Chapter 78: "The Unbothered Captor"

Sorry, been a while, but it's loooong chapter to make up for the delay! Post your reactions as you read!

First Draft: October 28, 2021

Salma gained some sense of consciousness as a bone chilling cold got her spine in its clutches. She realized she was trembling with a chill. Her back and shoulders ached with weariness. She kept huddling inwards for warmth, trying to overcome her shivering. Her vision was still hazy and quite dark. Salma desperately grasped at the little light of wakefulness on her periphery but the dizziness and the chill spun her in a whirlpool.

She felt a sturdy arm slip under her aching back. Her first impulse was to rest against it, but then the survival instinct kicked in, forcing her to summon the will to struggle and push away.

"Relax, you're safe," a voice said, pulling her up against a warmer hold, an embrace. "Here, eat a bit to get some warmth back in you."

Salma did not recognize the voice and despite her swimming head and wavering consciousness, she knew she did not trust it. As she felt her body gently propped against a more steady, stronger and warmer figure, Salma put up whatever fight she could without puking, to ball upon herself, pulling away from the stranger.

"It's alright," she felt a very warm palm press gently against her forehead. The touch was strong and foreign. Salma did not trust it as it slowly pulled her back up and against him again. "You'll be fine. Have a little something to regain your strengths."

Salma felt a hand grab her face to stop her from turning it away. An inwards pinching grip forced her lips open. The world spun at a pace she could no longer quite fight against. Her body felt cold and clammy and exhausted. She was chilled to the bone and drained of all life and energy. So when she felt the smooth, warm surface of a spoon push a hot liquid past her numb lips, Salma could barely do much but swallow, allowing whatever, nourishment or poison, to drip past her dry throat.

A couple spoonful of the warm liquid she took without resistance. Though defeated in her vaguely built, haze filled world, against defying the wishes of the stranger, she felt the defeat was to her benefit, so far. For whatever reason that she was being forced away from withering to her death, Salma felt life returning to her bones, easing her painful trembles one spoonful at a time. A little light returned chasing away the murk from her vision. The haze, however, still remained. Her eyelids felt heavy as she tried blinking to clear away the blur. She vaguely saw the form of a man over her, broad shouldered and tall. His hair was dark and she could just make the shadow of a beard over his face.

Burak Kaka? Salma thought frowning, as the man continued feeding her.

The figure pause and laugh quietly. Salma felt a ripple of panic. Though a relatively irrelevant detail to feed her fears of being with a complete stranger, the laugh not being the familiar, rumbling roar of her trustworthy bodyguard had a chill crawling back upon her spine again. Her vision sharpened by the adrenaline released into her system out of fright. She was terrified to see clearly, the charcoal grey of his eyes, and the unfamiliar plains of his face, smiling down at her. That handsome man was completely foreign to her memory, and because he was unfamiliar, she deemed him devious.

The room spun out of control, the darkness seeped inwards from all sides. A fog curtained his face from her vision before she was slowly swallowed up by unconsciousness again.

***

Salma let her eyes wander, taking everything in. She felt warm and snug, still very drowsy, but otherwise more stable than earlier. She was lying in a king sized bed with white bed spread, soft pillows, and wrapped in a grey blanket. Salma studied the room as far back as she could, without lifting her head or moving her neck. The room and its furniture were white and grey, and very messy. Except for a large wall clock, the walls were bare. Salma noted books, clothes, and trainers strewn around the chairs and the dark grey carpet, some in neat piles and others just haphazardly placed. It was like someone was making an effort to stay neat and tidy, but more often than not, they just gave in to being messy. Salma heard footsteps.

Her eyes snapped shut. She made a conscious effort to ease her breathing and relax her limbs. Her heartbeat skyrocketed as she heard the turn of the knob and the door creaking open. Despite herself, Salma swallowed, trying to ingest the nerves and the panic that was threatening to take over her mind. The footsteps drew nearer. It was getting harder to not blink, shut her eyes tight, or fly them open. She feared he would see her eyelids moving and know she was faking her faint, but she knew he only had to listen, just a little closer, to hear the erratic beat of her terrified heart.

