Hillary_Tail of the Dog (2 page)

“When
who
finds me?” the man taunted.

“Whoever will come looking for me. Someone will find me, I know it. You can’t keep me here forever.”

“I’m not going to hurt you, you’re here for your own good,” the man said and he began gently stroking Hillary’s hair.

The feel of his hands sweeping through her hair filled Hillary with disgust and rage and she shook her head wildly in a futile effort to avoid his hand. She was getting too angry, too excited. Her head was killing her and she imagined grabbing the man by his neck and crushing his windpipe.

Just as the thought crossed her mind, her fingers twitched. It was a slight movement, but enough to give her enormous hope. She hoped the man didn’t notice. If he did, he said nothing about it. He pulled back and scribbled more notes in his book.

“How long have you been awake?” he asked.

“How would I know? I don’t even see a clock in here.”

“Just estimate. Ten minutes, half an hour, one—”

“I’m not answering your questions until you answer mine,” Hillary stated firmly. One moment she felt strong, brave and confident, the next she felt terrified, then angry.
Must be the drugs in my system
, she reasoned.

“Very well. What do you want to know?” The man asked as he crossed his arms and waited for a response.

“Do you know who I am?” Hillary asked coyly, barely above a whisper, as though she were afraid to find out.

The man felt almost sorry for Hillary, who seemed so childlike at the moment. He had come to see her as an adult, a woman. Now she seemed so innocent, so frail, so vulnerable.

Hillary held her breath, waiting for an answer.
Who am I
, she wondered, all the while opening and closing the fingers on her right hand, careful that the man would not see her.

“Your name is Hillary. Hillary Greyson. You’re fifteen years old,” he replied curtly.

“Where am I?” Hillary asked, as she moved her toes slowly. The name ‘Hillary Greyson’ did not even remotely sound familiar to her. It meant nothing to her.

“You’re in a spare room in my home,” the man answered.

Hillary sneered.

I knew it! This creep is some sort of child molester. He kidnapped me and drugged me. I have to get out of here!

Adrenaline coursed through her veins as panic engulfed her. To her delight, she could nearly lift her arm, though she could only try a little since the man was standing so close to her. It wouldn’t be long before she regained full use of her arms and legs and then she would escape from this place.

“Why am I here? What have you done to me? Did you...did you
rape
me?” Hillary asked, feeling great revulsion by the very thought of it.

“No, no, nothing like that,” the man assured, waving his hands as if to emphasize the truthfulness of his statement.

“Then why would you have me here? Why am I naked?”

“You’re here for your own protection. You need to trust me.”

“Protection from what? And why am I naked? Can’t you give me my clothes back?”

“Not yet. I know this must be confusing to you if you can’t remember anything. You have to trust me...please. I’ve answered some of your questions as best that I could. Now answer some of mine. I’m on your side Hillary, truly.”

Hillary did not respond. The man accepted her silence as a good sign. He walked closer to her, hovering over the bed. He took her hand into his again. Hillary nearly pulled her hand back but thankfully had enough sense to stay perfectly still. Her only chance of escape would be to pretend that she could not move at all. The man tickled her palm with his rough fingernail. Still, Hillary did not move at all. She fought the urge to jump out of bed and run out of the room. But even if she could manage to stand, would she be strong enough to walk, let along run? She knew she had to be patient. Clever and patient.

“About how long have you been awake?” he asked.

Hillary sighed.

“I just woke up a few minutes before you came in,” she replied.

“Do you remember anything? Anything at all?”

“No, nothing.”

“So you don’t know who I am?” he asked, his eyebrows arched, anticipating her response.

“No. Should I?” Hillary asked, straining to figure out who this strange man was. She had no memories whatsoever—not of him, not of anything.

“Are—are you my father?” she asked, nervously awaiting his reply and praying that reply would be ‘no.’ What kind of father would drug his own daughter and leave her naked on a bed in the middle of an empty room?

“No Hillary, I’m not your father,” he said, to Hillary’s relief. He let go of Hillary’s hand and began to take more notes in his book.

“Who then? Some other relative?”

“No, I’m a doctor,” the man replied quietly.

