an excerpt anyone?

I wanted to try something different tonight.  I took some time to write today, and instead of writing a blog on top of that, I thought maybe I would share a taste of what I was working on with you.  I hope you like it...and I hope it makes you hungry for more!


Ok, so when I said I didn’t believe in irony, I was stupid.  After all, wasn’t this exactly the definition of ironic?  I shifted my weight slightly, trying in vain to find a comfortable position—struggling to keep my panic in check.  Because, I knew exactly where I was and it didn’t get much worse than this—at least, not in my ordinary little world.

I looked around my dark surroundings and strained my eyes to focus on something.  Even in near total darkness I could tell that I was lying in the trunk of a car.  I could almost make out the faint outline of a tire iron…the worn binding of a battered paperback novel…the sleek shape of a ridiculous pair of barely worn red stilettos.  And, it wasn’t bad enough that I had been shoved into a trunk, where I was getting dizzy from the fumes, but it was my own trunk!

Now that was ironic. 

Hadn’t I made the trip all the way from Pennsylvania for the express purpose of putting him in my trunk?  Well, maybe that wasn’t my express purpose.  I did come here to see him—to meet him—to have him fall head over heels in love with me.  Stupid—definitely.  Crazy—at the very least.  Completely psychotic—probably. 

Unfortunately for me, somewhere along the way, my plans seemed to have gone horribly awry. 

So, in a strange twist of irony, I was lying in the trunk of my own car and he was driving.  The man of my dreams…my fantasies…my strange obsession.  And if the way I was being jostled around was any indication, he was driving very badly.  To where, I have no idea.  I had lost track of time.  It felt like I had been locked in for hours, but it may have been less. 

I suppose I needed to admit, at least to myself, that this was my own fault.  I had admittedly gone off the reservation.  Not completely off the reservation—I had reined myself in at the last minute.  I had realized the idea was crazy before I had committed to action.  I was aborting the mission, ready to turn back to home—proverbial tail between my legs—when he suddenly appeared, looking like Adonis. 

If Adonis had been a homeless guy. 

He didn’t look anything like he did in the movies.  He was still gorgeous.  He had thick waves of tousled dark hair that he had clearly raked his hands through until it stood almost straight up in places, but he still managed to look unbearably sexy.  He was taller than I imagined, easily six feet two inches tall, if my rudimentary measurements were right, he was just a shade taller than me, and I was easily six feet tall in the three inch heels I was wearing.  His eyes were dark, but I think they were dark blue, not brown and they were shaded by a thick fan of dark lashes.  And this vagrant-like Adonis wore his shabby clothes like a Calvin Klein model strutting on the catwalk.  He was definitely, hands down, the best looking guy I had ever seen, but there was something missing behind his eyes.  There was a deep sadness swimming just below the surface of his dark, ocean blue eyes that I had not expected to see. 

That sadness had sobered me right up.  It was like looking into a mirror.  He had that same numb expression I saw in my own eyes.  It was that feeling of being lost that sent me off the reservation to begin with.  I don’t know what I expected to find by seeking him out.  I was maybe just giving myself something to do so I wouldn’t have to focus on the real issues in my life.  The things I couldn’t run away from even in my sleep.  I don’t know what I hoped to find. 

I pushed a shoe out of my face. 

I certainly hadn’t expected to revisit the damn red shoes I tossed back here almost a year ago when I realized I couldn’t walk in them without falling. 

I had to find a way out of this trunk—before I asphyxiated on the exhaust fumes. 

I twisted my body, reaching out in front of me to feel around the walls of my trunk.  I was searching for the release that would allow me to access the backseat.  That particular feature had never impressed me before.  I didn’t need the extra space.  I usually traveled light. 

This did not qualify as traveling light.  I was most luggage that had ever been back here. 

I suddenly wished I had an SUV. 

My hand found the latch that would release the seat back.  I held my breath as I fumbled with the latch in the tight, dark space.  It was like breaking into a vault.  What possible reason could there be for having a lock on the inside of the trunk?  I was about to slip into a full blown panic attack when the trunk popped open all on its own. 

It was night, and I was looking up into a bright flashlight that was pointed directly into my eyes, so I couldn’t actually see him, but even his silhouette was stunning. 

I had officially gone over the edge. There was no question that I had completely cracked if instead of trying to escape, I was thinking about how gorgeous my kidnapper was. 

Until the next time...I'll be waiting for your comments!

Copyright © 2000-2018, Erica Lucke Dean. All rights reserved. Any retranscription or reproduction is prohibited and illegal.
Posted on August 22, 2010 .