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Natasha knew she’d seen his face before, but still, she needed to ask, “Who are you and where are we going?” Her heart sank. She knew she was in deeper trouble than before. He didn’t speak a word to her.
After their fight, Baxter tied her hands and feet with some sort of rope and at one point placed tape over her mouth. Natasha bit, kicked, and clawed at him until he hit her with something and it felt like someone snapped her lifeline.
She vaguely remembered him carrying her up the stairs after he tossed her over his shoulder like a bag of old laundry. She peeked at him sleeping. His flat stomach barely moved up and down, but she could hear the light snoring through his barely cracked lips.
She relaxed her arms and pulled her knees up towards her stomach. Her ribs and hips were throbbing from being tossed on the floor. This can’t be my life. Kidnapped twice in a lifetime. Who does this happen too? Natasha knew with her body throbbing she would have to use her intellect to escape. She raised her head trying to take in her surroundings.
After what seemed like hours, he awakened. He sat up on the floor, rubbed his eyes and looked over at Natasha.
“How long you been up?”
“Long enough to have to pee.” Natasha was beginning to get fed up with men asking her stupid questions.
“How long do you plan on keeping me?” She didn’t care, she wanted to make conversation until she could figure out how to escape. She watched as he stood up. He smelled of day-old dog poop; her stomach rolled when he picked her up off the floor and sat her on her feet.
He reached back and grabbed an old wooden chair. “Sit down.”
She stared down at the chair. She bounced from one leg to the other. “I have to pee.”
He turned her to face him completely and pulled her close to him. He puffed out his chest and said, “you wanna hop, or you wanna walk. Either way is fine with me.” He sucked his teeth and gave her a large grin.
Repulsed Natasha’s head rocked back. His tiny dark eyes, a chunky round face, and leathery brown skin made him look deranged in this setting. The large rimmed black glasses dropped a little on his face. She dropped down into the chair. Natasha watched as he loosened the ropes tied around her ankles.
“Where are we?”
“You full of questions, huh? Come on.” He grabbed her by her arm and pulled her to her feet. “Let’s go.”
Natasha kept her eyes on every room as they walked through the large old house. The old wide plank floors were covered with decades-old dirt. She could tell from the high dust-covered windows that they were upstairs. The outside appeared to be surrounded by trees. She wondered how far away was the next house.
“Hurry up.” Natasha watched as his grimy fingers turned the knob to the door allowing it to fling open.
“Go head.”
She fought the urge to throw up. “What?” Anger rose up in her. “At least turnaround.”
“Why, we gonna get to know one another pretty good.”
Natasha stepped into the cramped space, the smell of urine radiated throughout the room. The nauseating odor filled her nostrils. She went and stood in front of the darkly stained toilet, “Please turn around. I’m not going anywhere.” She watched as he stepped back over the threshold and turned his back to her.
Natasha reached over and slammed the door shut. And braced her body against it. Natasha felt the door shake from him hitting it.
“Open the door,” he yelled. Again, he slammed his fist against the door.
“Didn’t your momma teach you any manners. Wait until I come out.” Natasha crept over to the bathtub and peered behind the rotted shower curtain praying for a window.
He pounded on the door harder.
Sewer gas wafted through the large hole in the bathtub. Natasha banged on the wall hoping a window was behind the old beadboard. Nothing. She stepped out of the tub and over to the toilet relieving herself. She looked around for paper, seeing none she pulled up her clothes and snatched the door open. “You have somewhere for me to wash my hands.”
After several seconds she felt him snatch her by both of her shoulders. Her teeth clattered together, and her head bobbed back and forth. Now she understood shaken baby syndrome. “Baxter, stop.” She screamed.
He stuck a bony finger to her nose, “Don’t try that again.”
“Baxter,” she dropped her voice several octaves. “Where are we? Take me home. Please.”
He led her back to the room with the chair and the rope. He picked up the rope and tied her hands together. He directed her downstairs into the kitchen and tied her to one of the chairs near the table.
He opened the refrigerator and pulled out a carton of eggs. “Do you miss your dad?”
