An old short story written about two decades ago.
“I don’t think this could get any worse.”
“Don’t ever come back to me. It’s… already too late…”
It was as if he knew what the outcome would be. I heard him say those words before he walked out of my life forever. I never knew him—only for half a day, not even half a day, now that I remember it—yet it seemed like a lifetime. Who was he? All his life he was an outsider “a freak” and for once, I made him feel human…someone who was part of the living. He never expressed much emotion toward me, except anger and regret…yet there was another side to him that was mysterious to even himself.
It all started one day at the park.
“Now children, I don’t want you wondering off on your own. We’re only going to be here for a short time, but I want you to have a fun experience, okay. Does anyone have any questions?” asked an elderly woman. She had a white hood over her head and was dressed in black from head to toe.
My class and I were on a field trip to Azeala Park—it was the second largest park in the world that had exotic gardens growing in one big area. The park was located in a rural neighborhood; it was a place I was not familiar with and I couldn’t figure out the name for the life of me. None of my classmates really cared about the location, except the school district. The Judas Catholic School for Young Boys and Girls was home to thousands of children—I was all too familiar with the school system and I hated it with a passion. I figured it was because I knew a lot about my private school or whether being brainwashed was the key to my survival.
We were required to wear uniforms; mostly black and white checkered shirts, and olive green pants or skirts. The uniforms were so lame; I couldn’t tolerate it much longer—they were hideous to look at. Our uniforms were so uncomfortable to wear on a hot summer day. I believed that if my class stood long enough in the sun our uniforms would actually bake us, until we turned roasted brown. I was already tanned enough—any longer in the sun and I’d become one dark Mexican boy, which I was since birth.
A majority of the students in my Catholic school were white Caucasian kids. I was the single breed slightly tanner than the rest. Most people at first glance actually considered me white or mixed. From mere appearance, many assumed that I was not pure Hispanic. I’d often hear the same phrase from ignorant people about my race quite frequently—it was the same question that always offended me. To me, it was just plain rude to say such things about someone who was from a different ethnic background.
“Are you like that ‘cause your mother’s black and your father’s white?”
I’d usually gave them a blank look and say something like, “Are you like that ‘cause you’re a retard or what?”
That line always worked the best, since it shut people up in an instant. But soon after, I’d find myself in detention for calling someone a retard—or what the teachers call it now… as physically and mentally challenged.
It took the school bus about three hours to actually get to Azeala Park, not to mention how chaotic traffic was. After all, I did live in New York. It was boring to sit and watch nothing happen for practically three hours. Sister Ruth and Sister Concetta were our only parental guardians. It was really all Sister Ruth’s idea to visit the park. She was the one that wanted to try something different for a change—something educational for all of us.
I yawned in boredom as Sister Concetta lectured about the park’s history. She was a young woman with sapphire eyes and short blond hair, which she always hid beneath her white hood. I’ve only seen her hair once, when she was caught in the rain during a thunderstorm. Sister Concetta had arrived late for some reason—kids say she was praying on a bench, even though there was lightning outside. Why she was praying in the first place, I don’t have a clue. There were rumors around campus that Sister Concetta had a dreadful vision. When she entered our classroom, she took off her hood for a split second and that was it. Everyone in class was in shock, but no one dared say a word. Never again did I ever see her golden locks after that incident; I kind of felt sorry for her—she had such beautiful hair. Hair that lovely should never be tucked away or concealed. I don’t know how the nuns do it, but there’s no way I’ll do anything that extreme to prove my faith.
Sister Ruth, on the other hand was much older than Sister Concetta. She had been at The Judas Catholic School for Young Boys and Girls for almost thirty years. Her face was so wrinkly that you couldn’t see her eyes—they were narrow, almost Chinese looking. I wasn’t too sure about her ethnic background, but she could speak four languages.