Something was placed upon the side table that was drawn to rest longitudinally next to the bed. Salma had seen a jug and a clean glass of water on it earlier, and had been sorely tempted to quench her thirst but her fear of the unknown had kept her from leaving any mark of her being awake. Salma almost jumped out of her sleep-acting when she felt fingers on her forehead. They were cool, checking her temperature, but Salma was certain it was not because she had a fever.

She heard the person sigh and straighten up. After a moment of lingering, she was once again startled when he patted her head, twice. Then, he left. Salma waited for a good ten minutes after the door was shut, continuing to fake-sleep, listening to the loud drum of her heart beat, before she deemed it safe enough to peek through her lashes. No one was around, so Salma risked opening her eyes completely. A warm, enticing aroma wafted towards her from the side table. Salma glanced at it, without moving, to see a big glass bowl of soup, a slice of cheese and a piece of garlic bread just sitting there, tempting and inviting her to devour the food. With her senses excited by the lingering smell of the soup, Salma risked a lift of her head and a look over her shoulder. For the first time, she became aware of the window behind her, against which the grey curtains were drawn tightly. Once quite certain, she was indeed alone, Salma sat up against the pillow.

A slight headache knocked at the back of her head as Salma grabbed the tray with soup. She wondered how long it had been since she had had anything to eat. A day, perhaps, since she was fed something in her barely conscious state, or maybe two? Who knew? And who cared? Not Salma. For she was shoving as much of the soup down her throat as she could, and munching on as much bread and cheese as her mouth would allow. She had to eat before the man came back, and eat enough to have gained some strength to be able to fight him off, and if possible, escape. Salma did not care to observe the ingredients of the soup, or its taste – which had been delicious the very first spoonful but she was too focused on finishing it to appreciate it – or if it was possibly poisoned.

She stomached the soup and cheese at a rapid speed and then lowered her legs off the bed while she was still eating. She stretched her legs to get some feeling into them, then, forced a large piece of the remaining bread in her mouth. She could work on chewing on it while she fixed her shoes, she told herself, as her poor mouth protested against the size of the morsel.

Salma struggled with her shoes that were thankfully lying next to the bed and almost choked on the piece of bread. She nearly knocked the jug over as she attacked it to pour herself some water to dislodge the bread stuck in her throat.

Messy idiot! Salma scolded herself as she gulped huge sips of water, wincing a little as the painful bite slid down her throat.

Getting rid of the glass, Salma threw a quick glance at the wall clock. It was four in the afternoon. The thought of 'asr crossed Salma's mind but she decided she would pray her prayers once she was safe and able to determine how many she had missed since the morning Alex had paid her a visit. For getting kidnapped and put to sleep quite a few times, she had lost all sense of time.

Salma had almost tiptoed to the door when she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror by the closet. Her wide-eyed image looked back at her; bewildered to find her hair disheveled. Loose strands of hair were peaking every which way out of her ponytail. Salma's shocked eyes turned away from her pathetic, panic-stricken image and frantically ran over the room in search of her scarf.

Why on earth do these jackasses think it okay to remove my headgear! Salma seethed silently as she located her scarf on the pillow next to the one she slept on, and made a beeline for it. Yet, her heart sank to realize the hijab pins were missing. However, making do with what was available, Salma wrapped the cloth around her head a couple of turns and then once around her face. She glimpsed a robber in her dress and scarf in the mirror creeping towards the door, but shrugged it. She would rather look like a robber while sneaking up on her kidnapper than have no covering. And yet, her covering was feeble. Salma had barely, and without daring to breathe, endured the loud click of the lock, and the door's, apparently, earsplitting loud creak, to slip out of the room, that the cloth around her head and face, unfastened as it was, started loosening.

