Chloe
Staring at the wide selection of generic greeting cards of various sorts in front of me, a bright pink one with the words “Happy Sweet Sixteen” caught my eye. It was written in cursive font with glittery letter. I opened up the chosen card and read “As sweet as the cake and ice cream that’s waiting for you.”
I chuckled to myself at the moderately funny joke. She will love this, I thought, thinking about my best friend’s stale sense of humor. I’ve known Christy since the first grade, and for a year straight in Elementary school, I would tell her the same knock-knock joke and she would still giggle the same laugh while drinking a juice-box and drawing in her coloring book during snack time with her green eyes squinting as her broad smile opened.
Things have slightly changed now. Neither she, nor I, owned any books specifically for coloring outlined shapes and characters, and she has traded in small boxes filled with overly sugary and exceedingly caffeinated energy drinks. It’s now hard to tell whether her terribly enthusiastic personality is the caffeine talking or nothing more than her own mouth and tongue working both on their own.
Tucking a lock of my hair behind my ear, I headed for the checkout line of the super market.
Great, I thought. Walking here in the warm sun took approximately twenty minutes, and only to enjoy the wonderful feel of the nice, air-conditioned atmosphere of the inside of a store for less than five.
I loved that my parents decided to go out of town for the weekend, leaving me with my own, sweet solitude, but I was starting to miss my taxi driver of a mom to chauffeur me around to where ever my liking.
While waiting for my turn to finally pay for the item I had in hand, I noticed a pair of eyes glued upon me. They were a pair of light, blue eyes. The eyes were owned by a strange, balding man in bulky, tan coat and cargo shorts; an odd combination and choice of attire, especially in the type of weather and humidity outside. I quickly turned my head, thinking it would be very weird and out of place for me to make eye contact back at him.
Worried, I realized the man pacing forward to me. What is that he wants, I wondered.
“Chloe,” the man said in a chipper toned voice. How does he know my name?!
I did not answer. I did not want to answer. I did not know what to think of a middle-aged stranger knowing who I was, or what he could have wanted from me.
“Chloe,” the coat-wearing man called again, grinning. His light smile then disappeared. “Do you not recognize me?”
“Uh… no, I don’t.” I said, being it hard for me to get out the words. “I think you may be getting me confused with another girl named Chloe, sir.” Although, I knew Chloe wasn’t a very common one.
“Chloe Harrison, isn’t it?”
“Yeah,” I nodded, stunned.
“I knew it were you by your flaming red hair,” he said. “I’m Trevor’s dad. Trevor Hornby,” he said. His face was now glowing like a candle lit Jack-o-Lantern.
Trevor was a guy I have been friends with since Kindergarten, just like most of the kids I know. In this small town, everyone grows up with people they knew since their diaper days.
“Really?” I asked a little bewildered. Trevor’s mom and dad have been divorced for years, and his father moved to an entirely different state shortly afterwards. “You’ve moved back to Orangetown?”
“Oh. No, I haven’t.” Mr. Hornby replied, moving his right index finger from left to right in addition with turning his head in the identical motion. “I’m just visiting my boy, Trevor.”
I nodded with an “Oh.” I found it to be great for Trevor’s dad to finally come see him after so long. Trevor had told me only a month or so ago that he hadn’t heard or seen anything from his father since he was ten.
I’ve only seen Mr. Hornby once before this encounter, and it was when going over to Trevor’s house for a pool party in attendance with all of our class mates when we were eight years old. The John Hornby standing in front of me didn’t look quite the same as the image of him my memory had held. Then again, that picture my brain had stored was eight years out-dated.
“Looks like you are next in line, kiddo.” He pointed out.
I pulled four quarters from my pocket and received a couple of pennies, a receipt, and the birthday card in exchange from the cashier dressed in his uniform of navy blue polo, khaki pants, and with a mild case of adult acne covering his cheeks.
“It has been nice seeing you again, Mr. Hornby.” I breathed, in relief, and giving a wave of farewell.
“Same here, Chloe. How long have your mom or dad had to wait outside for you?”
“They are both out of town; I walked.”
“I could drive you to your house if it is alright with you,” he said, pointing his thumb in the direction of the parking lot.
“No, no. It’s fine.” I argued. The thought of sitting with an adult male I barely knew made a sinking feeling in the bottom of my stomach.
