2

“Abigail Laurene Kinsington, get your ass in here right now!” Richard's loud bellow echoes through the whole house, making her jump in her seat. She jumps into action, rushing from the room as fast as she can, after she had mumbled a hurried 'excuse me' to the Sterlings. She learned many a year ago not to keep him waiting.

Abigail runs across the floor, heels tapping as she rushes into her father's office. She finds him behind his large, red oak desk, in his brown leather chair. Denise is standing off to the side, behind him, wringing her hands anxiously. She is clearly upset, the sight of which worries Abby.

“Sit down, Abigail.” Richard says as he points to the uncomfortable brown loeather chair in front of his desk.

“Your father needs to speak to you, Abigail.” Denise says quietly. The plea in her voice begs Abigail to tread lightly and not to anger him any more than he already is. Abigail gives a slight nods of acknowledgement to her mother's unspoken message. Richard gives his wife a stern glare and she dips her head to lower her eyes. She knows she is not allowed to speak out of turn.

“Yes, sir?” Abigail asks the man, trying to sound polite when all she wants to do his smack him upside his head with the heavy brass paper weight on his desk that is shaped like a globe of the world. The way he treats her mother enrages her so much. Who is he to treat anyone like that?

“You will marry Brody Sterling. We will announce your engagement tomorrow and you will be married in two weeks time.” Richard announces in a tone of voice meant to discourage argument.

Yet arguing is exactly what she plans to do. “But I don't wa-”

“I was not asking!” Richard thunders, his face going red. “You will do as you are told or else!”

Turning to his wife, he commands her. “Go. Get Brody and bring him in here. Then keep Mrs. Sterling company. Where are your manners?” He is implying that she is rude by leaving them alone, not acknowledging the fact that he had a part in it by calling her to his side.

Denise once again dips her head in shame at his rude admonishment. Quietly leaving the room, she closes the door behind her. Richard turns back to Abigail and glares. “You will accept his proposal with the proper amount of gratitude that is due him! You will be gracious, if you know what is good for you.”

“But I barely know him! Must we marry so soon?” Abigail cries out. She knew better than to refuse the engagement, but couldn't they take a few months to get to know one another? Not that she would like the smarmy bastard any more in a few months time, but she could at least delay her punishment for a while.

“You met him today. That is more than you deserve. Not straighten up and act right, because if you embarrass me, so help me God, nothing will save you from me.” He threatens her and she does as she is told.

She scoots to the edge of the chair, her back as straight as a rod. She crosses her legs at the ankles and smoothes down her skirt, before she runs a smoothing hand over her hair. She plasters a false smile on her face and tries to keep the hatred from her eyes as she faces her father, silently seeking his approval.

She is smart enough to know that this sudden engagement to Brody Sterling has to do with what she overheard. She has known for a while that he was facing financial difficulties. It is because he has such a king complex that he will spend and spend in order to 'keep up with the Jones' whether he has the means tosupport the spree or not. He acts like he has an unlimited cash flow, when in fact his poor business sense and bad attitude has steadily cost the company until his bank account is anorexic.

The door pushes open and Brody marches in, with the grand air of someone far more important than he actually is. “You wanted to speak to me, Richard?”

He acts as if he owns the place and Abigail can tell that his insolence annoys Richard greatly, but her father can not run the risk of alienating him with rudeness, since he is counting on the Sterlings to pull his irons out of the fire with this hasty marriage.

“Yes, I did. My daughter has something that she wishes to say to you.” Richard gives Abigail a look that she recognizes well. It is time to give a performance that is up to his standards. Which is hard, since he is a master ass kisser and a grand manipulator.

Giving Brody a huge, fake smile, she croons. “I just wanted to accept your proposal. I would be over joyed to marry you. Thank you for asking me.”

“Good.” Brody says simply, looking her over. His eyes linger on her breasts and exposed legs causing bile to churn in her stomach.

“Now that we have that settled, you and I have a few matters of importance to discuss.” Richard says to Brody. Shooting a glare at Abigail, he hisses. “Leave. Go plan your wedding with the women.”