Sister Ruth was known as the Language Arts teacher; she spoke French, German, Spanish, and Latin. She traveled a lot from Catholic school to Catholic school, talking about the gospel to other programmed children like myself. Everything to her was about brainwashing kids and telling everyone how much Jesus loves you. It was rather pathetic in my opinion—I was a child that had nothing to believe in. So, I was pretty much an easy target for someone, who was much wiser and more experienced in the art of persuasion.
I yawned in boredom as I scratched a piece of the itchy wool fabric on my skin. Today, we were learning about Earth Science. How boring.
“Now children, what is a biosphere?” Sister Concetta asked, glancing around for raised hands.
The class was dead, not a single soul lifted a finger—no one even coughed for that matter. Sister Ruth was rubbing her chin; she often did this when she was thinking…I thought maybe she knew the answer, but with that bewildered expression on her face, she didn’t know a damn thing.
Sister Concetta smiled meekly, “Okay, a biosphere simply means life on Earth.”
Everyone in class glimpsed at each other—it was kind of sad really that no one knew the answer to one simple question.
“Just remember children, that God created all life on Earth, alright. It’s very important for all of you to keep that in mind. We are all God’s children. Let’s come along now, no lagging behind.” Sister Concetta led us passed the park’s entrance where there were bronze gates.
I stared endlessly at the pointed black arrows and the rigid structure as if I was approaching through the gates of Hell. I didn’t know what to expect—I assumed that it was going to be one of those long days, where everything seemed to drag on.
“Ramos, don’t just stand there… move child.” Sister Ruth nudged me gently with one hand.
I sighed miserably and continued onward—I hated field trips, I wished that the rain would come and bring about a deadly thunderstorm, so I could just go home and go to bed. The park was beautiful to some of my classmates; I heard slight gasps of awe from their mouths as Sister Concetta taught us about the plant species living here. We saw all different kinds of trees, shrubs, and flowers. To me, all I could see was grass, tree, and more grass. I saw blaze flowers, which were cup-shaped scarlet blossoms in large clusters. They had dark green leathery leaves and they stood out clearly like a spotted zebra.
I saw goldenrods—they were yellow fuzzy flowers. They looked like dust brushes, until I saw a few Monarch butterflies hovering around them. There were even star shaped flowers. They were called blue-eyed grass, according to Sister Concetta. She was a fanatic about flowers and nature…I felt lost in all her ramblings. She knew exactly about which plants were what, where they came from, and how some of them were used for medicine and herbs.
“This is the Kalopanax. It is a genus of one species and it’s name means ‘seven-lobed leaves.’ Just be careful that you do not go near the plant, because its prickles are very sharp. This plant is native to China, Korea, and Eastern Russia and Japan.” Sister Concetta explained, going into fine details about a bush.
I couldn’t understand what the significant purpose was for growing a stupid bush that was native to China…who cared? I didn’t give a rat’s ass about what kind of plants were what; I wasn’t too thrilled about nature to begin with. Every time I went outside, it appeared as if nature was getting the better of me with its tiny pesky friends. I felt all itchy and I knew that next thing tomorrow, I’d find mosquito bites all over my legs and arms. I might’ve gotten poison ivy along with some contagious virus that could spread across the globe, killing millions.
I glanced over to my right and saw a small stream, the class was strolling along the white pavement as Sister Ruth and Sister Concetta guided us toward another major theme attraction. Sister Ruth said it was the main reason why the park was so popular. A famous person, who she didn’t even know the name, actually visited Azeala Park to see a rare blue rose that had been created in some greenhouse laboratory. I saw nothing but greenery everywhere we went. It was becoming obvious now that green was the main attraction—I didn’t see what was so interesting about this park, when fifty percent of the plant attractions you could easily find right in your own backyard.
I rubbed my head in frustration. It was a good thing for me that I didn’t have much hair, since my parents shaved most of it, due to me not combing it out properly. However, that was many weeks ago and before I knew it, my hair was growing back—my head wasn’t as shiny any more. I had just turned fourteen in March and I could tell that a little fuzz was above my mouth. Was I growing a mustache or a beard?
