Stolen Jewel by Alexis Abbott

Jewel

Go. Just go. And don’t stop until you can’t go anymore.

The words beat ceaselessly in my head like a mantra. In moments like this, fear becomes so palpable it crystallizes. It turns monstrous. A spark of worry explodes into an entire raging inferno that threatens to choke my lungs with smoke until I’m too tired to go on. I felt a flicker of this fear before. Walking into my law exams. Seeing my father’s name on the caller ID. Having an absolute hulk of a stranger grab me from behind and force chemicals up my nose. And of course, waking up to find myself chained to a bed, with that same hulking man looming over me. Watching me sleep. The stark realization that my life and everything I thought I knew, everything I had planned out-- it was all gone. Changed in an instant.

And yet, I would trade this moment for any of those. The terror bubbling up inside of me is so potent I could not have stayed in that bedroom even if I wanted to. Even if I hadn’t already been looking around for a way out. But I had thought I was getting somewhere. My captor was listening to me. We were finding common ground. He gave me a morsel of freedom, just enough to do some sloppy pilates on the bedroom floor. In that moment, just before arriving at the precipice, I felt almost hopeful, despite everything.

Until I started asking questions, and I didn’t get the answers I wanted. That was strike one. But when my captor left the room to take that call, I had no choice but to eavesdrop. I immediately jumped to my feet and rushed to the door. I pressed my ear against the mottled wood to listen in on what he was saying. It was frustrating, only being able to hear my kidnapper’s side of the conversation. I was desperate to know who was on the other end of the line. Who was he talking to? Who does he answer to?

And why did they decide to kill me?

My heart is beating so hard, so fast, I’m afraid it might just give out. Like an exhausted bird flown too far over the sea, wings heavy and soul hopeless, ready to drop into the crashing waves forever. The forest is my sea. If I can’t keep up, it will open up and swallow me whole. The thought of stumbling to the forest floor in a heap to await my inevitable execution makes me feel nauseated. My stomach lurches. My lungs ache and burn with the panicked breaths coming fast and short from my lips. Faint puffs of fog appear in front of my face, my breath showing in the chill. I look up to the canopy for a moment as I run. The sun is perfectly aligned above me. It must be high noon. The tall white pines and black ash trees rise tall and proud around me. They sway gently in the whirling wind. I would stop and admire the beauty if I wasn’t so scared.

Streamers of golden light dapple through the overlapping tree branches. Little spots of sunshine dot the woods around me. It illuminates a fallen tree just off to my right, its trunk decaying and returning to the earth that grew it. I realize with a jolt that I have more in common with that dead tree than ever before. We are both victims of our environment, and I, too, might end up falling to pieces on the leafy ground. My brain flashes an image of my captor looking at me with those black, hawklike eyes. Sizing me up. Ready to rip me to shreds. He could be right behind me, close on my trail.

Keep moving. Don’t look back. For the love of God, don’t turn back.

I swallow hard and bite the inside of my cheek to stem the hot tears that sting in my eyes. I can’t afford to let my emotions take control. I can’t allow my fear to consume me and make me still, when I literally need to run for my life.

All around me, the forest is a singing, living, almost breathing thing. Birds call and tweet from their branches, hopping from one to the next in their autumnal fly about. They flit around in the canopy and flutter along the narrow passageways between the dense trees. When they hear me coming, they take to the sky in a frantic flapping of wings. Little flocks of them bound from their perches, calling out a warning to their brothers and sisters. In the bushes, tiny furry creatures rustle and bound away, abandoning their hidey holes to flee.

I am definitely more of a city girl than a woodsy type, but even I can tell the animals are frightened to see me running. They must wonder what it is that could so thoroughly terrify a creature of my size. If I’m afraid, they must be petrified, too. Any beast that would hunt me is one to hide from. They probably picture a big bad wolf. A bear with his shiny black coat and his great gnashing jaws. I almost wish I was running from an animal. At least then I could take the bludgeoning without my heart breaking, too. Because as much as I detest being held prisoner and denied basic rights, I can’t pretend like there weren’t feelings developing between us. At least, from my end of things. I wanted to hate him from the moment I woke up to find him watching me in that dark, dank basement. But I couldn’t. Our short time together brought me closer to him, made me think of my captor as a real person instead of just some random soulless criminal.