Her fingers shot up to hold the end of the scarf in place against her face. Salma crept up the small hallway silently. Her heart thudded in her chest, and her breathing was erratic. She dared a look around the large, windowless room that she was to enter. Couches around a coffee table, gaming consoles, a flat-screen; it seemed to her that this was a sitting room. Salma studied the tall, narrow bookshelf, lined next to the wall on the right. Fortunately for her, this room too, was deserted.

Salma's froze half a step into the sitting room when she heard running water. Straining her ears, she realized the sound was coming from the door up right. She heard dishes being handled and figured it was a kitchen.

And the stranger is in there, Salma thought to herself of her kidnapper. She scurried towards the shelf and hid beside it.

Salma waited to listen some more. Her eyes drew to the stairs running up left of the sitting room. Salma wondered if they would lead her to an escape from this place? She could not see any other way in or out, but the stairs and the kitchen.

Or was the kitchen the only way out? Salma peeked around the shelf, at the door just next to it. She jumped when something metallic hit concrete with a resounding crash.

"Oops!" She heard the man as he picked up whatever he had knocked to the ground, or against the counter, Salma could not tell.

Not able to decide on her next move quick enough, Salma had just a fraction of a second to press flat by the wall, next to the book shelf, when the man stepped in from the kitchen.

Salma dared not breathe and her heart was pounding right out of her ribcage. She stood like a statue, trembling slightly as her chest congested, desperate for some air. She saw the man's shadow pass. He was humming a tune to himself as he did whatever he was doing. Salma felt her skin crawl and itch, terrified that he would approach the room, and she would be discovered.

She heard him heave, and the couch groaned. Salma felt her eyes straining as if to see through the hard wood of the shelf to confirm what the ears had discerned. After a moment's silence, when she saw flashes of color and a few beeps of sounds reached her, Salma dared believe what her ears suggested. The man had fortunately decided to play a game instead of checking up on his prisoner. She risked a look past the bookshelf and quickly jumped back upon seeing the back of his dark head. His hair was up in a knot, and there was a head piece around his neck.

After drawing a slow, careful breath in, Salma rallied herself in her mind, to brave a quick tip-toe to the kitchen. If she could not find a way out of this place out the back, then at least, by long shot, she would know which of the two ways out of the sitting room, was her way to escape.

Salma shot out of her hiding place before her mind could properly catch up. Her steps were jittery, her toes ticklish, and movement unstable. She was too fast. Abrupt was her turn to the kitchen. She stubbed her toe around the corner. Her hands pushed out to grab the kitchen door. Ghosts and shadows of hands and long fingers grabbed at her back as she darted into the kitchen. Salma crouched by the counter, out of breath and out of sight.

She waited, feeling heat radiating off of her cheeks and body as her palms sweat and fingers trembled. Salma ran a clammy hand over her forehead and around her neck. Unnoticed by her, her scarf now lay in woundup heaps around her neck. Salma pushed lose strands of hair away from her face. She was certain the man was alerted. Her move to the kitchen had not been swift enough, and stealthy even less so. Salma had a feeling, if not the quick rustle of the movement behind him, he had definitely heard the knock of her shoe against the wall as she rounded into the kitchen. Her toe throbbed painfully. And yet she feared, it would soon be the reason for bigger pains.

Salma stayed crouched but nothing happened. She strained her ears. She heard the sound of the game, and the excited gasps and disappointment grunts of the man playing it. Salma felt her heart relaxing its pace. Perhaps it was just the odds stacked in her favor that her kidnapper was a passionate gamer.

Thinking it safe, Salma turned her attention to the kitchen. It was nice and tidy, with clean counter tops, and pots and pans scrubbed shiny. She looked past the dish rack, in which a few mugs, plates and bowls were neatly placed, and at the door that led out back.

