"…and fifteen cents your change. Heading home now?" The smiling salesclerk bagged Allie's magazine for her.
"Thank you," said Allie. "No, I think I'll browse around some more, and have a snack at the coffee shop. They're open until the store closes, aren't they?"
"Yep. Nine o'clock," replied the cashier.
"O.K., thanks again." Allie pocketed her change, and began walking the aisles of the bookstore. Sometimes she had trouble deciding which she enjoyed looking at more: the seeming acres of books on the shelves here, or the people that came to buy them, to just browse them, or to relax in the bookstore's little coffee shop. Earlier tonight, she had seen a few of her friends; now, though, most of the faces were new. One struck her in particular: a young man, probably in his late thirties, with dark blond hair cut in a rather scruffy manner, and what looked to be at least a three-day growth of beard. He was dressed in a threadbare overcoat, and seemed never to look at the books at all; instead, he studied the other patrons with an intensity that he tried to hide whenever anyone looked in his direction. Allie found him unsettling, though she couldn't exactly say why. Well, nothing wrong with a little people-watching, Allie thought to herself, and I shouldn't be too quick to judge someone on their appearance. As she moved on, she noticed that a small group of well-dressed men seemed to be shopping together, in, of all places, the section on Human Sexuality. There was nothing abashed or furtive in their attitude; instead, they seemed to be studying some books with an eye to criticizing the ideas or theories contained within them. Curious, Allie moved to a shelf at the end of the same aisle. She bent down to look at some books on hydroponic gardening; over her shoulder, she was half-listening to the men's conversation. Though most of the voices were indistinct, one penetrated clearly: a firm, steely man's voice, with the burr of the Scottish highlands.
"Well, I've never had much use for these American Bible-thumpers, but it seems to me that your Baptists have the correct idea: a woman's responsibility is to submit to a man. I should think that was self-evident."
"Oh, come on!" Allie threw the remark over her shoulder without looking up. "That sort of thinking should have gone out with the dinosaurs. That statement was just to stir up headlines. I'm sure that most Baptist men…" Her voice trailed off as she straightened up, and saw her audience.
It had grown quiet while she spoke. All the men in the group were regarding her; she noticed two in particular. The first was a slender Latino, with hair brushing his shoulders, and a look of quiet amusement in his eyes. As attractive as he was, Allie's eyes didn't linger on him; they were drawn to the man who appeared to be the senior member of the party. Even without having seen him as he spoke, Allie could tell that this was the man whose comment she had answered. He was tall, with the bearing of a man used to unquestioned obedience. His grey hair and beard were trimmed meticulously; eyes that were a colder grey were scrutinizing Allie; she was used to having men look at her, but there was something in this man's regard that seemed different: he was evaluating her on some basis that she couldn't, as yet, identify. She waited for the man to challenge her, but instead, his look spoke for him: Allie's opinions on relations between the sexes could not possibly be of any interest to himself or his companions. His piercing gaze fixed on her once more, and then he snorted derisively, turned away, and resumed his conversation. None of the men regarded her at all.
Flushed with embarrassment, Allie quickly put the book in her hand back on the shelf, and made a beeline for the section on Birdwatching-not that she had any particular interest in birds, but it was the furthest point she could get from the scene of her humiliation. When she dared to peek back to the front counter, she was able to see the Scotsman and his party leaving; the Hispanic man was glancing back over his shoulder, looking for something. He seemed not to find it, and followed his compatriots out of the store. Allie breathed a sigh of relief. She took her magazine and headed for the coffee shop in the center of the store. She noticed that the shabbily-dressed young man was still in the store; though she never saw him look directly at her, some instinct told her that he had some interest in her, that his reason for being here had something to do with her. Feeling uneasy, Allie ordered a decaf coffee, and buried her head in her magazine. An hour or so later, she put down the magazine to check her watch. She looked around for the shabby man, but didn't see him. She returned to her reading, when a smooth, pleasant voice addressed her.
"Senorita. May I join you?" Startled, Allie looked up to see the Hispanic man who had accompanied the rude Scotsman that afternoon. He stood before her table, holding a pair of iced-coffee glasses, his eyes sparkling with an intense amusement.
"Oh…uh, sure. Please sit down."
"I took the liberty of ordering you a little something."
"Oh, my. Well, thank you. Umm… I hope it's decaf. It's kind of late in the day for the real stuff." He smiled at her in an odd way.
"Oh, don't worry, dear lady. I can assure you that you will sleep very well tonight." He placed the drinks on the table, moved a chair up, and sat himself down surprisingly close to Allie. The warm intensity of his gaze unsettled her slightly, and she babbled out the first thing that came to her tongue.
