Carmen was back on the couch again, but as day shifted to night, she felt more frightened than before. Late in the afternoon, when she’d finally managed to overcome her fear enough to sleep for a few minutes, he had roused her, and slit the tape that bound her hands behind her.

“Take off the shirt,” he said, voice as calm as if asking the time.

She fluttered her hands at her sides, trying to get some feeling back.

“No,” she said from behind the tape, and shook her head, seizing the courage to stand up to him.

Then the two prongs of the Taser touched her spine through the fabric of the T-shirt, and she felt her resolve melt.

“You know what this is,” he said, the prongs against her. “Don’t make me ask you again.”

He stayed behind her as she lifted the shirt over her head. He might be watching her back, but she moved carefully to make sure that was all he saw.

She’d wondered if it would come to this—to rape. She had played it out in her mind, and even wondered if it might be to her advantage if he tried that, because he might untie her, and hadn’t he just freed her hands?

Somewhere in her mind, her own voice laughed a shrill hysterical laugh. To her advantage if he tried to rape her? That was a good one….

When she had the shirt off, he said, “Drop it.”

She dropped the garment.

Careful not to step around her, he handed her a blue sweatshirt.

“Put this on.”

As she stood there bare-breasted, holding the sweatshirt before her, she realized it was the Kansas University one he’d been wearing when he abducted her. She held it at arm’s length, disgusted by the thought. It didn’t smell rank, but it did smell like him…and the thought of having that aroma so close to her flesh repulsed her.

The prongs of the Taser touched her bare back. They were cold and hard and amped her fear up another notch.

“Put it on,” he said.

His voice quavered! Was he frightened? Aroused?

Finally, fear overcame revulsion, and she slipped on the sweatshirt, which was hot and scratchy against her skin. And, as she’d thought, his scent on it turned her stomach.

That was when he’d re-taped her hands, behind her again, and put her back onto the sofa. She saw him pick up her T-shirt, then he disappeared from view. No sound of the lounger reclining, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t sitting in it, just out of view.

Now, with dark of night settling over the room, she couldn’t tell whether he was in there with her or not. Her mouth was still taped shut, and she lay helplessly, eyes on shadows crawling across the ceiling.

When she heard a noise beyond the walls of the house, she froze. She tried not to breathe, afraid her breathing or the pounding of her heart would drown out the sound, should it occur again.

She struggled to identify what she’d heard.

Was it a footfall on a wooden step out front? The wind? Her imagination?

She strained to hear, every fiber of her being focused on listening, her only concession a fast prayer for the sound to repeat.

Then it did.

This time she was sure she’d heard something, and it did sound like feet on a wooden step outside. Then more footsteps, and she realized at least two people were out there.

Someone coming to rescue her?

Caution be damned, she rolled over, onto the floor, and her eyes sought her kidnapper in his chair.

The old lounger sat empty.

Outside, the sounds grew slightly louder. Were those muffled voices?

Through the tape, she yelled, “Help!”

The tape ate up the sound, but if Harrow or the cops or anybody was out there on that porch, she needed to try to let them know she was in here…alive!

Crawling on her knees, hands bound behind her, she used all her energy and will power to get closer to the door, as she continued to scream into the tape.

The going was slow, and the screaming seemed to eat up all the oxygen. Her breathing became labored as she crept ever so slowly toward the door….

Voices on the porch.

And even in the darkness, she could see the knob turn a little.

Then Carmen heard a distinct voice, outside.

“Hey, you kids! Get the hell away from there!”

She could hear the footsteps pound down the stairs…

…and slowly disappear.

The sounds were gone by the time the front door swung open and her abductor came in, wearing a white button-down shirt and nice black slacks.

Gazing down at her, shaking his head in disappointment, he said, “You’re not going anywhere.”

Though she’d vowed not to cry in front of this monster, and had been successful until now, Carmen could feel the tears welling.

“Kids,” he said, with a shrug and a glance toward the door. “What are you gonna do?”

I’m going to die in this room, Carmen thought, on the floor, helpless. I’m going to die right here….