Stockholm Syndrome

I was always so worried about break-ins or being jumped outside of an alley or even falling into the trap of a psycho throwing nails out on the road in the middle of nowhere to get their victims stranded. I was careful. I was always so careful, but I never really thought about this. Just being caught in a random criminal act. Maybe I was asking for this kind of luck letting paranoia get to me. Maybe it was a skewed kind of karma that let me happen to be in the 7-Eleven at that exact moment.

If only I had pushed my girlfriend more to let me spend the night at her place. If only my car wasn't a piece of shit I couldn't afford to fix that month I could have been in and out of this place way earlier driving not walking. If only I had went straight home. I never liked walking the streets at night, it was one of those risky situations. If I had to I made the travel time as quick as possible. I should have went home. I could have avoided this. But hindsight is 20/20. I didn't think I had anything to worry about. The city street was pretty well lit, the store was brighter and on the way. What wouldn't be safe about it? I just got laid and wanted to stop in to pick up a snack. Old habits die hard. Old habits may have led to the death of me.

I had been walking out of an aisle toward the register when I first saw him burst through the door: in all black, wearing a ski mask. I knew a robbery was about to go down. I froze, loosing my grip on the bag of Doritos and a bottle of Coke just a split second ago I thought I was simply about to purchase and be on my way. My heart had already started hammering, but it did even more so when he pulled out a gun he was concealing by the front of his zipped open jacket. He was at the register in an instant, gun aimed at the trembling young woman manning it. He looked back at me then for a brief second. He might have had a mask on but I could see the warning in his eyes. I did the only safe and logical thing I could do in that situation; I raised my arms up in a little surrender. A silent 'Please don't shoot me. I'm not going to do to anything'.

The worker was loading up the backpack the robber shoved at her with all the cash from the register, and I was afraid. But I can at least uprightly say I wasn't concerned with me, I was afraid for that now traumatized girl with the gun pointed at her trying to not hyperventilate as she shakily did as the man commanded. I was in this daze of disbelief that this was really happening. I know I lived with fears of very violent acts happening to me, some definitely involving guns; but this was surreal, actually seeing someone with a gun in front me threatening to use it. So I just watched on helplessly, literally just four steps away from the scene. It was happening so fast, yet it somehow felt like time was moving in slow motion. I was scared, sure, but I had my bearings. I could reason that the guy just wanted the money. The girl was complying, so he'd get it and he'd leave. He'd be happy and gone. The girl would be fine. I would be fine. Everything would be fine.

I had never been so wrong.

Yes, the robber got his money, the bag zipped up secure. Hell, I even heard the man say a smooth "thank you very much, cutie, you've been a big help" to the girl. And yes, it even looked like the robber was just about to walk away, but at that same second someone else walked into the store. It wasn't just any someone. It was a police officer, and by the looks of how the old man just nonchalantly strolled on in, he obviously only came in to buy something. The officer noticed the robber at the counter within a second, though, and immediately reached for his gun in his holster. That tiny sliver of relief that sparked inside me when I thought this ordeal was ending was shot dead with the sudden presence of the cop reaching for his weapon. I was sure I was about to witness a gun fight. Fear spiked through my chest. I could get caught in the cross fire. I could get shot. I could get killed.

It seemed like the robber had the same fear as he quickly dashed behind me. He was a few inches taller, and he put me in a strong chokehold, pressing the barrel of the gun to the side of my head.

"Don't do anything stupid, asshole! I'll fuckin' blow his brains out!"

I couldn't breathe. I was a human shield and had a gun to my head. I was going to die. I wasn't going to be given the chance to make something of my life. To stop being a loser. To stop being some mundane fuck.

There was talking —the calm firm tone of the officer and the loud angry one of the robber— but I was far too gone in a petrified daze to discern what was actually being said. When I felt the gun being pressed firmer against my temple though, that actually snapped me out of it. The policeman was slowly setting his gun and radio on the floor and sidestepping away from the door. The robber kept me in the headlock and started to drag me with him toward the door, always keeping me held facing the officer to act as that human wall of protection. The man stopped us at the policeman's gun first, and he pulled himself away from me for a fleeting second to grab it and tuck it into the front of his pants, his own gun ever aimed at me, squashing any thought to try to get away from him. He stomped on the cop's small radio effectively breaking it, and he got me back into that headlock, dragging me the remaining steps to the door.
He took the lead, heading out first backwards. We were half way through it, and then sweet, sweet hope started to bubble through me. The robber could just runaway home free at this point. The cop didn't have his gun, couldn't radio for help where he was, so hurting or killing or keeping me would be pointless. The lunatic with the gun just came here for the money. He had it now and could get away. I really thought I was going to be okay, but then I heard the man's frustrated mutter.

