Through the Eyes of Madness—Part Thirteen
By: David K. Montoya

Frightened Betty looked into the man's eyes and found rage mixed with fear. She knew enough about how things worked that her abductor was unstable mentally, if pushed he might snap and kill her where she sat.

"I can do this," he whispered to himself, Betty noticed that his face looked at frightened and weak. His eyes flashed to her, and they met—she felt her heart as it thumped against her chest. Without a word said, the bearded man pitched up the blindfold and placed it back on her.

The captor gave a heavy sigh. It sounded like it was filled with sorrow and weakness, and in that moment, Betty knew she was safe.

"Not yet," he said under his breath, which was followed by a louder sigh. "But, soon... Very soon. I will show them all."

Betty heard a door close, then silence...

#

The sun peaked through the clouds onto the wet greenery outside as Lisa sipped her coffee while she watched from behind a computer screen as Kurt ran aimlessly around on the polished hardwood floors of her modest upstate home. Welcomed sunlight lit her home office as it beamed in through several large windows that aligned the walls. She spotted a rainbow outside, directly behind her son.

She thought that she should grab her phone and take a picture, after all people pay extra money to have that sort of background, and there it was all natural and free. But, she did not as a fleeting feeling of loneliness crept up behind her. It had been there for sometime now. Dormant in her life while she attempted to juggle her work as an online paralegal and motherhood.

While it was not financially necessary to work, Lisa felt her mind as it slipped into what she felt was perhaps insanity. Things had not always been so dark and dreary, once upon a time Lisa was a happy, independent woman. Even when she was first married, she remained fairly autonomous in her daily life. Which was productive with a busy law school schedule and a passionate relationship.

But, that was then.

Kurt came as a complete surprise to her and Grayson, her husband. The two were still heavily involved in their own personal lives developing careers. Both agreed to use protective measures, but as they soon found out, it was not one hundred percent effective.

It was during her pregnancy Grayson developed a drinking problem. He had become a different person in that time. Normally, her husband was a warm hearted, even tempered man. A natural born speaker, he walked into a room flashed his smile and wooed anyone her so pleased. But when booze was introduced, he became the complete opposite—angry, cold, distant. It even affected his speech, especially when he was heavily intoxicated. His word were no longer audible, transformed into more mumbles and sounds.

Then he accidentally killed his partner while they were out on a call. Grayson refused to talk about it with her, but it was in all the papers. All Lisa had to do was pick up the early edition of the Morning Post and be caught up on the facts and rumors in six hundred words or less.

The media had a field day with the murder, there was something new daily. After the facts had been covered, and he would not go to prison, the story switched from collected data to rumors. One that was ran multiple times was that Grayson was having an affair with a stripper from the city. But, Lisa felt in her soul that he was innocent of most of the media accusations.

Despite their problems, the couple were able to work through it and move forward. While he took work in the city, she was allowed to be with her son in their upstate home. Her and her family was away from the drugs, the alcohol and the murder. She believed that she, Grayson and Kurt could find happiness there.

But, she quickly learned otherwise, as things did not go as she hoped. Before Lisa took the job as an online paralegal, her life consisted of folding clothes and a regimen of diaper changes. She used to have a regular conversation with Grayson via text messaging. Although a sincere longing to hear his voice was missed at least there was still contact.

Again, that was then.

The mother of a two–year–old found herself, alone and when they moved into the city, she almost instantly lost communication with Grayson. Within a few months trapped in domestic isolation, Lisa begin to have thoughts of suicide, but, the love of her child prevented her from crossing that line of no return.

It was when Lisa was at the point of utter neurasthenia that she stumbled across a want ad for an online paralegal. A small spec of light ignited inside her weary soul. Perhaps if she buried herself in work, the pain and loneliness would fade. The idea snapped across her synapses and for the first time in a very long time, Lisa Copeland felt hope.

For the most part, it was what she needed. While there was still the need to remain at the doorstep of motherhood and a legal obligation of matrimony, Lisa was able to allow herself to be consumed by her newly founded employment and ignore loneliness. Her afflictions temporarily forgotten, she was able to move forward in life with contentedness.

That was, until her mother called to wish her a happy birthday which was a surprise for Lisa, since her mother was typically away on business. It was during that conversation that she brought up Julie, her middle sister who had recently moved into a custom–made home in California and was the happiest a single person could had been.

The sisters had a bitter disdain for each other, for as long as the two remembered. Julie was more about what pleasured her, and did whatever it took to achieve that. Lisa always felt that it was because her sibling was too selfish for marriage and parenthood. But, over the years the middle sister realized that she had a taste for expensive things and had to have a job that would reciprocate her desires.

With the help of their mother's financial support, which got under her sister's skin, Julie became a Cardiothoracic Nurse Practitioner. It was around that time Lisa decided to apply for law school, to show her family that she was capable of success too. That was also the time she met a young and ambitious Grayson Copeland.

He was fresh out of the academy and wanted to work his way up to become a detective; they connected on the idea of serving justice. During that time, the future appeared bright and promising for them both.

Yet again, that was then.

