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LIFE OFFERS US OPPORTUNITIES TO LEARN

I wake up soaked in sweat, and the sheets are wound tightly around me. And I have the worse headache of my life.

By Agoda

Photo by Agoda

I reluctantly open my eyes, fearing the worse. Dear god, what have I done? I try to recall the previous night. It’s all a blur. I remember an acquaintance of mine texted me and asked me to meet him at a local bar for a drink. I’m not much of a drinker, but it had been a long work week, and I decided I could use a change of scenery and some friendly conversation.

It seems l must have met him at the bar and then overindulged. But frankly, that’s just not my style. As I said, I’m not much of a drinker. Usually, I just sip a glass of white wine the whole night. But the pounding in my head and nausea indicate that I’ve done more than sip a Chardonnay. I use the wine glass as a prop so I don’t look out of place. Really.

As I look around the room, it suddenly dawns on me that I’m not in my bedroom. I’m in a kind of dark and creepy cellar or something. As I attempt to get up off the bed, I realize I can’t move. My wrists are tied to a rusty metal headboard. I suddenly have the urge to scream at the top of my lungs. I open my mouth and yell at the top of my voice,” hey, let me the hell out of here. Come and let me the hell out of here, now. You better let me out now. This isn’t funny.” No one comes, and no one answers. I scream louder, “help, help let me out of here, now. I’m supposed to be meeting my mother for lunch.”

I start struggling, but the more I struggle, the tighter the ropes on my wrists feel. I begin crying hard. I cry so hard I start sobbing and can’t catch my breath. I feel as if I might throw up. I realized if I threw up, I could choke to death. So, I take deep, slow breaths to calm myself.

I slowly gain control of the panic I’m feeling, and my breathing becomes easier. But my heart is still beating irregularly. I keep breathing slowly with my eyes closed, and a few minutes later, my heartbeat is back to normal.

I consider what my options are at the moment. I can’t just lie here until the person who tied me up comes back and unties me. But then what? They could murder me and then ditch my body in the woods or something. I don’t like that scenario at all. But isn’t that what always happens in the cheap movies where some woman is stupid enough to go to a bar, get drunk, and is taken advantage of, murdered, and chopped up in pieces.

I decide that my best course of action is to stay calm and wait for the perpetrator to return and then outsmart him. I’m an intelligent woman and used to thinking on my feet under pressure. I’m a lawyer, although I would be hard put to explain to a jury how I was stupid enough to get myself in the predicament I found myself in today.

I have the added benefit of being quite attractive. At least, that is what I’ve been told. So, I decide that I would outwit him and use my female wiles to get my way. Well, maybe I should stick with the intellectual approach as I’m probably not looking my best right at this moment.

And it was at that moment I heard someone unlocking the door. My heart skips a beat or two. I try to keep my calm. I close my eyes, and then the door swings open with a bang that echoes down what sounds like a long empty corridor.

And then someone dressed all in black comes through the door. He has a black hood over his head. I feel as if I might faint. But I don’t. I wait a few moments, and then I say nonchalantly, “OK, the jokes over. Can you please untie me? I have a lot of things I have to get done today.”

I hear breathing, nothing more. And then, the man in black walks slowly over to the bed and stands over me. He’s tall and thin, and his breath smells like something died in his mouth and is rotting there. I try again, “OK, OK, that’s enough for today. I have to get going. I’m on a deadline and don’t have any more time to waste.”

I feel him loom over me. I gulp hard. He unties one of my wrists and says, “alright, let’s take this slow so nobody gets hurt. Lie still, and everything will be alright. Don’t struggle, don’t yell. And don’t do anything you’ll be sorry for. Do you understand?”

“Yes, I understand. I’m calm. I’m not going to do anything crazy. Just untie me and let me leave. No one ever needs to know about this ever. I promise. Now let me go.”

“You don’t know who I am, do you?”