"Shit, another one."

I couldn't help but crane my neck to look outside to see the problem. The policeman's car was right outside and another cop was in there, and that cop was just now noticing that something horribly wrong was going on.

"You fuckin' run with me when I say," the robber hissed in my ear, "or you'll have a bullet in your head faster than you can blink."

I couldn't breathe again. I was shaking. This psycho was planning on taking me with him. I just went from human shield to real hostage. I was panicked and rightfully so. This already scary robbery situation at the start had quickly escalated to my biggest fear. Maybe I wasn't dealing with a killer, but it was still a man with a gun and very violent threats. Maybe he really was only a robber, but to become a killer you have to start somewhere. Maybe he never used that gun on anyone before, but I could end up the first.

"Run" was sharply whispered in my ear, and run with my captor was all I could do. Running out of sheer fright as to what would happen if I didn't comply with the criminal's demands. I was no longer being held around the neck, but the robber had a painfully tight grip on my arm. I was being led to a dark two-door car, and within seconds I was being forced into the passenger seat. As the robber ran around to the other side, he fired his gun twice, precisely blowing out two of the police car's tires. He was behind the wheel in an instant, and I could only sit in a horrified panic as the man promptly got the car started and peeled out of the parking lot.

The robber didn't say anything, just drove one-handed while his other was busy keeping his gun aimed in my direction. I was filled with panic and fear and enough adrenaline to make my heart feel like it was about to burst out of my chest, but I knew I had to try to calm myself. I just needed to accept that this was really happening. I would play out these kinds of scenarios in my mind, I watched enough of those crime TV shows that kind of gave you a guide on what to do, and my paranoid self even read a few articles about abductions. If anyone could survive this it was me.

Keeping your composure was the first step. I knew that, and the fact that I knew that actually kind of calmed me just a bit. I concentrated on slowing my ragged breathing. In through the nose, out slow through the mouth. Stay calm, think positive, be alert, see if there was any safe way to escape. I could do this. I could get through this.

And so I sat there in that horrible quiet, my breathing pretty much managed but my mind racing. I kept my head down like I was just looking down at my fidgeting fingers in my lap, but I let my eyes look out my side window. I had my cell phone in my pocket unknown to my captor for now, and if somehow there was a chance I could call for help it was important I knew were I was. I had my switchblade too, but that wasn't going to be much use to me now with a gun pointed at me.

The man's silence made the situation somehow more unnerving. He wasn't giving me any clue on how to act here. I wasn't sure if I should try to talk to him or not. I didn't know if it would help encourage him to let me go or get me shot. I took a resolute breath. I was going to take a chance and speak up, and hope to god it wouldn't end up too horrible a mistake. I took another deep quiet breath trying to figure out the safest thing to say.

"Where are you taking me?" I asked carefully, still not looking at him.

"I'd keep your mouth shut, pretty boy, if you wanna make it outta this alive."

That barked back response sure as fuck made me keep my mouth shut. It was just back to the unnerving silence then. I watched the scenery pass by in the window. The guy wasn't speeding by any means, but everything just seemed like a blur now. I couldn't tell how fast or slow time was moving. I'm pretty sure I slipped into another wave of shock.

Out of the blue it seemed, the car came to a stop, and exactly how long this little trip of hell took was lost to me. It could have been five minutes or five hours as far as I could discern. But I could recognize that the car was parked on the side of the street of a relatively quiet downtown of the close neighboring city to my own. In those still seconds I chanced a glance at my captor for the first time since he peeled us out of the parking lot. The man wasn't wearing the ski mask anymore, and he couldn't have been that much older than I was. His pale skin that was tinted yellow slightly by the glow of the street lamps outside, and jet black jaw length hair messily framed his face. And a handsome face it might have been, but as far as I was concerned, it was a face that belonged to an insane killer. A face I saw now. A face he knew I could describe to the cops now if he let me go. I swallowed down roughly. This was not a good sign. This guy wasn't going to let him live.

"We're getting out here. You're going to wait until I come around and let you out the car myself, got it? And if you try to run I'm going to shoot you. You understand?"

