Roseline's Escape

There was only one small window but it was tented, and I couldn’t see through it. There were no clocks, so I lost all sense of time. I struggled to remember what happened. A man who called himself Max came in and warned me not to attempt an escape. He kept calling me Roseline. There was nothing in the small and confined room that could be used as a tool to break out. I found nothing to use as a weapon, and could never overpower him, for he seemed too strong. His appearance repulsed me. He was morbidly overweight, and he stank as if he hadn’t bathed in weeks.  He told me to get used to him, for I would be his for a long time. 

 Despite his size, I was confident I could disable him if I kicked him in the groin and then jab my forefinger into his eye socket. I was determined to fight him or die trying for that would be better than the living hell I was forced to endure. I had nothing to lose. I would wait behind the door and surprise him.

I heard the clicking sound of the key turning on the other side of the door. My emotions were running high. My heart began to flutter. Then it was as if it was leaping out of my chest. The door swung open. I turned the corner of the entryway and lunged. My right foot landed hard and dead center between his legs, and he winced from the pain. I thrust my arm forward with the intent to jam my finger in his eye. He managed to block it and punched me with his closed fist. I fell backward and slammed my head on the floor that left me unconscious.

I was in agony when I awakened with my hands tied. Then I heard a rumbling sound, the room was shaking, and it felt like it was moving. I had been in the sleeper of Max’s truck all along. More hours had passed before the truck stopped. Max came in and warned me there was no escape and do not try again. He untied the ropes and left me a sack of fast food. He left, and soon afterward, the truck began to move again.

The roar of the rig’s engine stopped. I heard the sound of the sleeper’s door unlock. He placed a handkerchief over my mouth and nose and within seconds I passed out from chloroform.

I awakened to the smell of cat feces and mildew. It was dark, but I knew I was no longer in the semi’s sleeper and was afraid to move. I remained still until I heard a door creak open and footsteps walking down a flight of stairs. A light came on that blinded me. Max was standing over me. 

“Welcome to your new home! You’ll like it here once you get used to it, but don’t get too cozy. We’re on vacation for two whole weeks! After being on the road, constantly, I just like to lounge right here in the ole shack.” When he left the room, the light stayed on. I assumed I was in a basement or was it a dungeon? The entrance door was at the top of the flight of stairs. The twin-sized bed was the only furnishing. 

The hours of isolation were excruciating and endless for me. No words could describe the sound of Max’s footsteps as he came down the basement stairs. The door creaked open, and a terrible dread poured over me with each footstep. I looked in utter bewilderment as he lost his balance and fell forward. His feet slipped out from under him, and he plunged headfirst and slammed it against the concrete floor that sounded like a melon bursting. He momentarily shook violently and then lay motionlessly. I stared in confusion for several seconds. I was unsure of what had just happened. I thought he might have staged an accident to tease me. However, that wasn’t it. He certainly wasn’t teasing, for I saw blood forming around his head. I eased closer and saw no movement. I detected no sign of breathing. 

I saw the door above the stairwell was ajar. The only way I could climb the stairs was to step over Max. I feared that he would somehow revive and grab my leg as I stepped over. That’s impossible, or is it?  He’s not moving or breathing, and there’s a pool of his blood all over the floor. Could he, for some reason, be faking? Could this be a demented joke? 

I decided to wait no longer. I leaped over him quickly and raced up the steps. When I got to the top, I looked back and saw that Max still wasn’t moving. I feared troubling possibilities that I hadn’t considered. Could someone else be in the house who would stop me from escaping? Would the front door of the house be locked? I turned away from the basement entrance to face total darkness. I felt along the wall for a light switch but found none. I turned a corner, and light from the moon furnished some visibility. I eyed the front door of the home and walked toward it but tripped over a stool. I bumped my knee when I fell but I got up and continued making my way to the front door. I was just a few feet away from freedom and the end to my misery at the hands of Max. I grabbed the door handle and turned the lock, but it still wouldn’t open. I felt the surface over the knob and found the deadbolt. I turned it, opened the door, and darted out. It was dark, but the weather was warm.

 I was in an older neighborhood that I recognized. All the house lights were out, indicating it was probably early morning. I wasn’t sure but I was almost positive I was in Southgate Township, my hometown, where my parents lived. My memory was returning. It was all coming back to me. I was driving from Cincinnati to visit my parents. I remember my car breaking down and big truck stopped and the driver got out to assist but he violently accosted me.  

Now, I have finally escaped. I’m free! A car approached me from behind. I was afraid to turn around for I thought it was Max. The car was driving slowly next to me but out of terror, I dare not turn to look. 

“Where are you walking this time of night, ma’am,” the policeman asked.

 Authorities discovered that Max’s DNA was a match for five unsolved murders, of young women over the span of twenty years. Authorities eventually pieced together his past.

 Darrell, Max’s real name, had always been obese since he was a child. His overbearing father caused Darrell to feel inadequate, and he developed low self-esteem.

 He was the biggest kid throughout the school. His third-grade teacher, Mrs. Hamer, took all the students’ weight for the school record. When Darrell stepped on the scales, Mrs. Hamer shouted, “Darrell, you’re as big as a barrel!” The name, Darrell Barrel, stuck throughout his school years, and he was bullied unmercifully. Despite his size, he was unwilling to defend himself out of fear of his tormentors. They would stick his head in the toilet and flush it. They would slam metal garbage cans over his head and bang the sides. Because of his ample size, he would get stuck in the can as he staggered and fell to the ground while the other students chant Darrell Barrel.

During a recess, Priscilla, a cheerleader, flirted with Darrell from a distance. She motioned for him to walk over to where she was standing. He thought she was the most beautiful girl in school and couldn’t believe she had noticed him.  She asked him if he would like to meet her at the football bleachers to talk privately. It was just after heavy rain, and he did as she asked. He waited at the bleachers for most of the recess, and he began to leave in frustration. Suddenly, he was body-slammed to the ground. Priscilla’s boyfriend, Ralph, the quarterback for the school team and several other players, began kicking him as he wallowed in the mud. Just before blacking out, he looked up to see Priscilla laughing. 

When he revived, Darrell was still lying in the mud. Recess was over, and he walked into his next class, muddy and late. His teacher demanded he tell her why he was so muddy, but he kept quiet. Then he was scorned by the teacher as his classmates laughed. 

Later that day, Priscilla jeered and snickered as she walked past him in the hall.  Something inside him snapped, and he beat her in an uncontrollable rage.  The assault put Priscilla in the hospital and landed Darrell in the Michigan State Reform School. 

Darrell’s social skills never developed, and he had become hostile toward women. When he started running over-the-road truck hauls, he discovered that picking up naïve runaway teens was easy. He loved to humiliate them. He craved the power he had over them. Allowing them to live was not an option. Eventually, he changed his name to Max.

After a short hospital stay but months of therapy, my life is back to normal except for the screams from my nightmares.