“No, should I? Why don’t we let that be your little secret? Why don’t you just untie me, let me get dressed, and get out of here? I won’t tell anyone about our little “party.” I’m sure it was all meant to be fun. So, we had a few too many drinks, and we got carried away. That’s how I’ll remember it, anyway.”

“Really, tell me exactly what you remember.

I lie there for a moment, trying to decide the best course of action. And my mind is a total blank. I don’t have any memory of how I came to be here in this nightmare. But obviously, I made some really poor choices last night. And then it occurs to me I don’t have any idea if I’ve only been here one night or one year for that matter. My sweating begins anew.

“Honestly, I can’t remember how I came to be here. I recall that a friend of mine texted me and asked me to meet her at a bar for a drink. I vaguely recall going to a bar on South Street in Philadelphia called the Tattooed Mom. I waited at the bar for about fifteen minutes, and she didn’t show up. I ordered a glass of white wine, took a sip or two, and then made a trip to the Ladies’ room. When I came back to the bar, she still wasn’t there. I texted her and asked if she was on her way. She never answered. So, I gulped the rest of the wine, and that’s the last thing I remember.

And it was at that moment that I realized what had happened. And how I could only blame myself for my current predicament. It was clear now that when I went into the bathroom, this freak dropped a Roffie in my drink. Why the hell did I do something so thoughtless and stupid? Even teenagers and college girls know not ever to leave their drink unattended. But what about my friend Silvia? Why would she text me and not show up? Was she all a part of this nightmare? And then I thought, no way would she do anything like this. She’s one of the most thoughtful and kind people I know.

I look up at the hooded kidnapper and say, “what did you do to my friend Silvia? I know she wouldn’t have any part of this. Did you hurt her? Where is she?

“Alright, Elizabeth, I see your memories are starting to come back. And don’t you worry about Sylvie. I have her, and so far, she is just fine. She’s taking a nap right now. Perhaps I’ll let you see each other later, that is, if you are a good girl.”

“What did you do to her? I want to see her right now. I’m not going to cooperate with you at all until I know she is alright.

“You don’t really have any bargaining power here, Elizabeth. I’m in charge. It’s not like this is Bower and Sons, where you are the boss. You always act like you’re superior to underlings. But not here, I can do anything I want to you, and you can’t do a thing about it. You’re the loser here. You will do exactly as I say, or I will make your friend Sylvie pay the price. And I’ll make you watch the whole time.”

So now I know that this nutjob is somebody from my workplace, and he has Sylvia, and that is how he texted me. He was using her cell phone. I also know that somehow, I’m going to make this monster pay big time. “OK, I understand you’re in charge. I have to do what you say, or you’ll hurt Sylvie. I’ll cooperate, but can I please see Sylvia now?

“You can see Sylvia after you do what I tell you to do and not before. Do you understand?”

“Yes, I understand, I have to do exactly what you tell me to do, and then I get to see my friend. I promise I’ll be a good girl. What do you want me to do?”

“That’s more like it, I’m going to untie you, and you’re going to slowly stand up and take off your clothes.”

My heart started beating irregularly. And I start thinking, and now I’m going to be raped and murdered. And no one will ever know what happened to me, including my family. And then I thought, wait a minute, I’m not some poor helpless woman. I have the smarts and ten years of Marshall Arts training. I’m going to wait until he unties me, and then I’m going to give him the beating of his life. He’ll cry for his mamma when I’m done with him.

“OK, OK, whatever you want me to do.  Please just untie me. My arms and legs feel numb. You have the restraints so tight. I probably won’t be able even to stand up yet. I feel kind of nauseous too. I need to go to the bathroom, please. I promise to cooperate. I’ll be a good girl, whatever you want. “

“Alright, Elizabeth, now you understand who’s in charge now. And it isn’t you. You get that, now, don’t you?”

“Yes, I understand. You’re in charge. And I apologize if I ever made you feel bad or humiliated you at work. I see now how wrong that was, and I won’t do it again.”