Not waiting to be told twice, Abigail rushes from the room. When the door closes behind her and she is alone, she feels the sting of tears burning behind her eyes. She does not want to marry a stranger that she can not stand. She had big dreams fr herself that she is having to watch die before her.

Abby had dreamed of going to college since she was a child. She always wanted to go to New York University, also known as NYU, and study to become a pathologist. But Richard told her that she was not allowed to go to college. That she need not worry about an education, since he had a marriage in mind for her. She didn't need a college degree to merely become a trophy wife.

Her dreams had been crushed. She  had studied so hard at school to make the best grades that she could. She graduated with a 4.0 grade point average and was valedictorian of her class. Not that her father had been proud of her or anything. He didn't even congratulate her on her accomplishment.

“Abby?”

She looks up to find Irla standing in front of her and with a hushed sob she runs forward to be taken into her friend's arms and hugged tighly. She explains what is happening to Irla and the woman offers her the comfort that she so desperately needs. Murmering soothing words into Abby's hair, Irla strokes her back as she cries out all the unfairness and injustice of it all.

Once she has managed to calm herself down a degree, she leaves Irla to join her mother in the parlor room once more. Denise and Mrs. Sterling are discussing possible locations that they could obtain for the wedding, given such short notice. Abigail gets the impression that the two Sterlings knew of the rushed wedding before she did, since Mrs. Sterling doesn't seem a bit fazed by the news.

The two of them make plans to meet up tomorrow and handle all of the necessary arrangements. Neither ask Abigail's opinion, to which she is grateful, because she has nothing to contribute. There is no part of her that wants this marriage and she can't keep pretending to be happy about it. She will not plan a wedding, because for hr it holds all the joy of a funeral. She wonders if they would let her wear black. If people mistook it for a wake, then her tears of sorrow would seem normal.

“If the two of you will excuse me, I have a few calls to make. I would like to inform my friends of my upcoming nuptials.” She tells the ladies, trying to force the cheer into her tone. She can tell by her mother's sad eyes and grimace that the attempt falls flat.

“Yes, you may be excused, my dear.” Denise tells her and Abby inclines her head in gratitude.

Pushing up from her seat, she turns to Mrs. Sterling. Her future mother-in-law. “Mrs. Sterling, today has been lovely and I look forward to seeing you tomorrow. Do, please, have a good rest of your day.”

The older woman merely inclines her head. “Same to you, Abigail.”

Abigail rushes up to her room, where she throws herself across her bed and sobs out all of her anguish, despair and the hatred that she feels for the man that is unfortunately her father.

Three days later, it is late on Sunday evening. It is a chilly, October night in Boston, Massachusetts and fallen leaves blow across the cold ground. The night is dark and depressing, to match Abigail's bitter mood. The day was spent with her mother, approving the venue at a country club outside of town.

Then the two of them went to shop for wedding dresses with Mrs. Sterling, who was just as lovely as ever. The woman was in fine form today, being even more hellish than usual. Every dress that Abigail tried on that she liked, the hateful woman would criticize, sometimes even making derogatory remarks about Abigail herself.

Abby was at her wits end and having to bite back each scathing retort that was on the tip of her tongue. What she would have given to be able to tell Pauline Sterling exactly where she could go and what she could shove up her ass when she got there!

Finally she had asked Mrs. Sterling to select the dress that she liked the most. She came back with a hideously flamboyent gown with layers of tulle and feathers. Feather, for God's sake. The dress was an eye sore and when Abigail tried it on, she felt like she was swimming in an oversized bird costume. But Mrs. Sterling sniffed with pretention and said the dress was flattering to Abigail's 'boyish frame'.

Abigail, close to throwing down with the old bat, had ultimately chosen the dress, because she wanted to avoid any more time spent with the wretched beast that is soon to be her mother-in-law.

Another moment in that woman's company and Abigail would have said something truly unforgivable and dissolved the whole merger. Despite being tempted to do just that, she knew she was not brave enough to go against her father. She barely came out of the last time intact.