I was a fool to let myself feel that way about him. How could I have felt anything but revulsion for the man responsible for ruining my life, and probably about to end my life if I don’t keep moving fast enough? How could I sit handcuffed to that bed and look at him and think warmly of him? What is wrong with me that it took only so long to make me almost trust him? I wish I could go back in time and tell myself to curb my enthusiasm. To never let my guard down even for a second. God, if I survive this, I’ll never trust a living soul again.

I push myself on and on, fleeing almost blindly through the trees. Over and over again, I very nearly collide with a tree, it’s so densely packed out here. Each time, I barely evade collision. The rough bark breaks off in contact with my shoulder. It rains down my arm and prickles my arm as it falls. Twigs and leaves break off, fall into my hair, and tangle there. I’m sure I would look like an absolute wilderness witch if someone saw me now, but I can’t stop to untangle myself. If I slow down, I face almost certain death.

My bare legs sting like crazy. The underbrush here is prickly and dense. Every bounding step I take is harried by the long tendrils of thorn bushes. Their spines poke and tear my skin. I can feel drops of blood beading cold on my calves and shins, but I don’t dare look down. My bare feet pound into the cold clay mud and slide across the slippery dead leaves. They’re so scratched up by now, my feet feel like two raw, screaming wounds at the ends of my aching legs.

It’s far colder out here than I would’ve expected for early autumn. Back in the city, the temperature has been in the sixties, the perfect climate for a cozy stroll down Harvard’s winding walkways. But here in the unforgiving forest, under the thick canopy that blocks out most of the sun, even noon feels as bitter as dusk. My toes and fingers are starting to go numb now. My feet aren’t as sure of their steps as when I first bolted for the tree line.

But what else could I do? Where else could I run to?

It had been the perfect storm. I was alone on that bedroom floor, holding my toes and straining my body back to life. I’m grateful now for that, at least. A little pilates warm-up comes in handy when you have to run for your life a few moments later. I see it so clearly in my mind: my captor watching me out of the corner of his eye. He didn’t want to look at me that way, but he couldn’t help it. I was intriguing to him. Irresistible in some small, curious way. It was his interest that gave me the courage to ask questions. Now, I wish I hadn’t. Maybe I pushed him too far. Maybe I proved myself not worth the challenge of keeping me hidden. All I know is that I heard him say he was going to eliminate me. Sure, he probably got the order from his superior, but he’s shown me mercy before.

Not this time. I couldn’t stick around to risk it. I saw the opportunity: he was out of the room, I was no longer cuffed to the bed, and I had been eyeing that window ever since he took off my blindfold. My heart raced as I slid the pane up, fighting the rusted hinges and the pine sap sticking it to the sill. It took a feat of strength to open it, and an act of reckless courage to clamber out the narrow opening. I know I’m turning the tables; I am causing extra trouble. If I wasn’t walking down to the gallows before, I am definitely on my way there now.

But it’s not just my captor’s fault. In fact, the thought that aches even deeper inside my soul, the realization that makes my eyes sting with hot tears is that my own father isn’t going to save me. Not from what I heard.

I can hear my captor’s voice clear in my head, asking, “What about Freddie? What about the money?” My heart fell when he said those words. More proof that my dad isn’t coming to my rescue. In fact, I should have seen that coming all along. He’s never considered me a real priority, much less a beloved daughter to protect.

That stings.

I wish I could be surprised, but if I look deep down, I’ve always known this truth. He doesn’t care about me any more than he cares for the long, varied lineup of wives and mistresses who he’s marched in and out of my life. Human beings are more like collectibles. Or pawns in a long, cruel game. That’s how my father sees the world, and now I see it, too.