“Alright, I’m going to untie you and let you go to the bathroom. And you aren’t going to try any funny business, or your friend Sylvia will pay the price, go it?”

“Yes, yes, I understand. Please let me go to the bathroom; I can’t hold it in anymore.”

“Stop whining.”

“OK, I’ll cooperate.”

He comes over and looms over me. And I think now he’s going to kill me? I close my eyes for a moment, and I can feel him untie the ropes. I know this is going to be my only chance to overcome this psycho. While he unties my right leg, I pretend to be crying and say, “please, please don’t hurt me.”

He laughs. I had never heard anyone laugh like that before or since, and it was truly the laugh of an insane and evil man. It sent chills down my back. As he unties my left leg, I get ready to kick him in the solar plexus as hard as I can. I know this is probably my one and only chance, and I’ll take it to a higher level. I’ll make it the kill strike if I have to.

“Oh, thank you so much,” I say, and then I kick him so hard his mama can feel it. And down he goes like a sack of rotten potatoes. I kicked him so hard that my legs muscles cramp up, and my hips hurt. And I grab the ropes and start tying him using all the knots I learned in the ten years I was a Girl Scout. I know they would come in handy someday. I finish it off with the constrictor knot. He’ll have to be cut out of these ropes.

He’s having trouble catching his breath. I give him another kick just for the hell of it. And then I go looking for Sylvia. I hear a muffled moaning from the other side of the wall. And there she is, tied with her arms behind her back and her legs tied tightly to the steel bunk she’s lying on. There are tears running down her face making clean tracks in her face, which was covered in some kind of filth.

“Oh honey, it’s alright. I’m here now. That piece of shit isn’t going to hurt you anymore. He’ll be going to prison for a long, long time. I carefully untie first her wrist and then her legs. She begins sobbing and choking. “Come on, try to sit up. You’re alright now. No one is going to hurt you anymore. I help her sit up, and she hugs me like she’s never going to let go. “You’re safe now, try and stand up.” She gets unsteadily to her feet, shaking like a leaf from head to toe. I hug her again.

“Elizabeth, you’re alright. I was so afraid he was going to kill you. He absolutely despises you. He told me that you were always emasculating him at work. And he was going to make you regret the day you were born. He told me he tailed you one Friday after work, and he saw us meet up, and then he followed me home. And then he found out who I was through your Social Media. I never realized how dangerous it was to put all your personal information on the internet. Anyone can find out where you live, where you work, who your friends are, and where you work. I’m going to delete any personal informant today.”

“Do you know where he put your cell phone?”

The last time I saw him talking on it, he put it down on that counter over there. But I don’t know if it’s still there. Since he kept drugging me until I stopped eating, then he put it in the water I drank.”

“How awful. I’m so sorry. This is all my fault. I can be somewhat difficult at work after years of working for men treating me like their slave or their mother. I got sick of it. And then, I started moving up in my company. I started doing the same to them. Come on, can you stand up? Let’s go call the police.”

After the police arrive, Elizabeth and Sylvia give their statements, and the paramedics look them over. They decide Sylvia needs to go to the hospital to be checked out because of dehydration and not eating for several days.

“I would like to go with Sylvia to the hospital if I can?”

“Of course, you can ride in the back with her. I’m sure she would feel better with a friend accompanying her. She’s had a really rough time of it.”

“Thanks, I appreciate that. She’s a good friend. And it’s my fault this happened to her.”

“No, you both are victims here. None of this is your fault. Go ahead and climb in the back and take care of your friend. You’re both in good hands now.”

Elizabeth and Sylvia sit quietly in the ambulance the whole ride. Before they pull into the Emergency parking at the hospital, Elizabeth leans down and kisses Sylvia on the cheek and hugs her, and says, “don’t worry, I’m going to stick with you like glue from now on.”

“Thanks, Elizabeth, you saved both of our lives. I’ll be careful and stay on your right side because you are a force to be reckoned with, that’s for sure.”