“Am I sick?” Hillary asked, wondering what ailment she could possibly have that would necessitate her unclothed presence in this man’s house.

“You’re getting better,” the man stated.

“Where’s my mother, my father?”

“They’re home now. You’ve been here for quite some time. They stayed with you at first, but there was no point having them here since there’s nothing they can do.”

“What’s wrong with me?” Hillary asked, doubting this so-called doctor’s story. It didn’t make any sense to Hillary. If she was sick, she’d be in a hospital.

“Your memory should return to you soon,” the man said, without answering Hillary’s question.

“Well what’s your name?” she asked.

“Dr. Morrison.” He looked at his wristwatch.

“How are you feeling now?” he asked. “Try to move your fingers.”

Hillary pretended she was trying to move her fingers. She squinted as though she was trying with all her might. She even sighed heavily as though she were greatly disappointed.

“I can’t move,” she cried out. “Why can’t I move?”

“I had to give you a drug. I’m surprised that you are even awake. I guess the drug may be wearing off which means you’ll soon regain the use of your extremities.”

“What kind of drug? And why did I need it?”

“It’s only a matter of time before you start to remember, I’m sure,” Dr. Morrison said.

“Why can’t you just tell me?” Hillary pleaded.

“I have to get something,” Dr. Morrison said as he turned to go. “I’ll be right back.”

Now’s my chance
, thought Hillary, as she clenched both hands into tight fists. She flexed her feet forward, then back, shook her legs and arms and even lifted up her hips. Everything seemed to be functional.

Now for the real test
, Hillary thought as she prepared to stand up. She had to hurry—the so-called doctor said he’d be right back, and quite possibly he meant just that.

Without further thought, Hillary abruptly sat up then swung her legs over to her left.

So far so good
, she thought optimistically.

She stood up a little too quickly, on wobbly legs, and nearly fell over. She quickly leaned toward the bed and held on for support. She prayed that she would have the strength to at least walk out of the room and find a place to hide before the alleged doctor returned.

Hillary took a deep breath, let go of the bed and balanced on two feet. When she felt steadier, she slowly put her right foot forward in an attempt to take her first step. Feeling much like a one-year-old, or perhaps Frankenstein’s monster, she slowly moved forward. She was amazed to find how difficult and exhausting it was to take just a few small steps.

Realizing that her chance of escaping was grim at best, she scanned the room for an object that she could use as a weapon…a lamp, a clock even, anything. The room was completely empty aside from her bed and the desk. Hillary was overcome with waves of fear and anxiety. She felt nauseous. All she knew was that she had to get out of there. She needed to escape—somehow. She continued making her way toward the door.

When Hillary was just a couple feet away, she heard footsteps approaching. The man was returning. Hillary froze for a second, then positioned herself behind the door as quickly as possible, hoping that the man would look in, notice her absence and assume that she had escaped. Maybe he wouldn’t look behind the door at all, Hillary hoped.

Please, please don’t let him find me
, she prayed silently.

The door opened swiftly, causing Hillary to jump, but she remained quiet.

“What the—” the man said, as he walked forward to look under the bed.

Hillary’s heart raced. She could feel it pounding within her chest so hard that it nearly hurt. She fought to catch her breath. Tears began to well up in her eyes, which she shut tightly as she waited, praying that the man would leave. She didn’t dare peek out from behind the door.

She knew the man was still in the room, as she heard him cursing frantically. He either dropped or threw something to the floor. There was a loud crashing sound followed by the sound of his footsteps growing louder, closer.

“
Hillary...
” he called out. He sounded more worried than angry. He began to run out of the room, flinging the door back even further, right against Hillary. She felt it slam into her and suppressed a yelp.

Her silence didn’t matter. The man noticed the door bounce back before slamming into the wall. Something was behind the door and he had a good idea who that that something was. He halted at the entrance, waiting for Hillary to emerge.

Hillary didn’t hear the man’s footsteps any more. She slowly opened her eyes. She was still behind the door, but the door was not opened as wide. If the man was inside the room, he would surely spot her.

He must have left the room,
Hillary thought confidently.

