Home Isn't Home, Anymore

1

I was putting my key in the door of my car when he covered my mouth with his hand, shoving me into the side of the car. Brandishing a knife in front of my face, he said, “One sound, and you're dead.” I remember that initially I tensed with fear and shock. I felt the urge to resist, but I reasoned that the risk of death was too great.2

“Hands behind your back,” he told me. He bound my wrists with what I would later learn was a plastic tie. He led me to the passenger side of my car and set me in the passenger seat with my seat belt fastened tightly. He locked the door and I wasn't able to reach the lock or open the door. He got into the driver's seat.3

From his pocket he produced a pair of dark glasses that had cotton glued to the inside. He put them on me and I was unable to see. I heard the car start and felt the motion as it moved. Ironically, he turned on the CD player, which began playing my favorite disk. Apparently he liked it as well.4

“What do you want with me?” I had asked him.5

“I want you to love me.”6

“And you think that this is the way to get me to love you?”7

“In time, you'll come to love me,” he insisted.8

“Where are you taking me?”9

“To your new home.”10

He drove for a couple of hours. I'd been trying not to pee for about thirty minutes. Holding it in was becoming painful. “I've got to go to the bathroom,” I told him nearly crying.11

“Go ahead,” he said with no apparent sympathy.12

“Can't you stop some place?”13

“No,” came his simple reply.14

Realizing it was pointless to struggle any longer, I allowed my bladder to release. The urine was warm as it ran along my jeans and soaked the seat. Quickly it seemed to turn cold.15

He noticed I had pissed myself and said, “Sorry”.16

About an hour later or so, we came to a stop and he turned off the engine. I heard what I guessed to be the garage door closing. Then he opened my door and helped me out of the car. He led me to what turned out to be a small room with a twin bed, a small chest, a television with a remote, and a plastic bucket. There were no windows. 17

As I stood looking at my new home, my hands still tied behind my back, he unbuttoned my pants, pulled off my shoes and socks, and then slipped off my panties and jeans. Oddly I felt no embarrassment. “I'll wash these,” he explained.18

I regarded the man who had kidnapped me. He was not unattractive. Sandy hair, blue eyes, a couple of inches more than six feet, and about twice my weight. At this point he made no effort to molest me. He asked my sizes and left locking the door behind himself. About two hours later he returned with new clothing, five shirts, five pairs of panties, five pairs of shorts, and a six pack of white socks, all new. My hands were still bound behind me, but I'd managed to turn on the television with its remote. 19

He laid me face down on the twin bed, cut the plastic tie, pulled my t-shirt off and removed my bra. I was completely naked. He retied my hands and led me to the bathroom and into the shower. He bathed me quite thoroughly.20

“Why are you doing this?” I asked him when we returned to the room where I was to be held captive for six months.21

“I told you. I want you to love me.”22

He locked the door and tried to kiss me, I tried to resist. He put me on the bed and began to remove his clothing.23

“Why'd you choose me?” I asked.24

“You're beautiful.”25

I had always thought of myself as attractive, even sexy based on media standards.26

“You're handsome, why don't you just go out and date some pretty girl?”27

“I've always had a hard time with girls. I don't know how to talk to them.”28

“You are doing fine with me.”29

“But that's because you have to.”30

Realizing he intended to have sex with me, one way or another, I capitulated. “If you'll use condoms, I'll cooperate. I don't want to get pregnant.” He grinned and put his clothing back on. He was gone for about fifteen minutes and returned with a box of prophylactics. He cut the restraint and we had sex. We talked for a while and I cuddled with him. I didn't know if I pitied or hated him more.31

When I was alone and not watching television or listening to music, I would think about my family, my friends, and especially my boyfriend, Mitchell. I missed him dearly. I wondered what they all thought. They probably thought I was dead. There was no reason I would have left on my own. I missed them so much.32