They hold each other’s hands the whole time that Sylvia is being examined, and then the doctor tells Sylvia it would be a good idea for her to stay overnight for observation, and she will be released in the morning. “Can I stay with her doctor?”

“Yes, of course, but wouldn’t you like to go home and get changed?”

“No, I’ll just wash up in the bathroom and sit next to my friend until she’s released. Then I’ll call a cab to take her home. I’m sure I’ll fall asleep sitting up, no problem. Thank you for taking care of us. I appreciate that. I know I don’t tell people often enough that I appreciate what they do. I will from now on, that’s for sure.”

“You’re welcome. I’ll come back later before my shift is up to check on you both.”

“Thanks again.”

Elizabeth steps into the bathroom and looks at herself in the mirror. She looks like something the cat dragged in on a cold night. She washes her face and hands. And then runs her fingers through her hair and goes to the bathroom. She returns quietly to the room and sits next to her friend, who is fast asleep and breathing evenly.

“Good night, Sylvia.” Then she stretches her legs out in front of her, puts her head down, and falls asleep. She doesn’t wake up for four hours until the night nurse comes in to check on Elizabeth. And then she wakes with a start. “What’s going on?”

“I’m the nurse I’m checking on your friend. She’s doing fine. Can I get you a pillow or anything?”

“No, I’ve never been better in my life, and then her eyes close, and she is off to the Land of Nod.

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THE PURSE

I pull into the only remaining parking spot at Shop Rite food store in Glassboro. I can’t believe how crowded it is. And then I remember today is the day that the Gloucester County bus transports the senior citizens to the food store. It’s not that I dislike older people, I ‘m no spring chicken myself.

However, some seniors perceive food shopping as a social event. They gather in groups in the middle of the aisle and gossip about one another. And they have debates about which is better frozen food or canned.

Shopping Cart- Google Image

I, on the other hand, detest food shopping. I want to get in and get out. After thirty years of food shopping, it holds no interest for me. It’s a task I must complete every two weeks. I’m not a foodie never have been.

I open the door of my car and sigh. I’m resign myself to the fact that I’m about to squander another hour of my life doing something I don’t want to do. I lock the door on my seventeen-year-old Mitsubishi Galant and walk over the corral where the shopping carts are stored.

As I get closer to the carts, I notice that there’s something in the first cart where mothers put their little kids. And low and behold, someone has left a large purse.

I look around to see if anyone is getting into their cars who might have left it there. Unfortunately, I don’t see anyone getting in or getting out of their cars. I pick up the purse and contemplate what I should do. Should I take it into the food store and leave it with customer service? Should I leave it in the cart in case the owner returns for it? No, someone will probably grab the purse take the money and credit cards and throw the purse in the trash.

Then I get the brilliant idea of looking into the purse for identification, possibly a phone number or address. I find the driver’s license. The owner of the purse lives in Clayton, a town about fifteen minutes away. There’s no phone number. Common sense tells me to take the purse into the store and give it to Customer Service.

But I don’t listen to common sense. I decide I’ll drive to Clayton and return it to the owner. Who may not realize where they left their purse. I get back in my car and turn on my GPS. I decide to take another quick look into the purse. I open it up, and I find an expensive-looking watch and some unopened letters, a gun, and handcuffs. And then I see drugs. Not the kind of pills I have in my purse, aspirin, and anti-acids. But illegal drugs or what I think are probably illegal drugs.

“Holy Mackerel,” I say out loud. I realize at this point I ‘m in over my head. I decide to take the purse and its creepy contents into the store to customer service and turn it in. I feel a bead of sweat dripping slowly down from my forehead off my chin. And more sweat follows.

Just as I’m getting out of my car to turn the purse over to the customer service, I sense someone is looking at me. I look to the right and the left. And I see a woman about thirty-years-old staring at me. The purse is wide open. This woman does not look happy. In fact, she appears as if she’s going to blow a gasket. Her face is distorted by anger, rage even.