She slowly crept forward. Just as she stretched her head around the door to take a peek, the man lunged forward and grabbed her left arm. Hillary screamed and tried to break free from his tight grip. The man held on to her as he entered the room. Hillary’s clenched right fist met the man’s jaw as she thrashed about and pummeled his face with one blow after the next. Still, the man’s grip remained firm.

Before Hillary even realized what she was doing, she reached up at the man’s left eye and pressed her fingers around his eyeball. The man shut his eye tightly, and jabbed at Hillary’s ribs as hard as he could. Digging her fingers in as far as they could go, Hillary squeezed the eye until she could feel a soft pop and the warmth of blood-tinged gelatinous ooze running down her hand. The man screamed in pain as he twisted Hillary around, forcibly shoved her toward the bed and grabbed at the damaged eye that dangled from its socket. The pain he felt was intense and he cursed himself for being so careless. He cupped his left hand over the wound.

Dropping down to the floor, he desperately searched, with his one remaining eye, for the tray that he had brought into the room with him—the one he had dropped when he noticed Hillary was no longer in bed. He found what he was looking for and quickly grabbed it just as he heard movement to his left. He turned in time to see Hillary jump on him, knocking him off balance. The hypodermic syringe he had picked up flew out of his hand. Hillary eyed it with disgust, fully aware that the man had intended to drug her again. She reached back for the syringe, but the man flung her violently two feet in the other direction as he quickly stood up. While Hillary was still on the floor, he raced toward her, one hand still covering his seeping, useless eye. He knocked her back down as she was in the process of standing and he placed one foot over her shoulder blade to keep her in place.

Hillary screamed in pain as she struggled under the weight of the man. She squirmed frantically, thrashing her body one way, then the other in a futile attempt to throw the man off balance.

“
Look what you did to my eye
,” he yelled, as he contemplated his next move.

“I wish I could have pulled it out and stepped on it like you’re stepping on me right now,” Hillary shouted venomously.

She continued fighting to free herself. The man pressed his foot down even harder, causing Hillary to wince in pain and yell even louder.

“I need you to calm down,” he said in a soft voice, despite the outrage and pain he felt.

“Let me go!” Hillary shouted, still attempting to budge from underneath the man’s dirty large shoe.

Hillary was overcome with rage, pain and anxiety.

The man knew the syringe was too far away to reach. He wondered whether he should risk running over to grab it or if he should just try to incapacitate Hillary first. If he tried to grab it, Hillary would be up on her feet in no time and either attacking him or trying to escape. If it was the latter, the man did not believe he would be able to catch up with her. He was already growing weak from the throbbing, massive pain within his desecrated eye socket. There was no way he could take that chance. He could not let her escape.

Hillary grew still underneath him.

It’s a trick
, the man thought.

“I’m not going to hurt you, Hillary,” he said quietly.

Hillary did not reply. She remained motionless beneath the man’s shoe.

What do I do now
? The man wondered. He couldn’t stand there indefinitely with Hillary under him. He knew that with every passing second, she was growing stronger, fully regaining her strength. Meanwhile, his head felt as though a bomb had exploded within his brain and the blood loss from his eye wasn’t helping any, though he was grateful that it had finally stopped bleeding.

With his foot still upon Hillary’s upper chest, the man leaned back attempting to reach the syringe, despite the obvious impossibility. Hillary took full advantage of the man’s imbalance and bolted up as forcefully as she could. The man fell back as Hillary staggered to her feet.

Without thought, he quickly stretched out his arm and reached the syringe. He looked over to see Hillary running out of the room. Without even standing, the man frenziedly crawled over to her and grabbed her ankle just as she came close to exiting the room. Hillary stumbled forward and fought frantically to release her leg from the man’s grasp.

The man tightened his grip on Hillary’s ankle as she tried desperately to pull her leg away from him. He yanked her leg toward him and Hillary lost her balance. With wildly flailing arms, she fell back onto her rear end. She thrashed about like a mermaid stranded on shore, but the man’s hold on her ankle remained firm. He propelled himself forward and cradled both of her legs within his arms, using his upper body strength to keep her from thrashing.