Her mother unintentionally planted an earwig of hopelessness, and reminded Lisa that she was in her own eyes a failure. She tried to shut that pain out, but it slowly, eagerly crept back inside which caused emotional chaos. But, Kurt, although was quite stressful at times, kept her balanced enough to not crossing that line of self harm—God only knew what would happen if anything were to happen to her little boy.

Lisa struggled to extract that though from her mind, but she felt the cold darkness as it slipped over her in a shroud of despair.

"Mum–mum, you got cry," Kurt said with a sad expression.

Lisa looked down at her son, and then instinctively placed her fingers under her eyes. She had begun to cry unknowingly and realized how sad that made Kurt. She wiped away her tears. His face lit up when he saw her remove her sadness.

"Mum–Mum, no sad now," Kurt asked behind a big toddler smile.

Lisa could not but help to flash a smile of her own toward Kurt and replied, "Oh baby, Mom–mom's not sad, I just... I just had something in my eye."

"So no mum–mum sad?" He asked.

"No baby," Lisa said with a weary smile, as she felt the dread while it sat deep in her stomach. "Yay," Kurt exclaimed, and then ran back toward his massive pile of toys.

Lisa's smile became stronger while she watched her little boy play cheerfully with his playthings and thought to her self: Maybe. Just maybe, everything will be all right.

#

It was dead calm.

But, there was an unsettling feeling that coated the walls of the room that Betty was in—it was dark, stale and silent. That was until Betty was awoken when she felt a hand grab the back of her arm and pull her to her feet. Her knees almost buckled beneath her, but a second hand grasped her other arm. For a moment, she forgot were she was until she heard her captor's voice as he said, "It's time to go."

His voice was different, strong, commanding, it was laced with power. He grasped her tightly until he was positive that she was able to stand on her own, and then asked, "You awake?"

"Uh huh," was all Betty could deport from her mouth.

She felt him grip her tighter and gave her a shake and demanded to know, "Are you awake or not, Betty?"

"Yes. Yes! I'm awake," she answered in a frightened cry. Her heart raced while she processed his words. Betty knew that things were about to get worse and thought to herself: He didn't call me Miss Betty, that is not a good sign.

Betty was lead by the arm from the apartment, there was a thick mist in the air that was felt as they passed through it. It was the first time in days, she felt the bitter cold weather against her skin. The two moved along in silence, she felt a hefty drop of rain hit the top of her head.

"Great. It's starting to rain," her abductor grumbled.

He lead her by the arm across a street, while her mind continued to race. She needed to create conversation, make her abductor look at her as a person—not and object of his desire.

"I'm walking across a street blindfolded," Betty said softly. "Don't you think that'll raise some eyebrows?"

"That's the idea," he snipped.

Betty caught that the innocent voice triggered anger, but she needed to try something else. Anything. Just keep talking! She thought to herself.

The man's grip tightened again around her arm and begin to walk faster. Betty fought back the panic and said in almost a playful tone, "Awe... Don't be upset."

He did not speak, but increased their pace.

"This reminds me of a Depeche Mode song," she blurted out nervously.

"Oh?" He responded, it was evident that his mind was elsewhere.

"Yeah." Betty said, still in the playful voice.

"Which one," he asked. From the sound of his voice, Betty was able to tell that he had turned his head to look at her as he asked his question.

She had his attention, she just needed to keep it and get to safety.

"You a Depeche Mode fan," Betty asked quickly to keep the conversation going.

"Totally," he replied in a slightly softer tone. "Which one?"

"Which, what?" She puzzled.

"Which song does this remind you of," he asked, but back to his original tone.

"Uh. Uh. But Not Tonight," Betty finally answered. "You know the beginning part where it goes Oh God, it's raining, but I'm not complaining, It's filling me up with new life."

The man chuckled.

"What?" Betty asked. It was almost an evil cackle.

"Very appropriate, Betty," he answered. What's the next verse?"

"Uh, The stars in the sky bring tears to my eyes, they're lighting my way tonight and I haven't felt so alive in years," answered in more of a song than spoken words.

"That would be an appropriate metaphor of what we have planned today," he revealed. "As long as you are a good girl, there will be no reason to kill you."

Keep talking, Betty thought to herself.

"Watch your step," he said and stepped off the sidewalk.

"What time is it," she asked. "There is no one out walking around, an I don't hear any traffic."

The man grumbled at her question.

"I didn't mean to ask too many questions."

He sighed and then replied, "It's about three in the morning on Monday. I figure, in about an hour, people at the police station will start to notice that you had not clocked in promptly at four."

"Then what," Betty blindly asked without much thought.

There was a pause, before he answered: "Well, we don't have much time to accomplish things. With all the sightings and fingerprints I left, they'll probably track us down in four days tops."

The Playfulness fell from her voice, when she said, "Oh."

Again, there was a pause, before he spoke. Now his words were fused with his growing psychosis: "Do you know what Depeche Mode song I think of when I reflect on what's about to happen?"

Betty did not want to know the answer and remained silent.

"Well?" He shouted.

"W–what song?" She forced her self to ask.

"Stripped," he replied in almost a hiss.

To be continued…

-

Rate David K. Montoya's Through the Eyes of Madness—Part Thirteen

Let The Contributor Know What You Think!

HTML Comment Box is loading comments...