"So, who was your rude friend?" Her creamy skin flushed from its usual café au lait color to a deep crimson as she realized what she had said. "Oh, god, I didn't mean…. I mean, I did mean, but…" The man held up a palm.
"Please. Lord Falkenberg's manners are not always what they should be. He is a sort of "souvenir" of a Europe that actually passed by long ago. Here in the Americas, I am afraid that we all confound him a bit." He smiled and went on. "Forgive me. We have not been introduced. My name is Armando. And you are--?"
"Allie. Call me Allie. It's short for--"
"Why need it be 'short' for anything? It is an enchanting name on its own." Allie had never cared for men who presumed to finish her sentences for her, but this one seemed to have an uncanny knack for turning her clumsy phrases into actual conversation. "So, Allie," he went on, "tell me of your life."
"Oh, well, you know, I work, I work some more, I come here to relax and--"
"No." His voice was quiet. "No. Tell me of your real life. Tell me of the passions which burn inside you, and tell me of the man fortunate enough to be the object of those passions." Allie had never been afraid of speaking her mind, but she had also never considered the possibility of having such an intimate conversation with a perfect stranger. On the other hand, she had never met a man who had actually seemed interested in her "innermost passions"; most men she knew only used the word "passion" as a euphemism for trying to cop a quick feel. There was no question that this man's use of the word was quite different. Which only made her feel stupider as she replied.
"Oh, well… there really isn't anyone. I mean, there has been, in fact there's been more than one…oh, but not like that. No. I guess I mean that, right now, there's no one special in my life." Oh, God, she thought, could I possibly sound like more of a loser?
"No. Do not ask me to accept that. Surely such a woman does not travel the road of life unattended."
"Well, I don't know about traveling roads, but I don't really have any family, and as for guys-- well, as you can see, I'm not exactly a supermodel, so maybe I don't feel entitled to be picky."
"Ah. You feel at a disadvantage because your figure is more robust than some witless trollop flogging face cream." He reached across the table, and took a long lock of her hair between his thumb and finger. He studied it, rubbing it back and forth across his thumb.
"The color. You see the color here?" The dim overhead light reflected the deep red highlights nestled in her glossy brown hair. "If you asked most men what color your hair is, what would they answer? Brown. Just brown." He sighed. "But for those of us with eyes to see, there is a fire glowing here in these silky tresses. It is only the outward sign of the fire which I know burns within." His fingers released their gentle hold on her hair. "And you say there is no man with the wit to see and savor these delights?"
"Uh…um…no." Now, Allie was completely at a loss for words. Was she being propositioned by this man? Was he just philosophizing? Or maybe she was daydreaming the whole thing. Her mouth and throat were dry, and she remembered the iced coffee in front of her; gratefully, she took a large sip. She set down the glass, and Armando responded by quickly lifting his own glass.
"A toast," he smiled, "to women of passion and men of perception." With that, he downed his coffee with an elegant flourish; Allie followed suit, draining the cup in as ladylike a fashion as she could manage. She set it down on the table, and Armando's gaze went from the empty cup to her face. He looked into her eyes for a long moment, then stood up.
"Well, Allie, I am sorry that my time with you cannot be longer, but I must leave now, much as it pains me to do so."
"But…wait…" Oh, my God, she thought, have I done something to upset him? What was all that talk about passion and perception and-- "Can I-can I call you? Maybe we could have coffee together here again."
"Alas, it would not be appropriate for you to call me." Married!, her mind shrieked at her. God, I knew it! Allie, you idiot, you knew it, and -- "However, what if I were to give you my promise that we shall see each other again, very soon?"
"Well, I'd love to see you, but…"
"But...?" his eyes twinkled with amusement as he parroted her.
Allie took a breath, and screwed up her courage. "Look, if you're married or something, if that's why I can't call you, then let's just drop it and say 'So long'. O. K. ?"
He smiled. "No, my dear Allie, I must admit that I have not-yet-found the woman who will wear the band of my devotion. The 'bonds' of matrimony bind no woman to me." His smile widened. "No, it is simply that I am here on business of a delicate nature, and am not in a position to receive or make personal telephone phone calls. However, I meant what I said. We will meet again, very soon." He took her hand, bowed over it, and walked briskly from the store.
Allie stared at the two empty glasses, and tried to make sense of the encounter. If Armando had been even halfway serious in some of the things he said, then the best thing she could do would be to plant herself at this table, and not budge an inch until he returned for her. On the other hand, she'd be a damn fool to think that storybook romance walked in off the street that casually very often. Was it just some sort of posturing, a man who loved to hear himself talk? No, there had been more than that. She just wasn't entirely sure what.