“No, Chloe, it’s alright, really.” He continued. “And isn’t it your friend Christy birthday party going to start soon? I’m dropping Trevor off there, too. I can pick him up, and you two could ride there together.”
Unsure of what to say next, I stood mute.
“Come on. I know the last thing a pretty girl like you would like is to arrive to a party sweaty from walking in the heat,” he laughed, egging me on. His aged face posed in a smile.
I then agreed, succumbed, and began to walk side-by-side towards the exit.
Mr. Hornby drove a black truck. Opening the passenger door, I noted that the seats were leather, and looked new. Spotless was also an adjective to describe the inside of the vehicle. Nothing was inhibited in the interior of Mr. Hornby’s tuck, other than the key to the ignition that he had now started the motor up with, and what looked like cola or root beer inside of a large, plastic cup one would get from a nearby gas station.
“And away we go,” he said. His hands a bit jittery while handling the wheel.
Feeling the urge to distract myself from the sound of the awkward filled silence, I pulled out my cell phone from my jeans’ back pocket.
My thumbs typed out the message to Trevor that his dad and I were on our way to his place.
I exhaled in a warm relief to outside contact with someone whom didn’t make my palms sweaty or my knee bounce with unsteadiness.
Within only an instant moment later, Trevor sent back: Are you joking? That can’t be.
My heart started to beat in at a jogger’s pace. Maybe he doesn’t know that his dad had come to see him. Perhaps his mom talked about the party with Mr. Hornby, and told him that it’d be nice if he were to drive him there, I thought, trying to sooth my anxiety.
“Who are you uh… ch-chatting with there, kid?” His voice rung with a tremor, as the words flowed out. His forehead began to slightly perspire.
I suddenly felt worse than I already had. I felt ill. It all started to bind together in a horribly, startling truth. Sickness ran through every cell in my body. …It all made sense. This wasn’t Trevor’s father. I had never known this man, though he is quite familiar with whom I was.
My mouth opened in a gap of fright and my body steadily shaking in fear, his head turned to me.
“Who did you talk to?!” He said, seeming to have tried to hold in a yell. His tone was rough, and threatening.
He wanted to make sure I didn’t give a possible lead to anyone that man was driving me alone with him somewhere, especially anyone who’d be a bit skeptical of the sound of it. In this case, Trevor being one of those people, knowing that whomever I was with, wasn’t his father.
My vision seemed to have been spinning, and my mind in a haze, but only one logical thing had crossed my mind.
Quickly unlocking the door, I opened it ajar. The abductor set his right hand on my shoulder, gripping it hard and tight. With the other, he knocked the phone out of my hand and it fell down underneath the seat. Heavily thrusting myself in the opposite direction of which he pulled, my shoulder I screamed in reaction to the pain it was in. I had to get out of the truck by all means possible, and it had to be right then and there while the traffic light was set on red.
“Ow!” The man grunted as I kicked him in the face with all of my mustered up strength.
Leaping out of the truck, I landed with my knees scraping across the hard, solid, street, tearing my pants along with the skin underneath it. It hurt, but I had bigger woes to get all tied up about.
I dashed to the closest car in sight; a small, red, two-seater that a twenty-something, noticeably attractive woman was driving.
I saw her brown eyes largely widen as I quickly ran up to her car, breathing heavy.
“Are you alright?” The woman asked, her face looking of worry and disbelief as she rolled down the driver’s side window.
I shook my head in protest vigorously. My hands frantically clamped over my ginger hair. “No! No! A man,” I yelped. “A man was trying to kidnap me.”
The twenty something’s eyes doubled in size, and she nodded her blonde head in acknowledgement of what had to be done. “Get in,” she replied.
For years after that incident, I’ve felt stupid, naïve, and simply gullible for falling into that trap he had set up for me. I have blamed myself countless times. The truth is; it wasn’t my fault. When I was young, a man failed in an attempt to abduct me; to steal me away from my family and friends, but also when I was young, a man nearly succeeded in hurting me, taking me away, and maybe even killing me. There are many ‘Mr. Hornbys’ across the globe, but thanks to that one, my perception has been tainted. I am broken, abnormal, and defective, and my mind feels in danger whenever I look at a stranger.