Salma rose to her feet. She contemplated on finding some knives but then decided against pulling any drawers and risking a noise. Instead, she turned to the pots and pans hanging by their hooks over the counter behind her, just under the cabinet up top.

Choosing a pan, she quietly took it off its hook and turned towards the back door.

"You know you could have just asked for more if you were hungry."

Startled, Salma whipped around, pan at the ready, wide-eyed and breathing like she had run a mile. To her trembling hand's surprise, she found the man leaning against the door, at ease, his arms crossed, head tilted and resting against the door frame and a smile playing upon his lips.

A few silent seconds stretched between them. He just continued looking at her, not saying anything, not making a move. Just smiling lazily.

"Who are you?" Salma asked, tightening the grip on her pan even if he made no threatening moves. "What do you want?"

Salma was grateful that she did not stutter, but her voice was abnormally high pitched and she hated it that her fear showed quite clearly in her voice.

"Wow, that's a very tough question," the man replied, looking amused as he mulled it over. "I want a lot of things . . . but Miss Flynn Rider, for now, let's just settle with spending some more time together. Have coffee together, or play a game. Chat. Catch up, you know, that sort of a thing." He smiled at her.

Salma swallowed and took an uncertain step back. The man was so relaxed and casual that he kind of sounded a little crazy.

"You want coffee?" he asked, stepping away from the door.

Salma lifted her pan higher and took another small step towards the back door.

"Or would you fancy something else?"

"I would fancy you out of my way," Salma snapped.

"Oh, you would like that, won't you?" He chuckled, opening a cabinet and pulling two mugs out. One of them was blue, and the other yellow. The latter was minion-themed, Salma was surprised to realize. "You're fiery little thing. I was told you were meek and very –"

"I'm neither meek, nor a little thing!" Salma returned. She was getting more and more bold now that the man showed no signs of aggression. And he owned a minion mug. In fact, she was getting brave enough to get angry at being called docile and a child.

"Oh no, you aren't!" He laughed, looking very amused. "You're definitely a big thing. One of the biggest, indeed. I'm kinda thrilled by the sight of you being all tough and Flynn-Ridery!"

Salma took a scared step away. Though he looked harmless as he playfully flexed his arms at her, Salma felt a shiver rake her spine at his words. Thrilled by the sight of her . . .

Salma tried covering her hair again.

"Oh and that door is locked." He pointed at it, his charcoal grey eyes twinkling with amusement before starting the coffee maker. "Yeah I noticed you inching towards the back like a sneaky lil fire bunny." He laughed, then quickly faking seriousness. "Sorry, fire tiger, big cat? But, like, you need my fingers to unlocked that. Also, worth mentioning would be the fact that that door leads to the cellars."

Terrified, Salma threw a quick glance over her shoulder. Was he lying to her?

"The previous owner had his wine stored down there," the man continued as if she was a friend visiting his new residence. "I used it all up for a large bonfire. It was a mountain of a fire. They were pissed. But hey! I've never felt so alive, so who cares!"

Salma's heart sank as she eyed the device by the lock while the man kept talking about setting mountains on fire and how it excited him. Sure enough, the door was biometrically locked, and she was stuck with a crazy pyromaniac!

Salma trained her eyes back on the strange man in front of her. He had her back to her, pouring coffee into mugs, completely unbothered. Salma was now quite sure he was not sane. No one kidnaps a girl, pumps her off unconscious, brings her to their place and pretend to be her life-long, trusted companion. He was not normal. There was either something genuinely wrong with him, or he was so terribly unthreatened by her that he did not even bother pretending to be concerned for her roaming about his place freely. With a pan at the ready.

"How much milk do you want in your coffee?" he asked, turning to her.

Salma just gave him a look of utter disbelief. He blinked.

"Is everything alright?" he asked.

"What happened to you?" Salma could not help but ask.

The man froze and unexpectedly enough, he looked caught off guard by her question. He snorted a dry laugh, frowning.