Besides, why would she care what her wedding dress looks like for a wedding that she does not even want. Maybe if this were a real wedding wth a groom that she actuallycared for, then she would be more concerned with the look of the dress and all of the other many details. Considering, though, how much she loathed Brody, she could care less if she walked down the aisle to him in the ugly dress. She was not trying to impress him or his snobby friends. 

“I will be right back, darling. I just need to use the rest room before we take our leave.” Denise tells her daughter, before she stands up from the table and makes her way through the restaurant.

The two of them stopped by a little french bistro to grab a bite to eat and honestly, to prolong their day a bit longer. They were both putting off returning home, because they knew that Richard would be there and neither wanted to see him. Neither wanted to return home. In Abby's case, ever, but both knew they had to. They never stood a chance of getting away from Richard. 

The pair had chosen to eat outdoors, despite the nip in the air, because Abigail needed the freedom of the outdoors. She had felt hemmed in and trapped all day, what with all of the wedding preperations she was forced to participate in. Denise had humored her, sitting at the wraught iron table with an indulgent smile. Although she felt a little judged by the waitress.

There were no other patrons outside with Abby and very few inside. The young woman that was waiting on them had not been back outside since she had collected the payment for the meal earlier. They were lingering over their drinks outside and she felt no need to hover apparently. The street was essentially empty, save for a couple at the far end of the sidewalk that could not seem to keep their hands off of one another.

The night has an ominous feel to it, sitting in the dark street with no one around her. Yet Abigail much preferred this to the prison that she calls 'home'. Abigail is looking down at the table, picking at a spot of chipped paint that caught her attention when she hears footsteps approaching.

Figuring it is just the waitress, because her mother would have announced herself, she does not even bother to look up. When her chair is yanked backwards, scaring her witless, she never gets the chance to scream because a hand claps over her mouth roughly.

Abigail is drug backwards against her will, despite the flailing of her hands and the kicking of her feet, to an old van that she never even noticed approaching. Within seconds she is thrown into the dark interior, where she is forcibly held down by her arms and legs as the vehicle speeds away into the night.

Terror washes over Abigail, blanketing her in fear. She has no idea how many people are in the vehicle or what they want with her, but she does know there are at least two men holding her down. She feels a hand on each wrist and a hand on each ankle. It is too dark to make out the men's features but she can somewhat make out the builds of the two men.

One is big and bulky, while the other appears to be tall and slim. What she notices most of all is the overwhelming stench of alcohol that permiates the air and makes nausea roil in her belly. She has always detested the smell of alcohol from a young age, the scent of it reminding her of her father's dark rages. Whenever he combined his usual anger with strong spirits, he was not only viciously cruel, he was physically violent.

With Abigail's mouth momentarily uncovered, she decides to try and speak to them. She is not expecting to get very far with that approach, but you never know. “What are you doing with me? Where are we going?”

No one answers, as she feared might be the case. Whimpering softly, she struggles beneath their restraining grip. “Why me?”

“Because of your father!” The man behind the wheel hisses at her angrily, in a gravelly voice.

Her father? So, this was a targeted attack and not done at random. The thought of that worries her even more. Had this been a random attack, then the sloppiness could lead to mistakes that would somehow help lead them to be caught. But if this was due to her father, that meant they must have done their homework. They wouldn't strike without a solid plan, meaning that they would most likely be extra careful and cautious.

The chances of her being found quickly diminish greatly, she would think, although she knows nothing about being kidnapped, considering how sheltered of a life she has lived.

Knowing her father and how truly evil he is, she is worried about what he might have done to inspire this reaction in these men. If they really want to get back at him for some heinous crime or diservice that he caused the,, what is to stop them from killing her? Taking their revenge on him that way. 

If they did not know her father well enough, they might think that was a punishment for him. They might be mistaken enough to think that her demise would affect him in some way, but Abigail knew better. If he were to get word of her death, he would not bat an eye until it came time to pay for the funeral costs. Then he might quibble about how she was not worth the cost, being such an epic disappointment and such.