I grin at her and shrug my shoulders.  I  see that doesn’t help. My first reaction is, she’s going to kill me. I try to get back in my car. and lock my door. But it’s too late. She’s grabbing the outside door handle and yanks the door open.

“What the hell are you doing with my purse?” She says.

“Oh look, I’m sorry I found it in one of the carts. I was just about to return it to you. I was looking in the purse for a phone number to call and let you know I found it. That’s all. I didn’t see anything.       Here take it.”

“You didn’t see anything? Come on you’re coming with me.”
“No, here take your purse, I’m not going to tell anyone, anything. I’m not going anywhere with you. I have to go food shopping today. Look, you can check your purse.  You won’t find anything missing. I have to go now.”

“You’re not going anywhere. Get in.”

“What? No, I’m not going anywhere with you. Just take the purse. Take it. I scream, “help” at the top of my lungs. It’s too late. That’s when she yanks me by the hair and pulls me over to the back of her car. Opens the trunk and shoves me in and slams the trunk closed. I bang on the trunk and kick it with my feet. And then I start screaming at the top of my lungs. But by then, she’s driving away. And nobody is going to hear me once we get on Delsea Drive, which is a really busy road all the time. I keep screaming, “help, I’m locked in the trunk.”

I begin feeling panicky. I’m sweating from my head down to the soles of my feet. It’s hot as Hades in here. I feel like I’m suffocating. I try screaming again, but only a squeak comes out of my dry throat. I keep thinking about a self-defense class I took years ago. They said, “whatever you do, don’t let anyone take you to a second location.” Or maybe I heard it, Oprah.

And that is when I start to lose it, hyperventilating, feeling like I was going to throw up. I begin kicking the trunk of the car with all my might, try to open it, hoping that it isn’t locked. No matter how hard I kick, it doesn’t budge.

I attempt to calm down and reason. Unfortunately, I’ve never been good under pressure. I always panic. Sometimes if someone asks me my name, I just stare at them blankly. I can’t remember my name at that moment. God forbid I get pulled over by a cop for speeding on making an illegal turn. My brain stops working altogether. I had test anxiety all through school even college. And now, my life depends on me getting my shit together. For all, I know, this woman is some sort of maniac or cold-blooded murderer. This could be my last day alive. I start praying; I’m not religious. But it might be worth a shot. “Help me, god, help me. I’ll be a better person. I won’t lose my temper so easily. I’ll start recycling. I’ll never tell another lie, ever. I’ll try to be more patient. Anything you want, god, just help me get out of this trunk and away from this murderer.”

I slow down my breathing, taking deep breaths, and slowly exhaling. I calm down a bit, and then the thought crosses my mind that maybe I’ll run out of air in the trunk and suffocate. I start feeling claustrophobic. I start yelling and kicking again, “help, I’m locked in the trunk, help, help, help.”

Suddenly, my brain kicks in a last-ditch effort to save my life. I remember that newer vehicles have an emergency release on the inside of the trunk. I’m on my side. I start feeling along the inside of the hood to the middle feeling for the release. It should be a small handle that I have to grab and then pull, and the hood should pop open after about two minutes, which feels like an eternity. I find the cable and follow it to the latch. I decide to wait until the car slows.

I’m sweating like a pig at this point, exhausted from the shock and terror I’m feeling. I don’t believe I’ve ever been so frightened in my life. I decide to start counting backward from a hundred to calm myself down. I’m on thirty-four when I feel the car slow down and comes to a halt. I pray we are at a light and not at this woman’s home. I pop the hood. I hear the engine is still running, I throw my legs over the top of the trunk and then with great effort push my upper body up and out.

I’m standing on the highway. A young woman driving a car directly in front of me is texting someone on her phone and doesn’t even see me. I run over to her car and start pounding on the driver’s side window. She slowly turns her head in my direction. I’m yelling as loud as I can, “help, help, help.”  Which isn’t loud because my throat is sore from yelling at the top of my voice for whatever amount of time I have been locked in the trunk. I have lost all sense of time.