Nah, that couldn’t be…could it?
My classmates often stated that I resembled a mini version of Michael Jordan, but I always ignored it—I was way too short to ever play basketball. I was the last kid to be picked on a team, and sometimes frequently never.
I kept my eyes glued to my black Nike sneakers; one of my shoelaces was trailing on the sidewalk. Every time I tied my laces, they would always came undone for no particular reason. I must’ve been tying them incorrectly, ‘cause it was always the case when it came down to my shoes.
“Sister Ruth, can I use the bathroom?” I raised my hand urgently—this was a perfect excuse to run and hide in a bathroom.
Sister Ruth pointed to a nearby rest stop that looked so rundown; it could’ve been standing there for years, without any maintenance. I didn’t want to consider the possibility that rats could be roaming freely in a dune heap like that.
“Go right ahead, Ramos, but hurry right along.”
I smiled happily and dashed to the rest area; there were bright blue trash bins, a small playground beside it with a yellow slide, and benches all around. Thunder piercingly boomed above me. It was going to rain soon. Yes! Just want I wanted. I didn’t think it could get any worse than this. I went inside the bathroom and gulped. It was filthy, not to mention disturbing. I walked to the sink and washed my hands—I really didn’t need to use the bathroom, I wanted to get away from all the green, just for a minute. Inside the restroom was damp and cool; it wasn’t the perfect spot to hang out, but it did feel nice.
I heard heavy footsteps approaching from behind me, it sounded close. I decided to stay—I wasn’t afraid of being along and plus, I was way too busy washing my arms. My head was down low, so whoever it was, wouldn’t be able see the smirk on my face. The footsteps slowly faded, and that’s when I dried off my hands and stepped outside. The doorway was already open. I heard rain pouring down violently—the tapping of water coming down in sheets was wonderful. And then that’s when it happened…
A huge white hand covered my nose and mouth with a handkerchief—I started thrashing about as I was literally hoisted right off my feet. I clawed at the hands holding me tightly. I couldn’t sense my feet on the ground and I screamed out. The handkerchief smelled of alcohol. It was ethanol, a powerful anesthesia that would knock anyone out, especially in small doses. I was breathing in the substance rapidly; it was as fast as saying, “1, 2, 3.” I wheezed out, struggling to remove the cloth from my nose. It was too late for me, I was already losing all sensation in my body—my arms were giving in, they began to feel heavy. My legs were twitching in defeat, and I soon became immobile. Before long, I lost all consciousness and blacked out.
I groaned as I came to. Gradually, I opened my eyes—I breathed in deeply, looking around. I found myself in foreign surroundings. The room was small and barren—more like a cheap motel of some kind and it smelled of old cigars. I was in a single bed that was flat as steel; it was so low to the ground, I didn’t think it was a bed at all.
I couldn’t make out the color on the walls, since the blinds on the windows were closed and everything was pitch black. I didn’t know what time it was—I felt so lightheaded and sick to my stomach. Sensation in my body was returning; yet I was unable to feel my feet. There were bed sheets around me and I sensed that I had no clothes on…I was completely naked. When I lifted my head, a shadow crept beside me. I jumped and tried to wrap the sheets around my frail body. Smoke was blown right into my face; I coughed loudly.
“You will have the pleasure of being my last victim,” said an emotionless voice.
I shivered in fear, “Who…who are you?” I asked, backing away from the dark silhouette of a man.
“It doesn’t matter who I am. You should be more concerned about what I’m going to do to you.” I saw a grin on the man’s face in the dimly lit room.
Beads of sweat rolled down my neck. I gave the man an evil glare and with enough courage, stood up for myself.
“Go right ahead, I’m not afraid of you!” I shouted out.
