Retriever Ransom

Chapter Sixteen

Denise downed another shot, and then considered her bottle of Scotch with a frown. "Not much left. I guess I should've paced myself," she remarked with a snort.

"How is your pain?" I asked kindly, hoping she wouldn't question my motives.

My inebriated captor pulled up her pant leg and moved her ankle from side to side. "Can't even feel it now,” she chuffed. “A good liquor is better than any pill, I'm telling you."

I decided to take a chance knowing there wasn't much hope of it paying off. But if it did…

“Now that you're feeling a bit better, I don't suppose you'd untie me?" I asked with an innocent smile.

Denise shook her head and slammed the shot glass onto a side table "Untie you? What do you think? I'm stupid? He said to leave you exactly as you are until he comes back."

"Who's in charge here?" I pressed. "I don't see him anywhere. Do you?"

She sucked air in through her teeth. "No can do, and stop trying to trick me. You think that just because I have a couple drinks in me that suddenly..." Her words fell away as a scratching sound by the door caught both of our attention.

There Marco stood, whimpering and dragging his claws along the wooden door frame.

"What is it, boy?" I asked, hope sparking in me anew. "Do you need to go outside?"

Turning back to Denise, I said, "If you just untie me, I can—“

"No way!" she shouted. "I'll take the stupid dog myself.”

She turned behind her and glanced to either side. "I don't suppose you saw a leash somewhere around here, did you?"

I shook my head and watched as Denise grew increasingly frustrated with what was quickly proving to be a fruitless search. "You know," I offered slyly. “The rope on my hands would make a mighty good leash. If you just untie me, I could—“

"No." She kicked at my chair. "Stop asking to be untied. It’s not going to happen.”

"What if I have to go to the bathroom?" I questioned in my last-ditch effort to gain freedom.

"If you have to go to the bathroom," Denise told me with a cruel chuckle. "You can go right were you're seated."

"Gross," I muttered. I'd already heard enough about pee to last a lifetime, thanks to Cujo's preferred method of tracking Marco earlier. The last thing I wanted was to sit in a puddle of my own making while waiting to die.

Marco whined again, twirling in a frantic circle as he begged to be let out. "I have to go! I have to go number two!" he barked. "I can't hold it inside, and I'll be in such trouble if I go on the carpet here. Please! You’ve got to let me out!"

I glanced toward Denise, knowing she had understood enough to make out the dog’s desperation.

"Fine, you stupid mutt," she said to the purebred retriever as she grabbed his collar and led him outside sans leash.

I watched through the broken window as Marco sniffed around the yard with Denise following closely behind. It didn’t take long for him to find a place and squat down, forming an inelegant arc with his back.

Denise let go and took a giant step back. This was my chance.

"Marco!" I yelled. "Go get help!"

She didn't have to know that I could talk to animals to get upset by my latest attempt at escape.

The golden retriever kept his eyes glued on me as he finished going potty. Once finished, he finally spoke his answer. "Why do we need help? We have everything we need at the cabin. It’s a nice place for a little break.”

Denise grabbed him by the collar and pulled him back through the door.

"That was stupid," she hissed at me. "Try something like that again and I'll move up your date with destiny."

"What? Kill me now instead of later?" I shot back with a scoff.

"That's exactly what I mean," she spat. "Anyway, this stupid dog's not going to help you, so give up on that now."

"What makes you so sure?" I challenged her, raising one eyebrow.

Denise paced over to the mantle and grabbed a bag of Pupperoni. I clearly remembered the Mayor saying that Marco only ate snap peas as a snack, so the Thompsons must've brought this along with them.

Marco immediately sat at attention, thumping his tail against the floor. "Ohhh! Meat treat! Meat treats are the best! I haven't had one for years. Maybe even one-hundred years! Can I have that one? Oh, please, please, please.

He licked his chops as Denise pulled a treat from the bag.

"Do a trick or something," she told him, clearly not an experienced dog owner.

Still, Marco whined, turned in a circle, waved, sat, laid down, crawled, and then rolled over.

Denise laughed and tossed the treat to him.

He caught it easily and finished the entire thing in one big gulp "Another one?" he asked, repeating the lineup of tricks a second time.

Denise gave him a second treat, then put the bag back on the mantle.

"See?" she told me with a smug expression. "She who controls the treats controls the dog, especially with a fat one like this."

I was happy for Marco's sake that he couldn't understand. Things were bad enough without her insulting his weight.

Denise returned to the overstuffed armchair with Marco following closely at her heels. He panted while staring at her lovingly as she poured another shot from the green bottle, emptying it completely now.

"Shame," she remarked, swirling the last of the liquid gently in her glass.

Marco gave up waiting and flopped down at her feet with a sigh. I was running out of ideas on what to do here. Unfortunately, if I waited much longer she would start to regain her sobriety, and that would make my escape efforts significantly more difficult.

It was at that moment, I found myself wondering what Octo-Cat would do.

Yes, just like those WWJD bracelets that had been so popular in my childhood. What would Jesus do?

Finding myself faced with death, I chose instead to question the wisdom of my talking cat partner. He wouldn't take this kind of disrespect lying down.

That was for sure.

What wasn't for sure is how he would escape the situation if he found himself in my place. My odds of survival would have been much better if he’d accompanied me today instead of Cujo.

And thinking of the Muttsky raised even more questions.

Where had he gone after the attack?

And for that matter, where was Nan? Did she know I was in danger or how to find me?

Cujo was the only one who knew I’d been taken. Would he come back to save the day? Or did he prefer other more running-based jobs instead?

Unfortunately, there wasn't much I could do to save myself here. I’d try my best, but…

After I'd been stuck in my thoughts for quite some time, a grunting snore from Denise startled me from my frantic internal monologue.

Nice. While I was literally contemplating my death, she was sleeping like a happy, drunken baby.

And did she always snore like a steam engine rushing down the tracks or was her drunkenness to blame?

I watched in silence for a couple minutes just to make sure her sleep was deep, then began fiddling with the rope around my hands. It was tight and even twisting my wrist the smallest degree caused enormous pain.

Still, if it was the only way to escape, I'd need to be brave and weather whatever injuries came from wrestling these ropes. I continued to twist and turn, biting my lip to prevent myself from crying out.

I could do this.

I had to.

And I almost had it, too, when the abrupt sound of the phone ringing brought me to a dead stop.

I thought I’d lost service back in the woods… But no. Thank goodness for small miracles!

Who could be calling now, and would that person prove to be my salvation?