The Infamous Ellen James(75)

I am face to face with Frank.

ER patient Frank.

Paranoid Schizophrenic Frank.

He is staring at me with cold, soulless eyes.

Fuck.





Chapter Thirty



“Fear is a difficult emotion. It can either make you unable to do anything or force you to dig deep within yourself and fight. Fight with everything you have. Fight for your every breath, your every heartbeat…fight for your life.”



Frank roughly pushes his steel-toe boot into the door, blocking any attempt at keeping him out of my apartment.

"It's bad manners not to invite someone in when they come to see you.”

I take a deep, shaky breath and try to calm my nerves before attempting to answer him. Maybe I can talk him down off this proverbial ledge he's on and avoid the dark, tragic scenarios that are passing through my mind.

"Frank, it's three in the morning. I apologize for my rude behavior, but I was a little startled to have someone knocking at my door at this hour. I think it would be best if you went home."

"Desperate times call for desperate measures, Nurse Ellen."

"Well, I think it would be best if you went home," I say before quickly attempting to close the door to my apartment.

Frank roughly pushes the door back open, wraps his hand around my neck, and pulls a gun from his jacket pocket.

Oh fuck.

"You keep doing that, Nurse Ellen. Bad manners are not becoming of you,"

The barrel of the gun is now pressed into my right temple.

Double fuck.

He pushes me backwards into my apartment and slams the door shut with his boot. His revolting mouth is breathing harshly into my face as his hand increases pressure on my throat.

My mind is in panic mode.

I am frantically thinking of ways to defend myself or call for help. I can see my cell phone on the kitchen counter, but it's not within my reach. I am praying that Trent or Amy don't come home right now. I'm not really sure what Frank would do if they were to walk through that door.

Frank shoves me into the kitchen and sternly instructs me to sit down in the chair. He is mumbling to himself and pacing back and forth. In the light of my kitchen, I can see just how disheveled this man looks. He has most likely been living on the streets for several days; he reeks of alcohol and his entire appearance is unkempt.

"Frank, why are you doing this? If you need help, I will help you. You don't have to do this."

"SHUT THE FUCK UP!" He is boring holes into my skull with his dark, disturbing eyes. They are black, lifeless pits that make you feel like you're falling into the depths of hell. "You don't want to help me. You never did, you stupid bitch. I don't fucking need help. I came here for a reason and I'm going to get what I want." Frank is looking me up and down, undressing me, violating me. His eyes stop near my chest, and he slowly steps toward me before sharply pulling my robe open and crudely grabbing my breast. My body jerks violently away from his slimy hands.

"Get off of me!" I scream into his face as I try to put distance between us by standing up and moving away from the chair.

Then he places the barrel of the gun into my temple again, and dread fills my gut.

"You need to sit back down. You try that again and I will fucking blow your brains out."

I sit back down into the chair. My mind is shouting for me to make some quick decisions or I am not going to walk away from this alive.

This man will kill me in my own apartment.

Frank is leaning back against the kitchen counter with his gun pointing directly at me. His hands are trembling slightly, and his left eye keeps twitching at a rapid pace. He is muttering to himself as he stares at my open robe. I attempt to close my robe shut so my naked chest isn't exposed to him, but he quickly stalks towards me, ripping my hand away with brutal force.

"Put your hands behind your back," he demands as he pulls a roll of duct tape from his jacket pocket.

No…No…NO!

I have reached that critical moment where I need to fight.

Fight with everything I have.

I know I cannot let this man tie me down or else I will be left for dead. I quickly stand up and grab for his gun. I manage to get one hand on the barrel and push him back toward the kitchen counter, but I am no match for his strength. Using his elbow, he quickly swipes across my face. The impact causes me to stumble back and Frank takes advantage. A quick, forceful punch to the stomach makes me immediately loosen my grip on his gun, the feel of bile rising in my throat as all of the breath is pushed out of my lungs. My eyes water and my jaw clenches. I weakly lift my eyes up and face the vicious impact of a hard blow to the face…knocking me out cold.

Pain… So. Much. Pain.

I feel disoriented as I slowly blink my eyes. The throbbing ache in my head is intensified. My vision is blurred, and it takes a few minutes before I'm able to focus on my surroundings. I can make out that I'm still in the kitchen. I glance down and see that I'm actually lying on the floor, my robe open, and I'm left exposed in nothing but my cotton panties. My hands and ankles are bound together.