I nodded. Being compliant was still my only best option. The man stuffed his mask and the policeman's gun into his bag of stolen money before he shouldered it and rush around to my side of the car. His own gun was obviously held inside the pocket of his black jacket, and soon his free gloved hand whipped my door open and yanked me out to the sidewalk.

"We're going for a little walk. You stay right next to me, got it? Keep your mouth shut and act normal."

And so we walked, each step I took filled with dread and willed on by fear. My fucking insides were falling apart with the emotion, but I did my best to keep my appearance cool and collected as ordered. I kept my hands stuffed into the pockets of my tattered blue jacket to feign a relax attitude. My right hand was right up against my phone, and it was killing me that I still didn't have the opportunity to use it without him knowing. It was really late, but we came across where people were still scattered about here and there outside of bars smoking cigarettes. My mind fucking screamed, pleaded someone would feel something was off as we walked passed, but I supposed the two of us looked quite normal. Just another couple of pals walking home from a night at the bar. People didn't spare us a second glance. And I just couldn't bring myself to try to make a run for it or yell out for help. Not when the psycho had a gun. It wouldn't be just my life at stake, he could just as easily shoot up the few innocent people outside too. My dread only kept spiking. I was out in the goddamn open, but still fucking trapped. No one was going to help me. And I was probably just being led somewhere dark and abandoned to be shot where no one could see or hear. Where no one would find my body for days or weeks.

I was led through block after block after block until at last my captor had us walk up the parking lot of a 'Motel 6' and then right on up to door seventeen. He produced a key out of his pocket and once the door was unlocked, he shoved me inside the dark room. I stood frozen, even when the lights were flipped on. I just stood, awkward, terrified, my eyes just blankly roaming over the small motel room as I heard the door being shut and locked behind me. It was a small, clean, simple room. One queen bed, a nightstand, a television atop a dresser, a small cushioned chair before a desk, and a door that must have led into the bathroom. The man moved further inside, dropping his bag on the desk and pulling the chair back.

"Come here. Sit down."

I wasn't going to outrun a bullet trying to make a dash to the door behind me; so I sat, hands clasped nervously in my lap and staring down at my feet.

"Sorry to make you walk all that way, but I can't exactly bring a stolen car to right where I'm staying, now can I?" The captor chuckled, pulling off his black gloves and shrugging off his jacket.

I stayed silent, but I looked up, watching him straighten out his black shirt as he took a seat on the end of the bed.

"You got a wallet on you, kid?" he asked, twirling the gun in his hands idly.

I nodded.

"Toss it to me."

I lifted out of the chair a bit to reach a shaking hand into the back pocket of my jeans, pulling out my worn black leather wallet. I tossed it as ordered, and he caught it successfully with one hand. He immediately pulled out the few dollars inside, stuffing them in his own pocket.
"So, Frank Iero, is it?" The man was looking over my driver's license within. He pronounced my last name wrong, but I wasn't about to correct him. "Got any family or friends waiting for you at home, Frank?"

"No," I answered quietly, and I immediately regretted blurting out the truth. I needed to give this guy a reason to let me go, and admitting I had no one missing me didn't help my case.

"Alright, good." The man set the wallet down and went about just fiddling with his gun again. I couldn't help but lock my eyes on it nervously. "Okay Frank, here's the deal. You're just going to stay with me a little while just on the off chance I get caught before I blow outta this area. Can't have myself being caught without any leverage, and unfortunately for you, you're it. So all you have to do is listen to me, and then I don't have to fill that pretty little head of yours with lead. Think you can do that?"

I nodded hastily.

"Great," the man smiled coolly, and all I could do was grimace.

He got up from the bed, walking around the other side where he lifted up a large duffle bag from the floor. He plunked it down on the mattress and after unzipping it, started to dig through it. It took a moment or two, but at last he pulled his hand out, dangling a set of red furry handcuffs off his finger.

"I'd tell you about the last time I used these little babies," he smirked, "but I don't wanna scare you that much, kid." He walked up to me with the gun and cuffs in hand, and I fucking gulped. Nothing good was about to happen. "Take your jacket off."