"I've been through hell and back, why? Why do you ask?" he questioned with the same casual, unbothered tone.

"There's something obviously wrong with you, that's why?!" Salma cried.

She was not even sure if she was scared of the man anymore. In fact, she was just deeply disturbed by his completely benign behavior and she found that worrying.

He turned to the two mugs and then innocently looked at the milk in his hands.

"I believe I asked a fair question," he said. "Is there something wrong with asking about milk in coffee?"

Salma just blinked. Was he playing stupid, or was he playing her and she was being stupid.

"Put the pan down, Miss Rider," he said, shrugging her commentary of him away. "You won't need it here. You're quite safe."

Salma felt the dread return. She did not feel safe. Not in this place. Not with him.

"Seems you tend to use it against me," he said after a while, still smiling lazily.

"Not unless you push me to it."

"Push you I won't, then," he said, raising his hands.

"Move out of my way."

"And you'll do what?"

"I have to get the hell out of here," Salma said.

"You'll be quite lost. No one wants that. But if I stop you, would that be pushing you to put the pan to a good use against me?"

"Yes!"

"Hmm," the man hummed. He picked up his coffee and took a sip. "This is good." He took another sip, before putting the mug down and turning to Salma. "You're a smart lil thing. That much was never in doubt, but no matter how tough and fiery you've become, lil one, you know it better than any that you are no match for me. Also -- DUZZ!"

Salma screamed and jumped back as he leapt towards her.

The earsplitting noise echoed off the walls of the small, quiet kitchen. Salma had impulsively drawn the pan up to shield her face. A loud laughter reached her ears. She stiffened. Peaking over the rim of the pan, she clutched at her racing heart, absolutely terrified to see the man in tears of jest. He was red in the face, holding himself steady by the counter, barely keeping himself from rolling on the ground.

"I – I didn't think you'd jump so high!" he said, wiping his eyes dry but still laughing. "Oh man, that was good!"

Salma pressed into the door, absolutely, positively scared of him now.

"Sorry." He sniffed, trying to collect himself. "Sorry to scare you like that. Here, I made coffee for you. Drink up. It's really good."

He offered her the blue mug. Salma was yet to respond when both of them were alerted by a noise from somewhere above. It sounded oddly like a door being opened. Salma turned to the man to see him looking up at the ceiling, his body language, alert and sharp. He placed the mug he offered back on the counter.

"Stay quiet," he muttered as he swiftly opened one of the lower cabinets and produced, much to Salma's fright, an semi-automatic assault rifle. "Stay behind me!"

"This is 1-1 Lima Tango! I'm inside the compound and I'm armed!" a commanding voice briskly announced.

A voice Salma recognized much her relief and joy. It was Spogmae.

"Hell naw!" the man cursed as he took position next to the counters, aiming his rifle.

Leaping into action, Salma disregarded his advice to stay behind him and stay quiet, and started inching towards the kitchen door. Once she was at a close distance, she figured she would risk knocking the man upside his head with the pan, and dive past him through the door.

"You are advised to give Aman up!"

"You're advised to give yourself up, love!" The man rolled his eyes. "She's fine. We were just enjoying coffee before you showed up."

"You did what?!"

Salma heard the vague sound of careful step being taken down.

"Had coffee!" the man shouted back. "Like normal people. Now put your stupid gun away, you're scaring her!"

"Salma?" Spogmae called softly. "If you can hear me, be careful, he's unhinged."

The man laughed and turned around to see Salma almost on his neck with the pan raised. Annoyance crossed his eyes for briefest instant, and in the next, Salma was surprised to realize he was already standing tall over her, and the pan was in his hand.

"Put the pan down, man!" he said in a crossed whisper. "We're a team! That lady is dangerous! Come on!"

Salma was completely shocked when he turned her around and putting a firm hand on her shoulder, started leading her towards the back door.

"I'm not going that way!" Salma cried, snapping out of it as she dug her heels.

