“Who kidnapped you?” Wow, I never thought I’d hear myself say that as I clutched my phone to my ear, listening for anything that could give me clues to my girlfriend’s location.
“I-I don’t know. I’m in the trunk. He got me from behind,” she said between pants.
“Okay, just breathe. Do you know where you were when he took you?” I asked.
“Walmart. I just bought some tampons. Oh my god, is he gonna rape me?” she squealed.
“You can’t think like that sweetie calm down. You can’t let him know you’re on the phone,” I said, fearing he could hear her from the trunk. I wondered why he didn’t take her phone first. Jasmine usually kept her phone in her giant purse. That meant he put her purse in the trunk with her. That’s really smart. Did he even bother to tie her up? Doubtful. Jasmine wouldn’t know how to get loose from duct tape or zip ties. She isn’t the brightest. I mean, she got up at one in the morning to go to Walmart to by tampons after we just finished having sex. What girl does that? I thought I put it on her pretty good. She should’ve been sleeping till noon. She should’ve still been in my bed, not riding in the trunk of some idiot pervert’s car.
“Hello? Are you still there?”
“Yes, babe. I’m here,” I said.
“Don’t leave me okay? I need you.”
“I’m not letting you go, he’s not gonna get away with this,” I said, stepping into sweatpants and pulling my wife beater over my head. “Do you know how long you’ve been riding?”
“I don’t know, maybe ten minutes.”
“Do you know which way he turned out of the parking lot?” I asked as I stuffed my feet into my black Timberland boots.
“I-I’m not sure. Left? Oooh, I don’t know!” Her voice was cracking between the sob.
“Shhhh,” I said. “I’m coming to get you. I just need to know where you are. Just breathe and think.”
She was silent on the other end. I was worried at first, but at least I hadn’t heard her scream yet. That meant he was still driving and not dragging her into some dark basement to hold her captive as his sex slave for ten years. The mere thought of what might happen if I didn’t get to her in time enraged me so much that I began throwing pillows, deodorant, picture frames, even the iron across the room in search for my keys. When I found them, I heard her gasp.
“What? What is it? Did the car stop?” I asked, panicked.
“He went right. He went right. He went right. He went right,” she said over and over. I tried to get her to hush, calm down, I had it, but she couldn’t stop. She kept saying, “he went right,” taking a quick gasp between, and then, “he went right,” again. She had fallen into a panic attack. What could’ve triggered it? The realization of her situation? Did the car slow down? Did it stop? I had to get to her and fast.
I stepped outside, slammed the door behind me, and marched to my car. I didn’t even let the car warm up, before I sped towards Walmart and whatever was right of it. No stop sign or red light would hold me back from getting to the car that had my girl trapped in the trunk. I didn’t even bother to notify the police. The driver of that car was going to die that night.