The van swerves suddenly and a body is flung against her lungs as curses fill the air. Abigail is able to distinguish four different voices. Four men against one girl. She knew in that moment that she did not stand a chance.

She almost wished for death. At least it would be quick and easy, over in a moment and then she would have peace. But that was the cowards way out and she was not a quitter. Whatever they planned to do to her, she would endure it. Because she had grit. Just because she was raised as a hothouse orchid did not mean that she was some dainty little flower. Abigail liked to imagine that she had strength of will. That Richard had not quite managed to beat all of it out of her yet.

“He won't care.”

“What?” The forth guy says. He is sitting in the passenger seat in the front of the van, but that is all she can make out in the dark, othe than that he sounds like he is young. She hated to admit it, even to herself, but she quiet liked the sound of his voice. 

“My father. He will not care that you have me. He would probably just tell you to kill me, so he wouldn't have to spare me another thought.” Abigail says quietly.

“For everyone's sake, I sure hope that is not true.” The man says beneath his breath.

“Shut up. Everyone!” The man behind the wheel snaps and everyone in the van falls silent.

Nothing else is said as the man whips the vehicle down the road, swerving all the while. Where is a police officer when you need one? Boston is a big city, shouldn't they have a significant police presence? This man is clearly driving while drunk off of his ass. He is a danger to other drivers and a menace to society with his irresponsible use of a motor vehicle. Not to mention the fact the litterally has a victim of kidnap in his damn van.

The meal I just ate threatens to come back up as I slide across the floor of the van. I have never been good with rides. I have a long history of always feeling car sick when inside a moving vehicle. The horrible way the man is driving and the jerking motions, combined with the fact that she is laying flat on her back rather than sitting up has her stomach heaving with nausea.

“Where are you taking me?” Abigail asks the big man by her head.

“You really expect me to tell you that?” He slurs, with a drunken chuckle.

“No. I just want to know how much longer until we finally stop. Your intoxicating aroma and the deplorable driving is making me feel rather ill.” She responds. She could almost swear that she heard the guy in the passenger seat chuckle as well.

“Aroma..?”

“Just never you mind. If I vomit in this vehicle, it is just the price you get to pay for kidnapping me, I suppose.” Abigail says, then stops talking all together.

Squeezing her eyes closed and breathing deeply in through her nos and, out through her mouth is the only thing that stops her from getting sick as the ride feels like it lasts for hours.

When the vehicle finally rolls to a stop, Abigail is ready to see where they are. She wants to look around for another home or a road that she can head towards, in the hope of being rescued, should she successfully get away from the men holding her captive.

But strong arms jerk her upright until she is sitting straight up and a piece of duct tape is slapped across her mouth none to gently. The sting hurts her lips and teeth, while the chemical smell from the tape has her gagging behind her pressed together lips.

A piece of scratchy fabric is drug down over her eyes and tied tightly around her head, blocking off most of her view. If it were not so dark, she would be able to see out from under the blindfold, but it is dark, so she can not really see anything.

Abigail hears the door of the van being pushed open and then she is being shoved forward. She feels herself falling as a huge hand pushes at her back and she runs out of floor beneath her feet. But a pair of thin, well muscled arms wrap around her, catching her to his lean body. He doesn't release her immediately and she squirms in protest. No matter how good it feels to be held in a pair of strong arms, she must get away from them.

With her mouthed gagged, she can't exactly snap at him to let her go, but she can flail her body around until he gets the message. If he so happens to take a knee to the groin, then all the better. But that does not happen because he sits her on her feet and what she assumes is the big man is back to prodding her as if she is cattle that he is herding into a chute.

Moving forward to avoid the jabs, she notices that all four if the men remain quiet. Are they somewhere that has other people around that they need to worry about waking? Because if so, that could come in handy. Abigail cautions herself to just pay close attention. If she is going to survive and possibly get free, she needs to use her brain.

But does she really want to survive this? What does she have to look forward to in her life? A marriage to a man that she absolutly hates? Living under the rule of a father that she hates even more? Is that any better? Either way, she is still being forced against her will. Either way, she will never be free.