Keaton opened his mouth to respond, but before he could say anything, Lacey cut in. “Keaton, my legs are so sore,” she said, her voice dripping with sweetness. “I’d really appreciate it if you could drop me off. It’s on your way anyway, right?”
I stared at her, stunned, waiting for Keaton to refuse, to tell her that he was going home with his wife. But instead, he nodded. “Of course, Lacey,” he said. “I’ll drop you off.”
“Keaton,” I said, trying to keep the frustration out of my voice. “I really need a ride. My car isn’t working, and it would be nice if—”
“Come on, Lissa,” he interrupted, sounding exasperated. “Just book a ride or get a taxi home. Our house is only ten minutes away. I’ll see you at home.”
He turned away, and I watched as he helped Lacey into his car, the door closing with a finality that made my heart sink. I felt like I had just been dismissed, like I didn’t matter. They drove off, leaving me standing there, feeling more alone than ever.
I checked my purse. I didn’t have enough money to book a ride, and I was too embarrassed to call anyone for help. I decided to walk home, cutting through the alleys that would take me through a few quiet streets. It wasn’t the safest route, but I just wanted to get home and forget about this evening. As I walked, the streets grew darker, and a strange feeling crept up my spine. I felt like someone was following me.
I glanced back a couple of times, but I couldn’t see anyone. The streets were deserted, but the feeling wouldn’t go away. I picked up my pace, trying to shake off the paranoia, but just as I was about to turn another corner, a hand clamped over my mouth, and a rough bag was shoved over my head. I screamed, but the sound was muffled. I struggled, but my arms were pinned, and I felt myself being dragged away.
It felt like an eternity before the bag was pulled off my head. I blinked, my eyes adjusting to the dim light of a vast, empty room. The walls were bare, and there was a faint smell of dampness in the air. I heard footsteps, and a potbellied man with a greasy smile stepped forward.
“Well, hello there, Mrs. Gebbert,” he said, his voice thick with a foreign accent. “My name’s Viktor. You don’t know me, but I know your husband very well.”
I didn’t recognize him, but there was something about his eyes that sent a chill through me. “What do you want?” I asked, my voice trembling.