Princess (American Princess #1)(27)
Author: Courtney Cole

Stephen stood and offered his hand to her, which she gladly took.  He pulled her to her feet and then to his chest.

“It’s going to be okay, Syd.  I won’t let anyone hurt you.”

She knew that he meant it and that he wouldn’t let anyone hurt her if he could at all help it. But what worried her was that Stephen was a kind-hearted person.  She was pretty sure that in order to anticipate the actions of a psycho, you would need to understand them.  There was no way that Stephen could think like that.  Of that she was certain.

“Thank you.”

She didn’t voice her concern, only brushed a kiss across his soft lips and then quickly walked through the shadowy darkness to the car.  She was done with this day—it had almost done her in.  Literally.

*  *  *

She still dreamed that she was a mother.  For the first several weeks after losing the baby, she had dreamed that she was rocking her daughter in a snowy white rocking chair.

The dreams would change and sometimes she dreamed that she was cradling an infant swathed in pink clothing in her arms.  The baby’s tiny hands rested against her chest and she could practically smell the powdery, heavenly baby scent.

Other times, she was rocking a beautiful little girl with caramel colored hair, just like her own.  She was reading to her, relishing every minute of the quality time with her daughter.  And then she would wake up.  Every time.  And every time, she felt the horrible, devastating emptiness of her loss rushing back to her.

As bad as those dreams were to wake up from, at least they were pleasant while they lasted.  She had a taste, however brief, of what it was like to hold her daughter.  Her new dreams were different.  She dreamed that a baby was crying somewhere and she couldn’t find it.  She inherently knew that it was hers, but she couldn’t find it no matter how fast she ran or how hard she looked.

Tonight, she had woken up with a start, her body sticky with sweat—both as a result of the heat and of the panic that she felt while she was dreaming.  The dream was so real that she could still taste the fear in her mouth when she woke up.  The fear that she wouldn’t find her baby.

As she lay still so she wouldn’t wake Stephen, she stared at the crackled popcorn ceiling, faced with the reality that her baby was lost to her.  It wasn’t a fear, it wasn’t a dream… it was her truth.

She would never hold her daughter, never find her daughter because her parents had thrown her out like medical waste. Sydney didn’t even have a grave to visit her at.  Resentment formed in her mouth and she swallowed hard to get rid of it.  Dwelling on it wasn’t going to make it any better.

She swung her feet over the side of the bed and sat for a moment to collect herself.  She was never going back to sleep right now.  Her mind was too restless, too disturbed from all of the events that had been jammed into her life lately.

For the last week, she had been on virtual lock-down.  Stephen hadn’t let her leave the house since the mystery assailant had tried to run them down.   She had fallen asleep tonight while trying to put a face to the unknown attacker which is probably what had triggered her nightmares.  She needed to clear her mind.

She walked as quietly as she could over the creaking boards of the aging house to the kitchen to grab a glass of ice water.  As she stood at the sink, she stared out the window for a moment.

The light in her neighbors’ house was on and she could clearly see into their home.  The little blonde boy ran quickly through her field of vision before disappearing through a doorway that was out of her line of sight.  Interesting.  It was 2:00am.  What kind of parents allowed their ten-year old to stay up until 2:00am?  The boy had still been fully dressed.  Apparently, he wasn’t even thinking about going to bed yet. 

She briefly wondered if his parents were even home before she shook her head and turned to walk into the living room, but she quickly turned back.  She had caught something out of the corner of her eye… something not right.  She scanned the side yard of their little house.  It was empty, just as it should be.  But the hair on her arms was standing up and she felt a strange sense of unease.  Something was wrong.

She padded lightly to the back door and peered through the glass, leaving the light off so that her silhouette wouldn’t be illuminated to anyone outside.  Nightfall had turned the back yard into a palette of blue, gray, violet and black, with the silvery light of the moon falling upon the trees and creating rustling shadows.

She could see nothing that wasn’t supposed to be there.  The rickety wooden back fence, the faded red BBQ, some of the neighbor kids’ toys. Everything was perfectly normal.

Just as she was shaking her head, amused at her own ridiculousness, a hand sheathed in a black glove plunged through the window of the door.  Her immediate and single thought was only of the extreme noise that the shattering glass made in the stillness of the night.

She sprung backward, but not quickly enough.  The hand snaked around the corner and flicked the lock.  A figure dressed totally in black with his face obscured by a ski mask lunged inside, snatched her arm and had yanked her back outside before she could even scream.  It was just that quick… as smooth as a machine.  The intruder had clearly done this before.  He knew what he was doing.

He now had her clenched to his chest, one hand over her mouth.  He shoved her roughly forward, his hand bunched up in the back of her nightgown.  He didn’t let go- he kept his hand there, in the small of her back, grasping the thin cotton.   All she could do was comply, her knees bending woodenly as she walked barefoot through the backyard.

It had happened so fast that she knew there was no way that Stephen would have time to help, if he had even heard the noise at all.  She hadn’t had time to even blink or breathe.  Her heart began sinking and didn’t stop until they reached a white utility van parked down the block.  The man yanked the back door open and threw her roughly inside. He bent over her, quickly wrapping duct tape around her wrists several times and then slapping a long piece over her mouth.  The sides of it stuck in her hair and she felt sharp twinges of pain as her hair pulled against the tape.  He slammed the back doors and she was alone for a brief second.

There was no way she was coming out of this intact.  She knew that.

A mesh metal screen separated the driver’s seat from the back of the van and she sat  hunched over as far from it as she could.  Thoughts of survival raced through her mind as the van started to move.