The man recoiled and moved away from me; he turned on the lights from a light switch on the wall, so I could see his real appearance. He was a tall and pale Caucasian man in his mid twenties. He had black pearl eyes and his brown hair was in a ponytail, it went below his shoulders…it must’ve been very long, but I could only see it from the side. There were silver spectacles on his face and once he took them off, he had dark bags under his eyes. He was wearing a striped red and white shirt and navy blue jeans. The man exhaled some more and put out his cigarette butt on a glass ashtray; smoke was everywhere and it was beginning to sting my eyes.
The man eased his way into bed with me—yanking at the sheets that were covering me; he grabbed my neck roughly and faced me dead on.
“Do you know who I am?” He asked callously.
I shook my head, fighting back the tears, “You’re a monster…that’s what you are.”
“Yes, that’s right…I am a monster. I’m Carlson Lindford, and I’m a serial killer, who murders people like you all the time.” He whispered into my ear.
I gulped and tried to remain calm, “I’m… Milton Ramos. Can I please go home?”
The man abruptly released his grip on me and started to pant frantically. He sat at the edge of the bed with his hands covering his face, either he was disgusted by himself or he was in shame—I couldn’t comprehend why he didn’t kill me when he had the chance. Why did he let me go? He could’ve strangled me right then and there, and it would’ve been over for me in a heartbeat.
“Wh--why did you tell me your name? Answer me, damn it!” He yelled.
“Cause’ I thought you should know…before killing me and all.” I whispered, trying to reason with him.
The man known as Carlson got up on his feet, “Get up.” He said, turning to me.
“Why did you take my clothes?” I asked innocently.
I didn’t realize what he meant by that, but I had a gut feeling that I would know the answer shortly.
“You sure ask a lot of questions, kid. I did it because your clothes were soaking wet when I snatched you. Do what I say, get up and take off the fucking sheets.”
“Alright, I will…” I replied faintly.
I crawled out of the bed, still clinging onto the bed sheets and hoping that I didn’t have to take them off as long as I obeyed him. Carlson walked toward me—cornering me against the wall with his forcefulness and aggression.
“Can I please go home now?” I asked, staring up at him.
“What do you want from me?” I asked again.
Carlson elevated my chin and caressed it with his thumb, “Just you. I want you and only you.”
My cheeks were flushed. “Why do you want me for?” I gazed into his detached eyes.
“Stop asking stupid questions…it’s getting annoying.” Carlson said, releasing my chin in a huff. He leaned over to a desk drawer and opened it.
I kept quiet as he pulled something out and handed it to me. All I could do was accept it, there was no arguing with him—I had no choice in the matter.
“Here…put this on, it will keep you warm for the time being. And if you choose not to wear it, stand there naked for all I care.” I saw that it was a large white T-shirt and Carlson placed it over my shoulder.
“Now, be a good boy and remove the sheets.” He said softly.
Carlson turned his back to me and took a seat in a settee chair, positioning his hand over his cheek. He watched me closely—his eyes were on my every move. It was as if he was attempting to be in control and yet befriend me at the same time. I felt peculiar, the whole situation was awkward for me—I didn’t have much to say after that and the sheets fell to the floor. I saw a sneer on Carlson’s face…he seemed to enjoy staring at me nude. I guess he felt content somewhat that he could manipulate and control me to do his will—I felt like a puppet on strings in front of a live stage audience.
I noticed that I was still wearing my underwear; apparently he didn’t have his way with me, even though I had passed out. I thought it was strange, he could’ve molested me in my sleep, but then again, maybe he preferred it if I was wide awake. I didn’t want to imagine him torturing me; I refused to believe it was possible. I couldn’t stop thinking about what he wanted me to do. The T-shirt seemed like a nightgown—it reached down to my knees once I put it on; I fiddled with the soft material when it touched my skin. I smiled a little, cause’ it was actually comfortable to wear, unlike my school uniform.
“Do you like it?” Carlson questioned, raising an eyebrow in curiosity.
“Yes, I do…thank you.” I said as I placed my hands behind my back.
Carlson got out of his chair and advanced closer to me, “You can keep it then, it’s all yours.” He lightly touched the side of my face with the back of his hand—it appeared that he was cautious to approach me, but so eager and willing to lay a hand on me. His eyes seemed so sad in mystified thoughts.