Looking back, it’s always been this way. Growing up, he was never there for me. Not physically present, and barely reachable by phone either. So many times I watched him get on a plane and disappear into the sky, one of many nannies holding my hand while my true guardian abandons me yet again. He is less of a father figure and more of a constant specter haunting my life. Whispering under his breath about how I disappoint him. Shouting obscenities over the phone in his locked, off-limits office. In my braver moments as a child, I would listen at the door in an attempt to discern anything of value. Anything that would tell me more about the mysterious, cold man who claimed to be my father, but in title only. He was always cavalier about the lives he impacted through his work, but I knew there was more. I knew he was keeping secrets from me, even when I was little. I could hear the lie in his voice when he spoke to me. I could see the way his cruel smile never reached his beady eyes.

I don’t remember ever seeing him exhibit anything close to remorse, sympathy, or even just base-level compassion. Not for the victims of his work, not for his colleagues, and certainly not for his soft, yielding daughter who disgusts him. That’s what I am in his eyes- disgusting. Worthless. He tried so hard to turn me into the smaller, female version of him. He did his best to teach me what was important to him: apathy over empathy, fear over love. He wanted me to be strong the way he was, but I never measured up. I simply couldn’t be as cruel as he wanted. I’ve always cared too much. He didn’t approve of anything I did, anything I was. Dad doesn’t even like my personality. I’ve overheard him telling people that I’m too soft. I care too much about justice and doing what’s right.

In his eyes, that means I’ll never amount to anything worthwhile.

The only way forward is bulldozing everything in his path, but I couldn’t do it. It was a lonely upbringing, and I’m thankful for the nannies and teachers who held my hand when Dad wouldn’t do it. But I didn’t escape my childhood unscathed. I grew up thinking so low of myself, desperate to make a difference in the world. I wanted to help people. I still do, deep down.

When I decided to become a lawyer, he laughed in my face. Then, he yelled. What use was I if all I wanted was to help other people rather than myself? My loyalty made me foolish, and my softness made me weak. His unkind words have left a lasting impression on my soul.

I always feared him. More than anything. More even than my captor. At least… that was the case until I heard him say he would eliminate me.

I’m so tired now. Every muscle in my body is screaming to slow down. But then, I hear a horrible sound: the snapping of twigs somewhere behind me-- much closer than I expected. I knew he would follow me, but I thought I had a better head start. His footsteps hit the ground hard. And then I hear the eerie echo of his deep voice bellowing through the woods.

“Jewel!” he shouts. “Don’t do this!”

My heart breaks. His voice sounds more pained than angry. But I can’t let that stop me. I have to keep moving even though my hope for escape is dwindling. I’m simply not prepared for a long chase. My bare feet, legs, and arms make me vulnerable. But my kidnapper is wearing pants, a real shirt, and boots. He’s built for this. His footsteps get louder behind me.

He’s catching up, and fast.

Through the blur of tears, I see a clearing up ahead, ringed by thick bushes. I summon what tiny shred is left of my energy to make a mad dash. I propel myself through the clearing and dive into a cluster of bushes, scratching the hell out of myself in the process. With my chest heaving, I peer wide-eyed through the foliage as my captor comes careening into the clearing, only a couple feet away from me. He’s not even out of breath as he looks around. His dark eyes scan for signs of me. I’m desperately trying to hold my breath and keep still. But when a drop of blood rolls off my chin and splashes onto my arm, I’m so startled by the cold, ticklish sensation I can’t help but stumble backward a little. A gasp falls from my lips and several twigs snap underneath me. I freeze for a moment, wide-eyed with panic. My captor turns right toward me, those wolfish eyes locked on me. I’ve been caught.

No. Not yet, growls the stubborn voice in my head.

I scramble to my feet and immediately go pitching down a leafy slope. My feet are bleeding, my face is bleeding, but I run like hell. I slip and slide all over the place, but my pursuant is nimble on his feet. He leaps over a decaying log and bounds up beside me. I cry out with pure terror and skid to a stop. With so much momentum in his imposing frame hurtling through the forest, he takes a couple more leaping strides and lands steady on his feet. He whirls around to face me. His eyes are narrowed. His massive hands are balled into tight fists. Any one of those knuckles could take me out in an instant.

