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Chapter 8: 212 Degrees
Part 1: Sophie
A whole week had passed since the last ‘gift’, and Sophie was getting anxious. Vic had grilled her twice about every relationship in her life, from Mrs. Striker to her first date with a college campus ministry friend (which had ended rather awkwardly with her dad rescuing them from a flat tire disaster, and the romance had fallen as flat as the tire). Vic wouldn’t reveal if he had any suspicions. He also wouldn’t tell her if he’d gotten any more news from the fingerprints collected at her car except to say the fingerprints on the rock matched one set from her apartment.
She just wanted the whole mess to be over and done with. Why couldn’t real life be like a cop show? 40 minutes from crime to a neat and tidy arrest. If that were reality, they’d have caught her stalker four times over by now. TV in no way resembled the lack of answers and movement she witnessed in real life.
Sophie had just enough awareness to realize it was quite possible Vic knew more than he was telling her. Keeping info to himself made sense. If Sophie didn’t know who might be a suspect, there was no way to insert herself into the situation and get into trouble – like the silly girls on those crime dramas.
The upside to the angst? Sam took her out to dinner or cooked for her at his parents’ house every night he wasn’t working, which had been 4 of the last 7. As tempted as she was to dwell on the anxiety of her situation, she spent far more time thinking about Sam. She caught herself daydreaming at work instead of working on the New Albany project (they had been awarded the proposal the week before). She struggled to remember all he was teaching her about self-defense, even as she religiously carried her pepper spray everywhere.
Daydreaming was at the top of her Friday evening to-do list as she sat at home, wishing Sam hadn’t had to work the night shift. He promised to stop by with takeout at 8 to have a late dinner with her before reporting in at 10, so at least there was something to look forward to. In the mean time and between time, Sophie challenged herself to make a refrigerator ‘cookie’ recipe she had found. She figured as long as she didn’t turn on the oven, she’d be safe.
Chocolate chips and peanut butter were melting in the microwave while she measured oats and crisp rice cereal into a bowl. She was not at all ready for the knock on the door that surprised her into scattering oats on the counter. As she scurried to the door, a distinctive popping noise told her the chocolate, peanut butter, or both were exploding across the roof of the microwave. With a sigh of resignation to the mess, she dusted off her hands and checked the peephole.
She could tell it was a man, but nothing about him was familiar. He looked down, so she could see brown hair with streaks of silver at the temples. The peephole was too small to make out anything else.
“Delivery for Sophie Lane?” the man called, his voice gruff like a smoker. She heard the sound of a plastic bag shuffling.
“From whom?” Sophie asked, then second-guessed herself. Should she have pretended not to be home? But the door was so thin the man had probably heard not only her approach but also the microwave beeping.
“Chen’s,” the man replied, naming the Chinese restaurant down the street. Come to think of it, Sam had mentioned Chen’s as one of their options for dinner tonight. Perhaps he had ordered ahead?
Satisfied with the logic of that idea, she released the chain and flipped the deadbolt. She opened the door just far enough to accept the food, keeping one foot behind it.
The second the delivery man raised his head, she realized her mistake. Hindsight being 20/20, she should have told him to leave the food. Unfortunately, that was no longer an option.
The man was wearing a mask. His ‘hair’, a wig on top of a balaclava, slid off and hit the ground the moment he reached for her. She barely had time to squeak in surprise before one of his gloved hands covered her mouth and another pushed her back inside her apartment. He slammed the door with his foot and pinned her to the wall. God, help me!
She tried to fight back; really, she tried. But in all the time talking about self-defense and the one time they had practiced, she’d never been so terrified. Her whole body shook as she looked into crushing emotion-less eyes. Whoever this man was, he had no soul and no compassion.
Sophie managed to yank one arm free in her mindless flailing. She heard a gratifying grunt as her fist came close to a tender area. Victory was short-lived, though. Before she knew it, he had her face pressed against the wall as he bound her wrists behind her back.
“Who are you? What do you want?” she tried to yell, but her voice came out breathy and high. Fear crushed her lungs.
The man said nothing, just tied a strip of cloth as a gag around her mouth, then dropped a hood over her head.
If she had been frightened before, this was the definition of sheer terror. She couldn’t move, speak, fight, or see. Every sense was dulled and hampered in some way, and all she wanted was someone to save her.
Wait a minute! She still had her legs free. She picked up one foot and started indiscriminately stomping, hoping to hit one of his. Unfortunately, he either had good reflexes or he saw it coming, because all her foot met was her own carpeting.
When he grabbed one of her arms and yanked open the door, she let her body turn to a noodle and tried to drop all her weight on the floor. All that earned her was a sore rear as she hit the floor, followed by a harsh blow to the side of her head. Seeing stars, the man yanked her to her feet.
She had nothing left. Adrenaline had shocked her body, and she shook from head to toe. She couldn’t do any of the maneuvers she and Sam had discussed. She didn’t have her pepper spray. Her hands were bound so she couldn’t reach her phone.
Oh, thank you, Jesus! God bless Sam for teaching her to always have her phone on her person, even at home. The little device was in her back pocket, hidden beneath the oversized hoodie from her brother’s college football days. All she would need was some time to herself and mind-bending flexibility, and maybe she could do that fancy location-sharing thing Sam had taught her. Long stretch, but she had hope.
The man marched her down the stairs, holding tight so she didn’t fall. She listened carefully for the sounds of any other humans, but nothing met her ears. Come to think of it, though, she hadn’t heard her door shut. A little glowing light of hope lit in her belly. Sam will see the open door and know.
There was little oxygen to feed the flame of hope, though, when she was hoisted into a tall vehicle and driven away from her home.