The Kidnapper (F/F)

[AlexUSA3]

The Kidnapper (F/F)
Chapter 1: The Kidnapper’s Friendship
Saturday, May 30, 2015

All right. Listen up. This ain’t a sob story. It’s not a drama either. It’s my version of the events that others might interpret differently, but it’s so special to me that I could cry over it in hindsight because it’s such a good story. It’s my version of the events that led my friend from the deepest depths of despair to being the woman she is today, a good Catholic with a sadistic enjoyment of bondage. You decide for yourself. I’m formatting things like I do because my friend who was my editor asked me to do this. I’m writing this while one kid takes a nap; another is in the play pen, and one is in the baby carrier on my chest. The fourth is out to lunch with my parents.

It starts with a girl named Felice Pryce. We were in prison together, and I don’t remember the day it happened. I just remember that I promised her I would find her on Facebook some day to send her a message. Well, I did it. I just wrote Hey, what’s up? I promised I’d reach out, and I hope we can meet in person someday. She responded two days later with her phone number. A week later, I was driving to Credit River, Minnesota.

“It's a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Pryce,” I said as I entered the home and felt like family.
“Please, Kendra, sit down,” Felice motioned, “Breakfast is almost done.”

The awkward origins of our friendship didn't matter. The Mudville Juvenile Detention Center is a place where lives fortunately often get a kickstart. Mine sure did, thanks to girls like Felice, a girl who recognized her own flaws, didn't point out other’s flaws, and respected advice. Unless it was unsolicited or dished out in a condescending manner. Then the sarcasm would flare.

I knew what Felice had done to end up in prison, but I didn’t really understand all of it. I was a bit desensitized to reality at that point in my life and focused on the good. When I got to go home, it was really hard for me to go back to the same abusive situation and not go back to a life of snorting rails and lying down under a tree in someone’s backyard. We all had issues that I could list, but we all chose to commit the actions that landed us in the Mudville Juvie. Now, I’m a best friend who can listen to all of her sorrows and joys and offer a comforting ear.

“Kendra, I know how you two met, but…,” Mr. Pryce was so nice, “How’d you become pals?”

That was a good question, and I don’t remember exactly what either of us said. I remember that I said I saw something innately good in Felice and that she said that she saw a different Kendra underneath the wounds I was still nursing at the time. I have a big sister and a little sister, and I have a little brother. She was an only child. Yet, we were both small and resilient! She’d lost her mom to cancer back in 2007, a devastating blow to both her and her dad.

Then we did Felice’s favorite thing— go for a walk in the woods. Here, the new me found God’s goodness surrounding us on all sides. I was just getting back into the groove of religion then, but Felice was raised in an open-minded agnostic background. She had only good things to say as I expressed such feelings, and I realized that we had so much in common despite the differences.

I was at one with God out here. I enjoyed it so much. Even back home in Mudville, I find peace in walks in the park with my closest confidantes. I felt that pang in my soul, though, while all of the trees shaded us in their awning, the flowers provided beautiful colors, the bees buzzed, and a host of birds sang above us. This was happiness, and it was an escape from suburban life. There was a tension in me though. I don’t want to get sidetracked, but it’s a story of love after all. Out here in nature, it was easy to remember that God is good and loves even former inmates. There’s a love story, but tragically too many love stories have a sad, sometimes heartrending, ending.

I had a true love that I lost too. Martin, my little brother, died of brain cancer when I was 13, just like Felice lost her mother to stomach cancer at 13. Martin was my only brother, the baby of our then big and happy family. That was when I first sought escapes from pain and questioned why I believed in God. It made no sense that my baby brother would die. He was eight. Robbed of his life by genetics. I was sick of burying my loved ones, and I still sometimes cry because it hurts me too much that he’s really gone. I loved Martin. Oh, how I loved you, baby brother! I’d harbored a grudge at God for years before I took to snorting rails, but here I felt comfort, as if my little brother still was with me. Maybe it was the reassurance that he was with God, and that God was still watching over me— nor did He abandon Martin. Life happens; God allows it but never leaves us to fight it alone.

“You know, Martin and I loved to go on walks together,” I murmured with a twinge of pain.

“Maybe someday you’ll get to do it again,” she kindly rubbed my back.

“No chance,” I choked on the tears forming, “Martin’s been dead for 7 years now.”

“I’m sorry,” we were both crying now… but we thankfully had happy memories.

We both lost loved ones to cancer. I comforted her in her mother’s death, and she comforted me in Martin’s death. Ironically, we both loved nature walks with our deceased loved ones. Felice had a strange uneasiness about her; I could feel a conflict within her, a yearning. It disturbed me that she seemed so distressed and confused. Emotions within her were tearing her apart, but she kept her poise for the time being. She took me to a specific spot she said was particularly special for a myriad of reasons, a spot overlooking the Credit River itself. It didn’t seem special to me; I knew it was a big part of why I was invited to visit. The more Felice talked, the more she started to squirm until I knew she was ready to confess something. I could tell she was either physically or mentally suffering. I kept looking across the river trying to see in my mind what could have transpired over there some years ago.