I gulp. My body starts to tremble uncontrollably from head to toe.

There’s about six feet between us. He doesn’t necessarily know how exhausted I am. He’s probably thinking that if he moves one millimeter in my direction, I’ll go bounding away again like a startled doe. I’m thinking that I’m so tired, so beaten down, so frightened that if he lunges for me now, I’ll be too helpless to save myself. But neither of us wants to make the first move.

We’re at a stand-off.

Suddenly, all the pent-up feelings I’ve had since we first met days ago come bubbling up from a deep well within me. The tears course down my face and mingle with the blood.

“Jewel, don’t do anything stupid,” he growls at me.

I glare at him, shaking my head.

“Stupid? Running for my life is stupid?” I blurt out. “That’s right. I heard your phone call. I heard you say the word ‘eliminate.’ I know you were talking about me.”

“I was too soft on you. I let my personal feelings cloud my judgement,” he says.

“What does that mean: ‘personal feelings?’” I ask, putting my hands on my hips.

“Bozhe moy,” he groans, pinching the bridge of his nose. “You ask so many damn questions.”

“Because you’re withholding information!” I shout.

“You don’t need to know these things, Jewel,” he sighs.

“I don’t even know your name!” I hurl back.

“It’s better if you don’t,” he insists.

My arms fall slack at my sides. My shoulders start to shake. I can hardly see, the tears are so thick in my eyes. I’m so confused. I’m hurting so much inside. I feel betrayed. He stares at me with those cold, unfeeling eyes.

My voice is thin and wracked with sobs when I say, “You have taken everything from me. And you won’t even give me your first name.”

Something changes in his demeanor. He stands a little taller. His dark eyes almost seem to soften when he looks at me. He nods slowly.

“Stefan,” he says. “That is my name.”

A feeling of inexplicable warmth rolls through my body. I feel some of the tension in my muscles release. My heart skips a beat, but it’s not pounding anymore.

But I have to remember that he-- Stefan-- is a threat. He’s not Prince Charming. He’s come to take me. To kill me. I suck in a deep breath.

“Stefan,” I begin softly, “if I go with you, I’m a dead girl.”

“If I were to leave you out here by yourself, dressed like that, in these woods with the weather getting colder and the sun going down, I would be leaving you to die,” he says. “Not a quick death. Not an easy one. A slow, painful, starving death. Is that what you want?”

He underestimates me. Just like my father. Just like everybody.

I swipe the tears out of my eyes and bitterly retort, “Well, I’d rather die trying to escape than die a prisoner to some criminal!”

There’s a split-second flicker of something like hurt in his eyes. And then, in one forceful movement, he lunges at me. I scream and brace for the hit. But instead, he simply sweeps me up into his arms.

I’m in shock as he throws me over his shoulder and starts striding back the way we came. Back to that damn prison cell and my inevitable demise. I have an impulse to kick and scream, but it quickly fades when I realize how outmatched I am. Stefan is carrying me like you’d bring a towel to the bathroom. I might as well weigh nothing. His arm around my waist is nearly the width of my thigh. He towers above the forest floor. From my place over his shoulder, the way down looks to be of dizzying height. All the fight left in me dissipates and I go limp. I’m so exhausted. I’m so heartbroken. I just want it to be over.

The walk back to the safehouse feels so much shorter from this perspective. It takes him no time to climb the steep slopes and crunch over the thorny brush. We emerge from the tree line. The building swims into view. At this point, it’s almost a welcome reprieve. It’s the closest thing to a home I’ve had the past couple days. If I’m going to die, it might as well be here.

He carries me up to the house. I’m too tired to take note of the layout of the building. My muddled mind couldn’t possibly memorize it right now. And it doesn’t matter anyway, because as soon as we walk through a side door into what looks like a kitchen, Stefan sets me down, pulls a black bandana from his coat pocket, and ties it around my head in a blindfold.

“You don’t have to do this,” I murmur. “I give up. I won’t try to escape again.”

“We’re not staying here,” he growls.

I frown under my blindfold. “Where are we going?”

