I jolt awake to the sound of speeding cars, thunder booming, and what sounds like rain pounding down above me. Where am I? It feels like I’m in a coffin, and maybe I am. Maybe I’m dead and this is all some kind of out of body experience. I pinch myself to see if I’m dead, or maybe it’s a dream. Ouch. Okay, I’m not dead or dreaming. Wait, why am I so calm about this? I should be freaking out now, Okay, okay, calm down. Remember, you don’t have your inhaler with you, you can’t have an attack right now. I think for a minute. I’ve got to be in a trunk. Why else would I hear cars around me? It’s got to be storming too, which explains the rain and thunder. Why am I in a trunk exactly? God why is my brain working so fast? Oh, duh, my mental condition. Wait, stop, focus. Huh, sounds like stop, drop, and roll. Ha-ha. Wait, this isn’t funny. You’re in the back of someone’s car, probably on some highway, in the middle of a storm. All of this has got to add up to a kidnapping right? Who would want to kidnap me? I rack my mind. Nope, can’t think of anyone. Wait, my phone! You idiot you can just call the cops. Duh. I pull out my phone as the car starts slowing down. Okay, okay gotta call the cops and- it’s dead. Of course. The car stops completely. I feel around the trunk to see if I can find something to use as a weapon. Nothing. Looks like all I have is my dead, useless phone. Hopefully I have good aim. The trunk pops open, and just as I’m about to chuck the phone at his face I drop it and he yanks me out of the trunk. He leads me to the woods. All I can do is follow numbly. For once in my life my mind is empty and I can think of nothing to say. My kidnapper is my teacher and co-worker Mr. (Cam) Acker.

Before I continue, here’s a little background on me and the events leading up to my kidnapping. My name is Amelia Taploe (Mia for short). I’m 17 years old and I have asthma and slight ADHD. I’m white with blond hair, green eyes, and glasses. I refuse to wear makeup and my wardrobe consists mainly of dark skinny jeans, t-shirts of my favorite bands, and scuffed-up sneakers. I love spicy food and hate anything sweet. Sweets make you fat, and I can’t be fat. My parents, little brother Ronnie, and I are very ‘devout’ Catholics (that didn’t stop my parents from getting a divorce after almost 20 years, but whatever). I hate pretty much everyone because almost everybody is just so fake. Except, of course, my boyfriend Josh. He’s one of the realest guys I’ve ever met, which is why I love him so much. We go to parties and drink almost every night. I live with my dad because he doesn’t care if I drink, so long as I’m home the next morning. As soon as I’m old enough, I’m off to college. Anybody know of a college that accepts kids with a D and F average? Oh well, I’ll go somewhere. So long as it’s away from my family and with Josh. The only reason I have a few D’s on my report cards and not all F’s are because of Mr. Acker. He helped me understand things. Then he conveniently started working at the same gas station I work at, and he was able to help me during work. He was really cool. At least I thought so. Josh didn’t like him because he said he looked at me weird. I thought he was just being jealous and told him not to worry about it. Josh and I were at an alcohol filled party one night and Mr. Acker showed up. I didn’t think anything of it because he was just a few years older than us. Josh went to get a drink, and he started dancing with me. Whatever, he was cool and I was drunk. He started getting closer to me, and then Josh came over. He grabbed Mr. Acker, threw him on the ground, and started beating him. I grabbed him and told him to stop. We went outside and argued about it, and Josh stormed off. Mr. Acker came behind me and asked if I was okay. I told him I was and he took me to his car because it was starting to rain and I didn’t want to go back inside. He gave me his jacket because I was shivering. I looked out the window and the rain was slowing down.

“I think I’ll just walk home, the rain is slowing down now,” I said.
I went to reach for the door handle, but he grabbed my hand.
“No, I’ll drive you,” he said.
“I’ll just walk, it’s not that far,” I replied.
I turned again, and he grabbed me around the neck.
“You’re not going anywhere,” he growled.

He put a rag over my mouth and the world went dark.

So he had drugged me. That’s why I couldn’t remember it was him that had taken me. I’m not going to reflect on what happened in his cabin in the middle of the woods. He kept me in the basement for about two years where I was beat, tortured … raped. He let me start coming upstairs about the third year I was there because he must’ve thought I wouldn’t try to escape, that I was too broken. But, I did, and it was easy. The first week that he allowed me upstairs, I noticed his car was outside. He fell asleep on the couch one day, and I just walked out. He didn’t even move. He must’ve really thought I wouldn’t leave. I went to the car, started it (thank God it was a quiet starting car), and left. I checked into a cheap motel, found a computer I could use, and looked up my name. What I found surprised me, but only a little. A lot had changed. There were pictures from my funeral and tombstone, so apparently I was dead. I read some articles and found out that my parents had got back together after my funeral and had another baby. Good for them. I also saw that Josh was blamed for my ‘murder’ and went to jail for life. It seems like my family has a pretty good life without me. Should I go back and let everyone know that I’m okay? Ruin my family’s perfect little life? Or should I just disappear like I had originally wanted to? I was trying to decide, but then I saw a picture of Josh. He looked miserable, like he had aged a thousand years. I couldn’t let him suffer because of my selfishness.

I’m at my old home within an hour and a half. Apparently Mr. Acker didn’t take me very far. I pull up to my house and go up to the door. Do I just walk in or knock? I settle between the two and ring the doorbell instead. My dad answers the door and looks like he doesn’t even recognize me, but then realization dawns on his face.
“Mimi,” he asks in barely a whisper.

Mimi was a nickname my dad had called me since I was a baby. Though I claimed to hate it I really liked it when he called me it. As soon as he says that I feel like a little girl again that just wants her daddy. My knees go weak as I realize that I’m safe and home. I collapse in his arms and just sob. He just holds me and sobs too.