This spot, she explained, was her favorite spot to come with her mother. I could see why when it was such an idyllic spot, really. She sat here watching the river lazily pass by with her mom, and we sat down to watch the river lazily pass by with each other. I could feel something disrupting her peace; what a chilling feeling. I realized that there was much more to this spot. Her eyes had glazed over while staring at some point on the other side of the river; I strained my mind to stand in her shoes but found only ghosts of her past. Some trauma was living at this spot; whatever it was, she had not faced it since the traumatic day. She needed my love—now. I was here for her.

“Do you like your work? You said a mile back that you’re a bondage model?” Felice asked me, “Could I try it? You said you had an engagement with them. Could I come too?”

“It’s good work, at least. Honest. Maybe not the best, but it’s on my terms. I like the people a lot more than being tied up,” I admitted, “I have certain people I love who enjoy the sensation. I love them enough that I can engage in bondage, or tie-up games as some call them, with them,” I felt like my answer was inadequate, stupid, or outright nonsense, “You can come if you want.”

“That tree, across the river, right there. That’s where I brought Michelle when I kidnapped her. I told her that she was going to drop out of the class presidential race. At the time, I felt a rush— power coursing through my veins. I used handcuffs because I didn’t know how to bind a person, and I brought her home. Of course, Dad heard the commotion and figured it out, but I held her against her will for 10 hours that day while he was at work and some time afterwards.”

“Felice, why now? Why me?” I asked her while she cried.

“Because, Kendra, I see the peace you have. I saw the peace Mary-Ann and Ashley and so many others had in Pod F,” her tears grew more numerous, “And… I realize that… that I’m a sadist. I really can…,” her voice tightened, “get off on the thought… of consensually tying up a girl and subjecting them to torture. I would like to believe in God, but I’m struggling to do so and want to believe He’s real,” she couldn’t bring herself to look me in the eyes any longer.

Now, I’m not a warm fuzzy person— but I love my friends. When you go inside, you meet people with all sorts of stories. Some of my friends have been sexually assaulted; some of them have been held captive against their will; one survived a murder attempt; one was tortured by her father. When they cry, even if I play the tough girl routine and hold it in, I cry too. I’m a softy— just like another person in my life who I knew could be a source of healing to Felice.

I actually held Felice in my arms while she cried. She believed she was beyond redemption, but she had more hope than she realized. To believe her actions were monstrous was actually noble of her, and I knew a way to channel that energy into something safe, creative, and— I hoped— a bit therapeutic. What a captor she would be in films and games! It would be a healthy outlet for her to be in control, and it could be a way to teach her the importance of thinking of others too— God had given me a beautiful opportunity I couldn’t waste. I had the chance to change Felice’s life through TUGs and maybe, just maybe, start warming her heart up to God. I had to try it! I loved her too much! No one is too far away for God to reach while they’re still living, breathing, and thinking. I had the right friends to support Felice in exploring both faith and TUGs.

“Felice, I believe in you. I see someone great in you. C’mon,” I gazed into her sobbing eyes, “I have a cousin in Mudville who can help you. You. Will. Adore. Her. She’s softer than me.”

I spoke, of course, of my cousin Jenny. We’re going to talk about her a lot when the day comes a few short paragraphs from now. Mary-Ann Voisin, Ashley Calland, Jenny Kristensen, and Steve and Marcy Moreau are all people I still call my friends, and it was time for Felice to meet some of them. I knew that this would give Felice income, friendship, and a safe outlet for her desires.

Hearing that I believed in her shifted the mood. She felt that hope only because she trusted me; I didn’t feel very trustworthy considering I used to steal money from my parents to buy coke. I was a new person, but the old me wasn’t too far in the past. My arrest was in November 2012, or less than 3 years before this. Her shaking stopped, and she regained her composure.

“I… I want you to talk to someone. We’ll go sit in the car and call her, OK?” I asked Felice.

That’s when I called my cousin Jenny; she was just the kind of person Felice needed in her life. I sound like a savage trying to sick a self-admitted sadist on Jenny, but there was a purpose! Hear me out, OK? I knew Jenny wouldn’t fear Felice, and I knew she would patiently lay down all the rules to Felice as well. Together, she and I could teach Felice how to healthily explore herself in a respectful and consensual manner. I believed we could get through to her—hell, I knew it! It was my only chance to change the life of someone who had no one.

“Did Jenny really say ‘Love you both’ at the end?” Felice asked me with a composed laugh.

“Yes, Felice, Jenny really said that. That’s the kind of person she is,” I patted her on the arm.

I knew I could count on Jenny for anything.

TO BE CONTINUED