Natasha rolled her eyes and glanced up at the ceiling.
“I miss my dad.” He hunched his shoulders.
“I mean... I miss everything a boy should miss from his father.”
“What do you want.”
He avoided her gaze. “Do you ever miss your father?”
“I was little when he died. But yea. I miss him every day.”
“My dad promised me I could kill him if he stepped foot on our property.”
“Who?”
“A week before your dad was killed. He came to my parents’ house. He squeezed the carton of eggs in his hands. One of our neighbors called the police... something about hearing yelling, screaming and fighting.”
Natasha watched as his eyes developed a haunted look. “Out of nowhere comes your dad. He picks up my dad and slams him across the room.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Mother was over in the corner...screaming.” He shook his head and squeezed the carton harder. “She’d said or did something to daddy to make him hit her. She always did something.”
“What, what are you saying.” Natasha frantically rubbed the ropes trying to get them loose.
His eyes grew cold...hard. “Your daddy handcuffed him. Told him if he ever hit her again, he’d hunt him down and make him pay.”
A chill ran down Natasha's spine. Egg goo dripped from the sides of the carton. Baxter kept squeezing.
He stepped back from the table and shuddered “He took him to jail.” He laughed. “Daddy came home a few days later cursing, ranting and kicking holes in the walls.” His laughs chirped with a high pitch sound. “Momma was scared then, but she didn’t make a sound.”
Fighting away her fear Natasha glared at him. “Shut up. Shut up.” She screamed.
A smile tugged at his lips. “Daddy said he was going to take care of the gun toting, Jesus lover for once and for all.”
Natasha glanced around the kitchen for a weapon. Unable to control her emotions, “What did your low life wife beating daddy do?”
He scrunched up his face “He said I could kill him. He’d been teaching me to shoot for weeks.” He said after he had finished dealing with momma, he was sure to show up. And he did. No sooner than he got momma in that corner yelling and screaming again. Sure enough, he came flying around that corner with sirens blaring. The thunder and lightning vibrated through the sky.” He laughed, clapped his hands and danced around the room.
Hot tears ran down Natasha’s face.
“Daddy waited until he got out of the car.” He flapped his hands. “Daddy gave him a fair chance, can’t say he didn’t.” Deep in thought and shaking his head, he repeated his last words, “can't say he didn’t.” He jumped around and flapped his hands again.
Natasha coughed trying to catch her breath, hearing about the night her father was killed was tearing her apart.
“Daddy swung the front door open in all that rain and fired out a shot. Momma screamed so loud, the whole house shook.”
Natasha suppressed the urge to run over and wrap the rope binding her hands around his neck. She felt her body trembling and her knees buckling.
He squeezed his hands into fists... “Daddy slammed the front door closed and went over to momma and shot her. Oooh wee.” He giggled. Panic briefly slid across his face as he continued to describe that night. “He grabbed onto momma and began to cry. He stood up and then shot himself.”
Natasha watched Baxter pace back and forth like a madman, the rest of his story became a blur. He slammed down the carton of eggs in his hand and reached into the refrigerator and pulled out another container. He laid them on the counter beside the well-worn stove. Turning to face her he said, “I was supposed to kill him, it was my job.
All your dad had to do was stay away, but no, he needed to be the best cop on the beat. The superhero to everyone in town. After everything had died down, I was sent out here to live with my disgusting old grandparents.” He gritted his teeth and yelled at her.
“Do you know what I went through? Look at me, look at me,” he shook his fist in her face and sat down in the chair next to her. He sighed loudly and continued his rant. “A few days later my grandfather came into this very kitchen and smacked me in the face with the newspaper. On the front page was a picture of you in your mother’s arms at the funeral.” He stood up and began pacing the floor again. “The article went on for pages and pages filled with stories and accolades about how great a policeman your father was. I knew right then; I had to make this grave injustice right. Why should you live?” The more he talked the angrier and filled with rage he became. His chest rose and fell with rapid breaths; sweat beaded his forehead. Spit flew out of his mouth with every word. “I thought long and hard about how I was going to kill you. Then I realized you were worth more to me alive.”