"That's our only way out, come on!"

"NO!" Salma swatted his hand away.

They heard Spogmae descending the stairs.

"Princess, you are inviting your death!" the man said seriously.

Salma froze.

"What did you call me?!"

"Princess," he replied, "but not the Royal type, the cute, endearing type, you know – Oh, we don't have time for this!"

He reached for Salma's shoulder and Salma swatted it away.

"You want to lock me in the cellars!"

"There's a secret passage out of it!" he said impatiently.

"Salma, are you there?" Spogmae called from the sitting room.

"Ye—"

Salma's eyes widened to realize the man had clamped his hand over her mouth.

"Shh!" he whispered, looking irritated. "Don't alert her to your location."

Salma pushed his hand away.

"I'M HERE!" She screamed, fighting the man off as he tried pushing her towards the door.

Salma evaded every grab with a sharp chop and every move with a punch, but somehow, the man knew all her moves like he could read her mind. He dodged her chops by swerving her hands back out and her punches by blocking them with his outstretched palms and forearms.

"Eelay taught you good!" He laughed, managing to grab her attacking hands, one after the other.

Salma tried to spin and ring her hands out of his hold, but that didn't work since he knew how to counter every one of her move to stop her from breaking free, so, she decided to head butt his nose. He pushed back, chuckling at her apparently predictable fight pattern. Salma shifted her focused to her legs and tried kicking him. His grip on one of her loosened as he countered her kick with one of his own and Salma wretched her hand free. Both of them were halfway making their next move when Spogmae appeared at the doorway, gun at the ready.

In one quick move, the man dropped all attempts at countering Salma's attacks – something he was seemingly having fun at – and aimed his rifle at the Green Coat again. His back was at Salma, and much to her surprise, he was shielding her from Spogmae.

"Give her up," Spogmae warned. "Or I shoot."

"Shoot." He shrugged. "I'm not giving her up."

"You've done messed up enough!" Spogmae gritted her teeth.

"I saved her life," he responded. "If that's messing up in your dictionary, I'm sorry, you're not laying a hand on her so long as I breathe."

"You know well enough that is not what I am talking about!" Spogmae returned. "I have to escort her. Stop being –"

"A nuisance?" he asked. "Your go-to word for me? I'm being careful! More than any of you idiots roaming freely up there! With things being the way they are, who's to say she's safe with you?"

"You are in no position to ask me this!" Spogmae retaliated. "Salma knows I'm her shadow!"

"Or does she?" the man replied with a laugh. He looked over his right shoulder. "Princess – hey!"

Grabbing her chance Salma shot past his left towards Spogmae. She felt the tips of his fingers making a grab for her but he missed her narrowly as Spogmae quickly pulled her behind him.

The man looked at her in defeat as Spogmae held the gun at him steadily.

"Princess –"

"I will shoot!" she warned as she started stepping back, slowly leading Salma out of the kitchen. Spogmae pulled one of her hands away from the gun and lowered it to draw her phone out of her pocket. Without taking her eyes off of the man, she handed the phone to Salma. "Run upstairs and get in the car. Call your dad. You'll know what to do!"

"No, wait!" the man shouted.

Salma caught a glimpse of his face and her heart sank. He looked so defeated and miserable. There was a heartbreaking mix of sadness and fear in his eyes as he turned to her over Spogmae shoulder. He stepped towards them and Spogmae pushed Salma out the door.

"Go!" she screamed.

Salma did not need telling twice. She broke into a run. Just as she starting racing up the stairs, she heard a door being slammed shut and the earsplitting sound of a gun going off. Terrified beyond her wits, Salma just barely managed to sneak an impulsive look over her shoulder to see Spogmae backing off towards the stairs, her gun still raised. As Salma shot past the small landing and out of the door, she heard another bullet being fired.

Author's Note:

Well, well, well, things got a little disturbing there, didn't they?

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Lots of Love

J.