As time passed, Jerry, my kidnapper and rapist, would let me join him in the other parts of the house. At first he bound my wrists, but later he would let me walk around the house freely. He had security bars on the windows, which designed to keep people out, also kept me in. The locks on the doors all required the key he wore around his neck. There seemed no escape, but the extra freedom was appreciated. 33

He would fix me anything I wanted to eat or let me cook. If there was a book or a movie I wanted, he'd get it. I had everything I needed but my freedom.34

We had sex daily. Sometimes more than once a day. He worked, but when he was working, I was confined to my room, my jail cell. The plastic bucket was in case I had to go while I was locked in the room.35

Jerry always treated me gently, and except for being his prisoner, he seemed to deeply love and respect me. I still hated him, or so I thought.36

One afternoon, toward the end of it all, he said, “You hate me, don't you?”37

I thought for several moments before I answered him. I certainly didn't want to make him angry, but somehow I didn't think anything I told him would make him angry. In fact, I really doubted he'd hurt me. It occurred to me then that he loved me too much to hurt me.38

“What do you expect? I've been here long enough for you to know that you can't make me love you.”39

“But we have sex,” he argued.40

“Yes, but sex is all it is.”41

“Not to me.”42

I was silent.43

“You really hate being here?” he stated more than asked.44

I was still quiet.45

“Okay,” he continued. “Tomorrow, I'll set you free.”46

“Really,” I said, not fully realizing what it would mean to be free again.47

“Really.” He locked me back in the room.48

The next afternoon, he bound my wrists behind me and put the dark glasses back on me. He drove me in my car for about two hours. I could see nothing. He stopped and pulled to the side of a deserted dirt road. “I'm going to drive down the road for about a mile,” he said. “I'll leave your car there.”49

He cut the tie and removed the glasses. He stuck them in his pocket. “Get out,” he told me. “I'll always love you, Tori.”50

I got out of my car and he turned around and drove away. That was the last I saw of him. I assumed he had previously parked his car near where he left mine, or had somebody help him, who was driving another vehicle.51

When I discovered where I was, I found I was about a hundred miles from my home.52

When I got back, the first thing I did was go to my parents. I told them what had happened. My parents and brother seemed to be very glad to see me, but there was something different. Maybe it was they felt I was somehow tainted. Maybe it was that having given me up for dead, perhaps it was hard to really love me as much as they had before, or they may have had an underlying fear that I might disappear again. 53

I reported the kidnapping and rape to the police and gave a very detailed description of the man to the police. I told them that we had driven by my guess about four hours. They dusted my car for prints, but the results were negative.54

My boyfriend, Michell, had himself a new girlfriend. We discussed it. “I can't break up with Beverly now, it wouldn't be right.”55

“But we were going to get married,” I said in appeal.56

“I thought you were dead,” he continued. “It was hard, but I had to move on.”57

I felt that the biggest problem was that he felt after knowing what had happened to me that I was damaged goods. That somehow it was my fault. That I should have been able to get away quicker, possibly he felt I should have never let it happen in the first place. I wondered if he felt it would have been better if I had died. Well, I was alive and I intended to live, damn it!58

My parents had collected my things from my apartment and stored them in our garage. I soon realized I couldn't live at home, and moved out. The position at my place of employment had been filled, but I found another job quickly.59

Jerry kept coming to me in my thoughts, but they were no longer thoughts of fear, anger, or hatred. I missed him. As much as I hated admitting it to myself, I missed his gentle ways, how deeply he'd listen to me no matter what I might say, and the obvious respect and love he had for me. I began to hope that I would see him again, but I knew no way to find him and the police seemed to be unable to locate him, either.60

After six months, I moved to a city that was about four hours from my hometown. I tried to tell myself that I just wanted a change, but I knew I was hoping to see Jerry again. 61

Time still passes and no Jerry. I date occasionally, but the dates never lead to anything serious. It's as though my heart doesn't belong to me. They say, “Time heals,” I can only hope they're right.62