I didn’t know what he had in store for me or what he was planning to do…I wasn’t afraid to die and somehow he knew it. I don’t know how, but he did. Maybe, it was what I said that had frightened him the most. Carlson probably never met a victim he couldn’t control before, and I never met a murderer, who was afraid to kill his own prey. Was he really a bona fide serial killer? Or was he lying to me, so I would be more anxious around him? I didn’t know for a fact and I wasn’t going to take that chance.
“Milton, Milton…what a cute name you have… and what smooth skin, almost like a girl’s.” Carlson was in awe of me—I couldn’t understand it. Who would consider me cute?
Carlson studied my bony wrists and my small hands; he stared into my eyes and turned my head from side to side to look closely at my cheekbones.
“You’re weird.” I said bluntly.
Carlson snapped wildly.
“Don’t ever call me weird! Understood!” He shouted, hitting me across the face.
I collapsed on the bed and he darted to another part of the room. I remained motionless for a while, not registering what had taken place. I offended him—I didn’t mean it when I said it; he took it the wrong way. I felt my situation becoming bleak…he would kill me for sure. I just knew it.
As I closed my eyes, a cold rag touched my cheek. Carlson seized my arm and pulled me upward, where he proceeded to examine the injury he had inflicted upon me.
“It’s not so bad, it will eventually heal.” He whispered, patting my face gently with the cloth.
“Why did you hit me?” I asked weakly. I prayed that he wouldn’t get upset at me again, or I’d be dead.
“I don’t know…I guess it was just a reaction.”
“I’m sorry for saying that. I didn’t mean it… to sound that way, I swear.” I apologized in desperation.
Carlson laughed to himself, “It wasn’t you, it was me…I’ve been called many things. I just couldn’t take it any more, being called names was always a common thing for me, when I was growing up.”
“Is that why you kill people?”
“No…I don’t know…”
“Then…why do you do it?”
“Kill people, who didn’t do anything to you?”
“…I can’t help myself. I can’t control it. It’s part of my life Milton…I need it to survive. I’m addicted to it. Don’t you get it? You can’t trust me, you can’t trust anyone!”
“Are you going to kill me?” I suddenly had tears swelling in my eyes.
Carlson sighed, “I don’t know. But you’re different somehow.”
I didn’t know whether I should be relieved or not. Could I actually trust him, knowing that he had kidnapped me? I figured that he’d been alone a majority of his life and didn’t have anyone else to share it with. So, instead of living a normal life, he turned to depression that soon led to killing. He became a wanted man, as a result of something he couldn’t control.
“My father died due to a drug overdose and my mother was a prostitute. She kicked me out on the curb, when I was nine years old. I was an orphan. I had no parents and I was without a home. In time, someone found me and took me to an orphanage, where I was beaten and sodomized against my will--” Carlson hesitated.
“Do you ever get butterflies in your stomach?” He asked, changing the topic of the conversation to something more pleasant.
I slightly lifted up the T-shirt he had given me and exposed my belly button, “Uh-huh…I get them all the time, especially when I’m hungry.” I said as I rubbed my tummy playfully.
“Some people say…it’s because of something else. Lie down, Milton, I want to show you something.”
Carlson leaned forward as I lied down on the bed. He started to raise my shirt higher, almost above my chest.
“Something else? What do you mean?” I pondered nervously.
He placed his hand on my abdomen and fondled me—I flinched when his cold hands touched my delicate skin.
Carlson lightly kissed my belly button and licked it, “Yes, almost like love, in a way. I’ve never felt it…until I met you.”
“Love…what’s love? Hey, that tickles! I feel all warm inside.” I giggled, not knowing the horror of what he yearned for.
I could feel his hand on my chest and his tongue was on one of my nipples. My heart pounded with excitement and yet apprehension. What was he doing to me? Why was I not afraid? I did feel some fear, but a voice inside my head told me to stay positive—I could be his friend long enough for him to let me go.