“Somewhere else,” he replies simply.

“Whatever,” I mutter.

I feel him grab my arm and start leading me across the house. We stop off somewhere-- I’m pretty sure it’s the bedroom. I can still smell faint traces of our omelets. He lets go just for a few minutes. I stand blinded and helpless, just waiting. I hear him unzip a bag, stuff something inside, and zip it back up. Then his hand is on my arm again. I hear a familiar metal clink as he closes the handcuffs around both of my wrists. He pushes me through the doorway and across the creaky floorboards. He opens another door and a little gust of cool air rushes in. We step out into the crisp autumn afternoon. I hear gravel crunching under my feet, then the sound of a car door clicking open.

“Oh!” I yelp as Stefan links his arm around my waist and hoists me into the vehicle.

He fastens my seatbelt.

“Safety first,” he grunts.

“Where are we--”

The door slams shut. I hear Stefan’s heavy footsteps go around the vehicle. He opens the front and slides behind the wheel. I must be in the back seat. He fires up the engine and we start rolling backwards. With the blindfold on, I can’t orient myself. Everything just looks dark. I could probably reach up and take it off, even with my handcuffed wrists. But what would be the point? Stefan isn’t going to just take that sitting down. I realize now how fruitless it is to resist him. He’s infinitely stronger than me. He has the upper hand.

“I take it you’re not going to tell me anything about where we’re going,” I grumble.

Silence. Then he switches on the radio. Some old crooner music wafts from the old speakers. I sigh and slump against the seat, my head tilting back. Clearly, he’s taking me to the place where I will die, and he’s going to punish me with silence on the way. But I’m under no obligation to shut up.

“If it’s money you’re after, I’m sure I can find a way to get it to you,” I say.

Stefan doesn’t answer.

“You’re really giving me the silent treatment? Really mature,” I goad him, hoping I can make him respond. But nothing. He’s resolute.

We drive for what feels like hours upon hours. I can’t tell which direction we’re going, and I’m not even sure where we started. I simply rest my head and wait. After an eternity on the road, we start slowing down. The vehicle makes a turn and rolls a little further before coming to a stop.

“What’s going on?” I ask fearfully.

“Stopping for the night,” Stefan replies.

I’m so oddly relieved to hear his voice again. He comes around to let me out. He scoops me out of the backseat and onto the asphalt. I wonder if we’re in a driveway or a parking lot.

“Come on. Quickly,” he commands.

We walk for a minute or so. He fiddles with a key and a door creaks open. The dense, unmistakable smell of a cheap motel room fills my nose. Mildew, citrus cleaner, smoke.

“Five star,” I murmur.

Stefan leads me to a bed and handcuffs me to a wobbly post. He takes off my blindfold. I blink as my eyes adjust to the dim, grayish lighting. It’s a typical motel room with two twin sized beds and an en suite bathroom with a perpetually flickering light. I glance at the window. The curtains are drawn, but I can see a sliver of dark blue sky on one edge. It’s nighttime. I wonder what time it is. I don’t see a clock anywhere.

I drag my eyes back to Stefan and my heart skips a beat when I see him pull off his shirt. He reveals his broad, powerful chest and chiseled abs. My jaw drops, taking in his impressive build. He turns to look at me with those piercing dark eyes and I feel a tingle run down my spine.

“I’m going to take a shower. Don’t try anything. I’ll be back in less than five minutes,” Stefan instructs me. “Understood?”

I nod. “Got it.”

He lopes off into the bathroom and shuts the door three-quarters of the way. I sink back into the pillows. It does feel good to be in a bed, even if I do have to be handcuffed to it. While Stefan’s in the shower, I seize the opportunity to look around the room. There’s a single nightstand located between his bed and mine. Stefan’s simple black cell phone is sitting there. With a burst of inspiration, I extend my free arm as far I can, but it’s just out of reach. I’m about to look away when I notice the phone screen light up.

There’s a new text message on the screen. I squint to read it.

Is it done?

My heart sinks. His people are asking about it. About me.

That text message is all the confirmation I need. I really am going to die.