Jason Pinter - The Stolen

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."

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 inserting 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 had been disinfected of humanity.

I looked around. Didn't see anything.

Then I went to the other door. Stopped in front of it.

This one was different. It was painted white like the others, but the paint seemed duller. I touched the surface, immediately recoiled. The other doors were wooden. This one was metal. And I knew right away that one of the keys on my chain would open the dead bolt.

I thrust the key inside, got it on the first twist, but then froze when I heard someone coming up the stairs.

The lock unlatched and I pushed the door open.

And then I was standing in what looked like the dream room of any young girl. There were toys everywhere.

Coloring books. A large dollhouse filled with tiny furniture. Tapes and CDs and games were stacked high in a corner. Pink wallpaper, and every book a child could ever want to read. And there, sitting on a made bed, her face a mess of fright and relief, was Amanda.

She jumped up and threw her arms around my chest. I winced as she pressed on the cigarette burn, then took her arm and said, "We need to go. Right now."

Then I noticed something. On the floor. A small scrap of paper. I picked it up, unfolded it. It was a receipt. It was from a store called Toyz 4 Fun. I clenched my jaw. At that moment I knew where we were. I knew what this house was.

Panic welled inside me as I shoved the receipt into my pocket, grabbed Amanda's hand as we went for the door, still slightly ajar. I heard someone running down the hall, shouting, "Ray, where the hell are you, buddy?"

I waited until the footsteps were right outside, then I slammed the heavy metal door closed as hard as I could.

There was an audible oomph as whoever was on the other side was knocked flat off his feet.

I flung open the door and ran past, my heart hammering when I saw that the man I'd just knocked down had a gun in his right hand.

We sprinted downstairs and toward the front door.

Turned the knob. It was locked. One more key left.

I inserted the last key in the lock, let out a breath when it caught, then turned the handle and opened the door to the outside.

As soon as we stepped onto the front porch, Amanda let out a bloodcurdling scream. There was a body in the driveway. It was lying in a pool of blood. The beard gave it away. It was Dmitri Petrovsky, and he was very dead.

"Run!" I shouted.

We ran down the driveway, and I recognized that we were in the exact same place that we'd cornered Petrovsky. The high brick walls and trees obscured the view beyond the house. There was nobody to hear us scream.

We sprinted around the bend, wind whistling past us, and saw the metal gates up ahead.

They were closed. And I had no keys left.

When we reached the brick wall, I knelt down, cupped my hands and said, "Climb on."

Amanda stepped onto my hands.

"One, two, three. "

I heaved up as she jumped. Her hands caught the rim of the wall. I pushed from below as Amanda pulled herself up, managing to straddle her legs across the wall.

"Come on!" she shouted.

Just as I got ready to jump, I heard a loud bang and a chunk of brick exploded right beside me.

"Come on, Henry, they're shooting at us!"

I jumped up, managed to get hold of the wall. Amanda gripped my wrists and began to pull. I got a small foothold in the chunk of wall that'd been blown out, then pushed off and hoisted myself up. Another shot rang out, and brick flew apart right where my foot had been.

We toppled over the wall, landed on the other side in a tangled mess. I leaped to my feet, helped Amanda up.

Then we ran as fast as we could, until the woods swallowed us.

We arrived panting at the road we'd turned off of when we followed Petrovsky. Huntley Terrace. It was dark out.

I had no idea where we were or what day it was.