All of a sudden, he stopped what he was doing. He rose with a jolt and wiped the sweat from his forehead, I could hear his breathing getting stronger. I didn’t know why he conflicted with himself so. Carlson’s eyes widen in distress—it was almost as if he had seen a ghost, and that ghost was me.
“I can’t do it…I won’t allow myself to. I need to control myself! Why am I like this?!” He began talking to himself and pacing around the room in circles.
“What’s wrong? Are you afraid of me?” I lifted my head in puzzlement.
Carlson yelled furiously at me, “I am not afraid of you! There’s no way. No, no! It shouldn’t be this way!”
“What shouldn’t be this way?” I asked.
“It should be the other way around! Why are you not terrified of me?! I’m the one who can kill you at any moment, whenever I feel like. I can kill you at any time and at any place. I don’t get it! You tell me your name…and you don’t even know a fucking thing about me. “GOD DAMN IT!! ”
“We can be friends, if you want to?”
“You’re so naïve! Why do you want to be friends with me, Milton?! WHY ME?!” Carlson covered his ears, so he wouldn’t hear more of my childish questions.
“I dunno…maybe it’s cause’ I like you.” I said, getting up.
I took his hand and squeezed it affectionately, “Why don’t you come with me? I’m sure we can get you some help…somewhere.”
“No, don’t!” Carlson harshly removed my hand from his.
“My teachers told me that we are all God’s children. Don’t you believe that you are God’s child?” I asked sincerely.
“No one can help me, not even God! Milton, I’ll never be normal! I—I am not normal. I’m a cold-blooded killer that doesn’t deserve to live. Don’t you understand what I’m capable of doing?”
The man kissed my forehead and picked me up without much difficulty, “Don’t you get it, Milton?”
I lightly laid a hand on his face—his cheeks were so warm. How could a cold-blooded killer feel so warm? I shook my head timidly; I didn’t grasp what he was saying.
“There isn’t any help for someone like me…I’m evil. I’m the devil. Everyone calls me a monster, including you.” He lowered me down and settled me on the floor.
“You’re not a monster, you’re just misunderstood. Can I go home now, pretty please?” I asked, begging him to take me back.
I didn’t want him to leave my sight. If he left me again, he might as well put me to death. Carlson sat down on the bed; he wouldn’t look me directly in the face. He silently headed for the bathroom and slammed the door so loudly it make me jump. I stood there alone and confused—I didn’t know what to do in such a predicament.
I tiptoed to the door and turned the knob, making an effort to get away from him. It was locked—even if I managed to escape him, where would I go? I didn’t know where I was, how could I find my way back home in a place I knew very little about? I heard rain pattering on the windowsill, it wasn’t loud or anything, it was light and subtle.
I slightly opened one of the blinds on the window and took a peek outside. The door to the bathroom creaked open. I turned around quickly to see Carlson wearing a wet towel around his waist. There were large muscles on his arms and chest; his hair was down and he was soaked to the bone—he must’ve been showering, perhaps he needed some time to think to himself. Or so I thought. Carlson took a seat on the bed and looked up at me.
“Come here.” He whispered, gesturing to me to come closer.
I automatically came to him, troubled by what he might have heard while I was attempting to flee.
“You want to leave, don’t you?” He asked boldly.
“Yes… will you let me go?” I scooted closer to him and rested my head on his shoulder.
“Of course…I never intended to hurt you.”
“Why did you kidnap me?”
“I don’t know…you looked so innocent and free. I like you Milton, you remind me of someone.”
I felt his hand underneath my shirt. It was on my back, leisurely moving towards my stomach. Carlson eased his hand inside my underwear and fingered my genitals. He stroked up and down, making me feel aroused. I moaned a little—my face blushed feverishly.
“Please stop. I don’t feel right.” I whispered uneasily. I gently held his arm and shoved it out of my private parts.