I shakily did as I was told, quickly shedding the jacket so I was down to just an old light blue t-shirt I was wearing underneath. I placed the balled up jacket in my lap only to have the man yank it off and toss it to the floor. I was separated from my phone now. The gun was set down on the desk, and the man then grabbed a firm hold of my right arm slapping one of the cuffs securely around my wrist. A second of a fighting spirit entered me: he didn't have the gun in his hand, and I still had the knife in my pocket. If there was a time to fight, this was it. But I was a fucking coward or maybe just too realistically aware of my chances. He was still bigger than me and his gun was very close at hand for him; and maybe, just maybe he'd be true to his word and let me go later if I cooperated. Cooperating was definitely the safer option of getting out of this alive, and it quickly became the only option once again as he pulled my arm back behind the arm of the chair and the other end of the handcuff was secured to the chair's back leg. My left arm was quickly cuffed up the same way on the other side.

"Well, can you get out of it? Let's see."

I tugged, putting up a little struggle against my bonds, but there was no way in hell I could ever figure out any kind of escape. The more I pulled, the more the fuzzy coated metal dug into my wrists.

"Alright then, I hope you're comfortable," the man smirked and ruffled a hand through my hair. The gesture made me sick, but I fought the urge to jerk away from him. "Nice tattoos by the way..." he went on, and unfortunately there was more touching. He trailed a finger down my heavily inked forearm. Goosebumps rose over my skin. "Got anymore hiding?" He asked coyly, making the sinking feeling in my gut even worse as he curled a finger under the hem of my shirt.

I suddenly couldn't breathe again. As if things weren't horrible and terrifying enough, now I was being struck with the dread that I was very likely about to be raped. I squeezed my eyes shut, my whole body flinching from the unwanted touch of fingers grazing my skin as my shirt was being slowly pulled up. I couldn't stop the loud hitch of breath sounding as I tried to hold back a fear laden sob. "No- no, there isn't anymore," I choked out.

"Well, I do imagine this must be...a less than happy situation for you," I kept his eyes shut as the man spoke, barely having registered how the man pulled his hand away. "But do try to relax, Frankie." A couple soft slaps to my face, made me open my eyes to see my captor smiling crookedly. "Be a good boy and there's nothing to worry about."

The man grabbed his gun off the desk before walking over to the television and turning it on. It was already tuned in on a news station, and all I had to hear were the words 7-Eleven .. Robbery .. Hostage to know what was being reported on.

"Hey, look at this, buddy. We're on TV."

The man pushed me in a better position so I could see the television as well. They were playing a couple of short security camera clips on a slowmotion loop on the left side of the screen as the news anchor talked about the robbery. One clip showed the masked robber holding up the store clerk. The other was of me entering the store with the tag line "Presumed Hostage". I just watched on where I was cuffed to a motel chair.. this situation had just gotten more surreal. The police department's number for their tip hotline came up on the bottom of the screen, and I vainfully hoped there was a coworker or casual friend with insomnia tonight that was up watching this and recognized me. They could let the cops know, get a better picture of me circulating. Maybe one of those people we past on the sidewalk this evening would recognize me then. Maybe it would get the police headed in the right direction toward finding me. And in a perfect hope - finding me alive.

"Don't you love it that they show this shit for the fucking criminals to see," the man chuckled and sat down on the bed. "I mean, now I know that the cops don't have any fucking leads on me, and nobody knows who the hell you are yet. As much as tonight has turned into a fiasco, I'm pretty much made in the shade, don't you think?" The man grinned. "I just need to figure out what I'm going to do with you exactly..." The man got up and placed his gun down on the nightstand and moved his things off the bed before pulling the top duvet off and walking over to me.

I bit down on my lip. I could picture that blanket being used as my body bag far too easily. I held my breath when the man got close, but all he did was wrap the blanket around me like he was fucking tucking me in to bed.

"I'll figure you out in the morning. I assume I can trust you not to try to escape in the middle of the night. And if you'd like to continue to not have your pretty little mouth gagged, or better yet a bullet in your head, you better keep quiet. You've been excellent so far, Frank, so keep it that way."

"Y-yes, sir."

"I hate it when people call me sir, Frank." The man made a disgusted face, and I filled with even more fear, thinking that maybe even something this little might indeed set this lunatic off to shoot me. But the man just looked off, thoughtful. "You can call me, hmm...Gerard." The man winked and ruffled my hair again. "Get some sleep, kid."

Sleep? Sleep while I was being held captive in a motel room by a gun wielding criminal? No. No sleep would come, I was sure of that. This Gerard, whether that was his real name or not, was going to kill me. The man just needed to think of how to dispose of my body. That was the only outcome I could see right now. When the television and lights were turned off, and when I eventually heard Gerard's occasional soft snores fill the dark silence I was engulfed in, I hung my head and let the tears fall as quietly as I could.

Notes