It was getting near closing time, and it struck Allie as odd that Armando hadn't offered to escort her to her car; in fact, he had left so quickly that, even if she'd thought of it herself, she'd probably have had to shout across the store to catch him before he left. That got her to thinking about the shabby man. She looked around the store, but still saw no sign of him. Well, she'd walked to the parking lot alone before Armando happened along, she could certainly do it without him now. By the time she reached her car, she had nearly forgotten her worries about the shabby young man, caught up in a romantic fantasy that seemed to involve candlelight flickering on her hair as Armando brushed it for her.
As she got into the car, Allie sighed. Well, he had certainly seemed sincere. All she could do was plan to spend her evenings reading in the bookstore coffee shop for a few days, which was certainly no hardship for her, and just see what happened.
She settled back onto the seat, and closed her eyes, intending to unwind for just a moment, before starting for home. But it felt good. She felt warm and relaxed, and visions of Armando were making her feel warmer yet. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she thought she heard sounds outside the car. Were there people out there? Funny, she hadn't seen another car nearby. No. She must be imagining it, because she thought she could hear Armando's voice, and what would he be doing outside her car? Armando. She drifted off to sleep.
The motion of the car was soothing. The ride was as smooth as glass, and the powerful engine hummed. Allie dozed, drifting in and out of consciousness. Finally, as her senses began to awaken fully, some part of her mind began to ask questions: since when had her little Celica delivered such a smooth and powerful ride? And who was driving? And what had-- Suddenly, Allie was fighting desperately to wake up. She must still be asleep, though: she was sure her eyes were open, but the inside of the car was still dark. Car. She was in a car, wasn't she? But she wasn't in a seat. She was lying down, on her side. Lying down in a car, in the dark-- in the trunk? She was in the TRUNK of a car? But who---how--- No, this couldn't be happening! As the drug wore off, Allie began to feel muscles aching all over her body, and tight, constricting pain, in her mouth. Allie moved her legs, to sit up, and felt a sharp jerk run down her arms from her shoulders. Well, who could have-- she tried to move her legs again, and this time realized that her legs had been immobilized; not only could she not move them without pulling on her arms, she couldn't even move them independently of each other: her ankles had been bound tightly together! With that awareness, the other parts of Allie's body began to check in: now, she could feel that the rope binding her ankles together had been repeated above and below her knees and near the tops of her thighs, binding her legs tightly together. Her legs had then been drawn up behind her back, and fastened to her wrists, which were also tied tightly together. More rope encircled her arms and upper body, wrapping her into a tightly-folded parcel! With her ankles and wrists tied together behind her back, she had almost no freedom of movement. Could she roll over? Frantically, she tried to lurch up onto her knees, but her head banged painfully on the inside of the trunk lid; clearly, there wasn't room to even get herself upright.
Frightened nearly out of her wits, Allie knew she must call for help; even though the only ones who might hear her would be the ones who had done this to her.
"Uuhhnnnrrr!" Now, the sharp pain in her mouth came into focus. Pieces of cloth, like men's handkerchiefs, had been stuffed into her mouth, and up into her cheeks, causing them to bulge out. Another wad of cloth had evidently been tied into the center of a silk scarf; the heavy wad was jammed into her mouth, holding the cloth in her cheeks firmly in place. The scarf had then been pulled around her head, and tied tightly over her long hair, biting painfully into her bulging cheeks, and the corners of her mouth. It kept the wad of cloth from sliding back in her throat, but the ache in her jaws made that seem but little comfort. "HHHuuuggghhh!" Useless, but she tried again; now, she didn't even bother with the word "Help"; the noise she tried to force past the stuffing in her mouth was simply a shriek of desperation, which did her no more good than her first attempt. With a moan, she slumped back, tears beginning to run down her face.
Who had kidnapped her? How? Why? This wasn't a Nancy Drew story, she hadn't been investigating any shady characters or dishonest businessmen: who would have drugged, bound, and gagged her? She remembered having a drink with Armando-the shabby man! Had he still been in the store at the time? Had he had an opportunity to doctor the iced coffees? Since she hadn't seen Armando order them, she couldn't be sure. For all she knew, Armando might also have been drugged! Her mind began to race through all the grim newspaper stories she had ever read about women abducted, raped, and murdered, and the tears flowed more freely now, as she realized her complete helplessness: whoever had done this to her could now do as they liked with her, and she would be powerless to stop them. Her arm and leg muscles fought each other, frantically pulling back and forth at the ropes which bound her. More useless sounds began in her throat, only to be stifled by the packing in her mouth. She tried to shake her head to free her imprisoned mouth, but the gag had been tied so tightly over her hair that she could barely move her head even a few inches in any direction.
Just as she had reached the depths of hopelessness, she felt the car glide smoothly to a halt. Outside her prison, she could hear footsteps and lowered voices. There was a metallic scraping as a key was fitted into the lock of the trunk, and then above her, the lid to the trunk opened.