

Roger? Wait! Wait!

She woke with a start, jerking and causing her extremities to remind her they were still bound with something hard and biting.

Hmm, a male voice uttered. A rough feeling black gloved hand seen only for a moment was pulled out of view.

Who’s there? Annamarie called, twisting her head and arching her back, trying to turn her head enough to see. Whatever is holding her neck restricts her airway, and she is forced to turn back and look at the patchy popcorn ceiling.

Who are you? What do you want from me?

A light pressure exerted on the top of her head, on, off, on, off. Is he patting my head? She cringed away from him, trying to move out of his reach. What are you doing? His hands touched her shoulders from the direction of the head of her bed. Firm but gentle pressure held them down on the bed, and she felt herself flushing. Don’t touch me! she said while trying unsuccessfully to squirm out from under the weight he put on her. The pressure released on her right shoulder, moving his hand to the right and along her right deltoid area, glove sliding easily along the smooth silky material. She felt dirty and small.

Stop it! Leave me alone! She struggled harder, and he released her. She closed her eyes and listened as the echo of footsteps walked away and a hollow reverberating sound like someone heavy going downstairs sounded until there was nothing left but silence. Annamarie stopped holding her breath, sighed in relief, and relaxed back into the bed.

How dare he touch me without my permission! Who does he think he is? What was he doing? It was like he was measuring something. If Roger knew about this, he would be livid. He would show that pig what it means to respect someone. I can’t believe he dared to touch me like that. He won’t get away with this.

She lay in bed fuming until her temper calmed down and she realized she was alone again with her thoughts.

This sucks. What am I supposed to do? At least my headache is better.

She sighed and turned her head to look out the window, trying to see anything out there besides blue sky and the occasional branch waving into and out of the pane in the wind. Most of the leaves on that branch had already fallen off, but one remained fluttering in the wind.

Look at that one, holding on for all it’s worth against the rages of the wind.

She shifted her body ever so slightly so as to relieve her aching muscles without angering her wrists and ankles. Her body was sore from not moving, but she didn’t want to aggravate her extremities any further. She shifted her wrists and felt some tightness to them and worried they were swollen. She twisted her head to the side and lifted her wrists to try and see what was holding her there. A band of silver metal adorned her wrist, the skin under it red and angry.

Great.

She stuck her tongue out and ran it over her lips to keep them from drying out and starting to crack. What I wouldn’t do for some Chap Stick or water right about now.

That was a bad idea.

Great. Now I have to pee.

She shifted farther on the bed to try and relieve the pressure, but it didn’t help.

Hello? she called out. She waited but there was no response. Hello? she called louder with the same answer.

This sucks. What am I supposed to do, pee myself? There was no answer. She fidgeted a little longer, but the need to go wasn’t going away.

Well, self, let’s see if we can figure this out. I know I can’t pull my ankles up more than to put my feet on the bed. My wrists can’t move in far enough to undo my pants. Maybe I can suck in my belly and try to worm them off.

Annamarie shifted her hips as far as she could to the right side, allowing her thumb to touch the outside of her right thigh. She adjusted her wrist as much as she could without hurting herself and managed to hook her thumb into the edge of her pocket after some effort.

Good! Great, now just have to pull down. Pull…down! The pressure pulled on her belly. Oh, that makes me need to go more. Hold it! Come on, pants, cooperate. Please!

She pulled as best she could on her pocket, but the pants weren’t budging. Frustrated, she shifted herself down as far as she could in bed until whatever was around her neck was cutting into the skin under her chin. With that, she was able to reach the top of her pants. She pulled against herself, trying to stretch the pant and possibly pop the button. She struggled, pulled, struggled, pulled, and finally was able to get the top shifted down partway onto her hip. She then picked herself up and moved to the left side of the bed. She was careful as she didn’t want the pants to slip back up on her hip. That would be awful. She moved and tried the same thing on the left side, struggling until she got the fabric wedged down a little onto her hip. Using this back-and-forth method and sucking in her belly as far as it would go with every attempt, she managed to get her pants and underwear down to her upper thigh. Using her body weight and pushing into the bed, she slid up against the bed and her pants pulled down enough to be out of the way.

Ha! she said out loud, startling herself with the break in the silence. Did it! Okay, now what?

She looked and felt around as best as she could but found nothing to urinate in. The bed had no linens, there was no clothing on the bed, there were no pots or cups to try and go in.

Damn. Now what? Think. I don’t want to lie in it, maybe if I shift myself to one side? Oh, I have to go so bad! If I don’t hurry up, I won’t have a choice. Just pick one. Okay. Left. I’ll go on the left.

She moved her buttocks as far to the left as she could, pulling against the right ankle and wrist and tightening the band around her neck.

I hope that’s far enough.

She turned her pride off and relieved herself. She felt the warmth spread under her and start to soak into the mattress.

This is so embarrassing and disgusting. I can’t even wipe. How could he make me do this? I can’t believe it. At least I’m not on my period. That would be awful to sit in.

When she was done, she scooted herself as far to the right as she could, again extending her arm and leg as far as they would go. To her dismay, it wasn’t quite far enough, and her left hip ended up partially on the wet puddle.

Ugh. It’s so gross. Guess I had to go more than I thought I did.

The smell of fresh urine mixed with the old permeated the air, and she hated herself for it. She hadn’t wet the bed since she was little and potty training.

Now I don’t just get to smell it, I have to lie in it too. At least I didn’t have to do more. She paused.

Her eyes widened, thinking about lying next to or in her own feces or falling asleep and accidentally rolling into it or shifting into it by accident before it fully dried. The thought made her want to vomit.

What will happen then? I can’t sit in my own poop. That is just too much. How long does that take to dry anyway? When that guy comes back, I’m going to demand he do something else. Give me a bell or something to call him, and he will have to take me to the bathroom. He’ll do that. Sure he will, won’t he? Yeah, yeah, he will. Of course he will. He isn’t a monster. Probably just down on his luck, looking for a quick payout. He must have my purse somewhere. It had $40 in it, along with my credit card. I wonder what he is waiting for. Was it not enough? Did he send Roger a ransom? How much did he ask for?

She sat in silence, milling over the situation, waiting for the urine to dry so she could move back into the middle of the bed and pull her pants up. She felt so exposed.

At least the room temperature warmed up from when I first woke up. That would’ve been awful sitting in