“Just relax, I’m not going to hurt you.” Carlson pressed his lips against mine and kissed me several times.
I trembled as an icy shiver ran down my spine, “No more…please don’t…Carlson.”
For someone who had a violent lifestyle, he was unexpectedly gentle. I sort of allowed him to kiss me; it wasn’t like I wanted him to, I just didn’t want to make him upset. Carlson massaged my thigh and buttocks. He grabbed my hand roughly and forced it underneath his towel.
“No!” I gasped hysterically.
Carlson wouldn’t let me go, his grip was strong. I sensed the foreskin on his penis with the tips of my fingers—his body was slick with heat and sweat as he positioned himself on top of me. I sensed him spreading my legs wider—my breathing became tense, I didn’t want him to continue, I wanted him to stop now.
In one passionate moment, time had stopped, yet his lustful feelings for me didn’t disappear. I could seriously tell he had psychological issues. He had a tough time determining who he was or what he was—for he had many split personalities that I couldn’t distinguish, cause’ they were all in his mind. I hardly knew him, but deep down inside, I felt that I could change his ways by showing him how agitated I was by his behavior. When Carlson tried to take off my underwear, I closed my eyes—tears fell down my face as he dragged me closer to his open groin.
“That’s enough!” Carlson shouted reluctantly. He pushed me away, wanting to stop himself before it went too far.
The kisses he gave me lasted for a few minutes; Carlson knew that I didn’t want to take it any further—I kept saying no. He wasn’t planning to have me stay, for he knew that I might never see the light of day again.
“I don’t want…I don’t want to hurt you. You can’t stay.” He whispered—I saw the fear in his eyes; his breathing was erratic, it was like he couldn’t breath.
Carlson wrapped his arm around my neck and placed a piece of fabric over my eyes. He blindfolded me, so I couldn’t see where we were going. He carried me in his arms outside and placed me on a seat that felt like leather. I heard the slamming of a door and the jingling of keys. An engine roared and I could sense that we were moving…I was inside a car, inside his car.
It seemed that the ride would never end, Carlson made sure that I was buckled up in the seat. My hands were already tied up with duct tape, so that I wouldn’t try to escape once the car had stopped. He took me back to the place where he first set eyes on me. Back to the rest stop, where I had dashed into the restroom to get away from the nuns and my classmates. It was nightfall, when he removed the blindfold off my face. The park looked so much different in the darkness, I could hardly recognize the rest area, but there it was before my very eyes. I saw the blue trash bins; the slide at the rear and the benches all around, there was three to be precise.
I wondered how Carlson managed to pull it off? How was he able to do it? How could he kidnap me in broad daylight, without anyone seeing him? I seriously wanted to know how the nuns were doing. Were they worried about me? Did they call the police? And where were the police, when you needed them the most? Sister Ruth and Sister Concetta must have been devastated, especially when they realized that I didn’t come back from my so-called restroom break.
I glanced at Carlson as he let go of my hand, “I don’t think this could get any worse. You can still come with me. There must be some help for you…to fix your problems and all.” I whispered sympathetically.
“Don’t ever come back to me. It’s… already too late…” Carlson whispered in grief. He nudged me forward, giving me a head start to escape his killer instinct, which I still didn’t believe he possessed.
I walked on the sidewalk barefoot. I was half naked—all I had on was the T-shirt and my arms to keep me snug. It was starting to get chilly outside. I thought about Carlson constantly, I couldn’t take my mind off what had happened. I heard the running of water…the stream was close by. I wanted to return to him, yet I didn’t now why.
He would kill me on the spot, if I did. But, if I didn’t, I’d never be able to say my goodbyes to him. From out of nowhere, someone fiercely clenched my arm and kept me in a tight embrace. I felt warm tears rolling down my face, but they weren’t my tears…they were his. I couldn’t breath, I couldn’t move—all I could hear was Carlson sobbing.
Author’s Note: I left this open-ended, because I feel as though this could be continued as a series...