Chapter 8

Isabella's thoughts drifted to her mother. They had a great relationship. She could talk to her. Her mother would believe her no matter what she said and would probably even send a cab to pick her up and take her home. Together, they could figure this whole thing out themselves and she could get her life back.

But what if her kidnappers followed her to her mother's house? Or worse yet, what if they had already contacted her mother, kidnapped her or threatened her? She wondered if her mother had tried to contact her in the last few days. Would her mother go to her apartment to check on her when she didn't answer? Would she think to call her landlord for him check on her?

She smirked, which made the split in her lip bleed and hurt like crazy.

Maybe her mother would file a missing persons report? How long is the wait now, twenty-four or forty-eight hours? Since Isabella didn't talk to her mother every day once she began teaching, each taking care of their own homes, hobbies, and charities had consumed much of their time. Her mother wouldn't have any reason to check on her yet, she didn't think. Hopefully, she hadn't realized Isabella's absence. Her mother didn't need to worry about her.

She hadn't realized how self-absorbed she had become in her own confusing thoughts until she heard Wyatt saying something about a drink. Did she want a drink? All the hair stood straight up on the back of her neck like a blinking red light. Danger! Danger! Wasn't a drink of water how all this started, ending up here in this too-confusing situation in the first place?

"Do you have water in a sealed unopened bottle?"

Wyatt's look questioned her reason for asking but he nodded as he walked to the small refrigerator in the corner of the room, reached in, and grabbed two bottles of water. He handed one to her to open.

She looked the bottle over making sure it hadn't been opened before. There were no signs of sabotage, so she screwed off the tight lid, breaking the seal. She took a sip, then a few big gulps.

She couldn't remember the last time she had a cold drink of water from a bottle. It tasted so good. She glanced up at Wyatt, who had remained standing.

He stared across the room as if in deep thought, one hand in his pocket jingling his change, which reminded her of her father. She studied him. He was muscular, with broad shoulders, an attractive silhouette, and a shapely butt. He appeared to be someone willing to listen to her, but could she trust him? What harm could there be in telling him some of what happened to her? What more do they want from her? She relaxed.

"They took me," she finally blurted out.

"What? Who? Those two?" Wyatt asked, startled at first, when she began to speak. He jerked his head and pointed toward the backyard.

She nodded.

"Who are they?"

"I only know them by their first names, Joe and Amanda. I became friends with Amanda when I met her at the gym we both attended."

"Where do you live and work?"

"I live on Cameron Lake Drive. I'm a second-grade teacher at Lakes Elementary. If you could call me a cab, I'll be on my way. Maybe I can figure this out after a good night's rest?"

"Where does your friend Amanda live?"

"She never told me her address. I followed her scrawled directions to what I thought was her condo for a girls' night out. We were going to have pizza and drinks. There wasn't an address on the directions. I looked, because at one point, I thought I was lost and would have to stop and ask directions."

When she saw him raise a questioning eyebrow, she continued. "Like I said I met Amanda at the gym near the school where I teach. We hit it off and became friends. You know, we went out to lunch, shopping a few times, and saw a couple movies-that sort of thing."

As she explained all this to Wyatt, she realized that Amanda had never talked about herself. She didn't even know Amanda's last name, her address, or even how to contact her. Amanda always called her, or they made plans when they met at the gym. She couldn't remember giving Amanda her phone number or address, but she must have at some time during one of their conversations because Amanda knew it. Amanda also seemed to know when she visited her mother and when or if she and her mother had argued, because Amanda would ask her about it.

Isabella finally pushed back on the couch while contemplating this new revelation. She knew nothing that could help her, absolutely nothing about the people who abducted her including where they held her or even where she was now. And worse, but more importantly, they knew everything about her!

Wyatt interrupted her thoughts. "Tell me exactly what happened to you. Start from the beginning. How did they take you? Where were you held? Was it a house or an apartment?"

****

"You're not going to believe me, I just know it. I can hardly belief it myself. I don't know how I could have been so stupid," Isabella said, chastising herself.

"Don't be so hard on yourself. We all make mistakes, big ones, too. Try starting from the beginning and let me determine if you're telling the truth or not."

"Oh, I'll be telling you the truth. It's just so bizarre it's hard to believe."

"Try me," Wyatt said with an overabundance of patience.

"Well-" Isabella began as she retold her story.

"Had you been to her house before?" Wyatt interrupted her.

"No! She always met me somewhere or came to my place."

"What happened then?"

"I followed her directions to her condo."

"And you didn't look at the address or the street signs?" Wyatt asked with disbelief.

"I had some reservations since I had never been in that neighborhood before."

"What happened next?"

"Do we really have to go through all this now? I'm exhausted. I just want to go home. I'm worried about my mother. Can you call me a cab? I can pay you for it when I get home. No wait, that won't work. They know where I live. Damn!

****

"Do you want me to help you or not?"

"Yes, okay, okay. Once I got to Amanda's place, she started acting weird and that worried me."

"Weird how? What did she do?"

"Amanda left me alone, went into a bedroom and shut the door to 'order pizza.' And no other girls showed up for our fancy 'girls' night out.' I got tired of waiting so I confronted her. Amanda joined me when I threatened to leave, but she insisted I stay since she had already ordered the pizza. Anyway, this guy Joe shows up with the pizza."

"Who's Joe?"

"A friend of hers, I guess."

"Okay, what happened next?"

"I took a slice of pizza, and Amanda brought me a glass of water. I got really tired and drowsy. Also, I could hardly walk. Joe offered to drive me home and Amanda insisted, so I let him. And then I ended up in some hellhole of a house on the other side of town, forced to drink soda, eat Pop-Tarts and granola bars-until I escaped today."

"How far away from here is the place where they held you?"

"I don't know. I'm not very good with distance. I know I ran the whole way here through woods and brush from a park to get away from them. It took most of the day I think."

When she mentioned the park, he raised an eyebrow but didn't say anything. He rubbed his chin with his fingers, and then ran his hand through his hair. Finally, he summed it up.

"Okay, so what we know so far is that your name is Isabella, and you were enticed or lured to the home of a woman named Amanda, last name unknown, who you thought was your friend. You don't know where she lived even though you were at her house. You don't know where or if she worked or who Joe is or his last name. You don't know where you were held or for how long. But today, out for a walk, you got away, ran from the park through the woods and into my house."

Isabella could tell by looking at him that he didn't believe a word she said. She sank back into the couch away from him.

"I know it all sounds unbelievable." She pleaded. "I can hardly believe it myself but everything I've told you is true. I swear it is. Please believe me,"

Then he said, "It isn't as unbelievable as you might think. You couldn't possibly make up something like this, could you?"

Isabella took offense, feeling insulted. "What do you mean I couldn't make up something like this? Do you think I'm stupid?"

"Did you make up this story?" His eyes firmly set on hers.

"Of course not! Why would I do that?" Now agitated, she stood and paced in front of the couch.

"Calm down, of course I don't think you're stupid. Some people have very vivid imaginations and you have to admit your story is hard to believe. Wasn't it Mark Twain who said, 'Truth is stranger than fiction; fiction has to make sense?' You have nothing to gain by lying, do you?"

She was insulted again by his arrogant insinuation that she might possibly have made up this tale to gain something from him, questioning her own integrity. She did have some pride left after all. She couldn't find the right words for a retort to equal his insult.

"Why would I lie to you?" She was barely able to get the words out. "I thought you wanted to help me, yet you continually attack me, questioning my credibility, my character."