She opens her window half-way down. “Please let me in, the woman in the car behind you kidnapped me. She has a gun, please, I need help, let me in. She glances at the car trunk directly behind her. The kidnapper is now aware that her unwilling passenger has escaped from the trunk. Until she see s her talking to the driver in the car in front of her.

“Please, here comes the kidnapper, please, please let me in.”

“OK, get in. You can use my phone to call the police.”

“Please lock your doors; maybe you should start beeping your car horn to call attention to what’s happening.”

The driver of the car looks in her rearview window and sees an armed woman running towards her car. “Crap, here she comes, she has a gun in her hand. We have to get out of here quickly. The driver starts beeping her car until everyone is looking in their direction.

The other driver’s make room for the woman to pull her car out. She starts weaving in and out of the traffic. And then there is traffic starts moving forward.

The woman driving my getaway car keeps saying out loud,” My God, what have I got myself into?” She says it about five times. I put my hand on her shoulder in an attempt to reassure her. She practically jumps through the roof of the car. “What the hell are you doing? Why are you touching me?’

“I’m sorry I was just trying to calm you down. Thank you so much for saving my life; only one in a million people would have done that. I was so lucky you were behind the getaway car.”

“Getaway car, what do you mean, did you rob a bank or something? Are you a bank robber?” Then she starts saying my god, my god, my god, what did I get myself into?”

“What? No, I’m not a bank robber. I was in the Shop Rite parking lot to do my food shopping. And I found a woman’s purse in the baby seat of the shopping cart. I was looking into the purse to find a name and address so I could contact the owner or return it. Then I decided it would be better to turn it into the Customer Service of Shop Rite. And I was just about to do that when the owner showed up.  Unfortunately for me because when I looked in her purse, I found a loaded gun, and drugs and a large sum of money, expensive jewelry, and handcuffs.”

“So anyway, she sees me looking in her purse. She comes barreling over to me, and if looks could kill, I would already be dead. She was in a rage. I tried to explain to her what happened. She wouldn’t listen. She grabbed me and dragged me over to her car and threw me in the trunk. And then she drove away. I know she was going to kill me. Why else would she throw me in the trunk? I remembered that newer cars have a trunk release. And I managed to open the trunk and climb out. And that’s where you came to the rescue. I owe you a debt of gratitude; you absolutely saved my life.”

Just as I finished recounting my experience to my savior, I hear a police siren and turn and look in the back window, and I see two cop cars following us. “Oh, thank god, the police are here? You should pull over.”

“Call the police? No, I didn’t have time to do anything. Someone else must have called the police when they say you get out of the trunk and get into my car.”

“Mam, can I see your driver’s license, please, and insurance card?”

“What, I didn’t do anything I was trying to save this woman’s life. She was locked in the trunk of the car in front of me, and she managed to escape. I was driving her to safety.”

I realize that mam, but I still have to see some identification. You too mam.”

“Me, I don’t even remember what happened to my purse, it might still be in my car at the ShopRite Food store in Glassboro where I was kidnapped. It is a black 2003 Mitsubishi Galant.”

“Alright man, I’ll have that checked out. Are either of you injured?”

“No, thank god. But that maniac threw me in the trunk. She had a gun. She was going to kill me because I found her purse and looked in it. She had a loaded gun, handcuffs and drugs, and a lot of money.”

“Alright, I understand, unfortunately, both of you are going to have to go make a statement at the police headquarters. The two of you can get in my vehicle, and I’ll have my partner drive your car to the station, miss.”

I look at her, and she looks back at me. I say,” I don’t know if I should laugh or cry.” So, I start laughing and crying at the same time. We hug each other.

“Oh, by the way, my name is Sandra. Sandra Gioiella. What’s your name?

“I’m Mary Guilfoyle. It’s been an interesting day. I don’t usually drink, but after this, I would really appreciate a beer, how about you?”

“That’s a date, lunch, too, on me.”

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