A Box of Tissues, 2 Rolls of Toilet Paper and a Plastic Bottle of Water
A Mystery Suspense Short Story
by Gail S. Kibby White
Copyright © 2016
All Rights Reserved
Disclaimer
This novelette is purely a work of fiction. The characters, names of businesses, places and events portrayed are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental and unintended by the author.
Any and all events that occur in this novel are totally unrelated to the actions of any real persons, places, businesses or events.
In addition, the author acknowledges that the names of any trademarked products mentioned in this book have been used without prior permission or prior knowledge of the trademark owner and have not been associated with or sponsored by the owners.
Table of Contents
A Box of Tissues, 2 Rolls of Toilet Paper and a Plastic Bottle of Water
About the author
Publications by Gail S. Kibby White
Self-Help Books – Typing, Transcription & Operating a Home-based Secretarial Svc
Mystery Suspense Thriller Novels
Connect with Gail S. Kibby White
A Box of Tissues, Two Rolls of Toilet Paper and a Plastic Bottle of Water
I was slowly beginning to reenter the state of consciousness. My head was pounding, my vision was blurred, and every muscle in my body ached. I turned my head ever so slightly. From what little I could determine from my restricted vantage point, I was laying on my back on a dirty and beat up laminated wooden floor. Where was I? What was this place? Who did this to me and why?
I listened intently. Other than the sound of my own labored breathing, it was silent in the room, but I could hear the faint sound of children playing coming from somewhere outside.
It was still daytime, but must be getting close to sunset. The room I was in was probably on the west side of the building because I could see the sun shining about half-way down in the sky through the small window located part-way up the outside wall to my left. The sunlight was having a difficult time accessing the room through the window glass that was thick with a time-accumulated film of dirt and grime.
My first attempt to sit up was a dismal failure. My body refused to respond to the commands from my fuzzy and, for the moment anyway, non-functioning brain.
As I lay there looking up at the ceiling pondering my dilemma while waiting for the cobwebs in my mind to clear and my body to begin to respond to commands from my brain, all I could see staring down at me was one empty rusty light fixture precariously held in place by a few bare wires.
Little by little, as the drugs they (whoever they were) had given me slowly began to wear off, I was able to move. I looked around.
From what I could see, it appeared that whoever had attacked and drugged me, had dumped me into a small barren room, but where? What next?
All that I could see in the room was a potty-chair, a box of tissues, two rolls of toilet paper and a plastic bottle containing what looked like water which I would never dare take even one sip of on the chance it was laced with something I’d be sorry I drank even though I was dying of thirst and felt like I could very well be, dying that is.
The wall in front of me and the walls to my left and to my right had been papered with what was once bright floral wallpaper. The wallpaper was now peeling, faded, and stained with mold. It had definitely seen better days.
The room smelled of mildew, mold, stale rancid sweat, feces, and urine. No wonder I felt like puking. The odors in addition to my weakened condition and whatever drugs I had been pumped full of finally caused my poor stomach to rebel and project its contents across the floor as I turned my head adding to the room’s lovely aroma.
After my stomach settled down a bit, very carefully, I rolled over onto my stomach and reached out my arms on the floor in front of me. The room began to spin like a carnival ride. All that was missing was the music, cotton candy and kids screaming. Wait, I think I do hear screaming. Oh! It’s me. “Shhhhhh. Someone will hear you.”
As soon as the spinning and screaming subsided, like a worm on a sidewalk, I began to slowly ‘inch’ my weak and now trembling body across the floor to the base of the wall in front of me. I dug what fingernails I had into the cracks in the laminate as I went along to get as much of a grip as possible. It was agonizingly slow going because I couldn’t really get a firm grip on the slippery laminated floor. After what seemed like hours, I finally reached the base of the wall and looked up. Whoa, huge mistake. The carnival ride began spinning again. Thankfully, after a few seconds, it stopped.
This wall was papered with the same peeling, faded, floral wallpaper as the other three walls.
By using the wall to brace myself, with my trembling hands moving up the wall inch by inch and my toes pushing from behind, I was able to gradually move all six foot two inches and 205 pounds of me up the wall until I was finally standing. (Note to self: if I ever get out of this mess, get back to the gym and lose at least 15 pounds.)
Still very weak and dizzy, my heart was pounding like a drum in cadence with a marching band on the Fourth of July. I was huffing and puffing, my mouth was watering as if at any moment my stomach would rebel again and I was breaking out in a cold sweat. I stood very still for a minute or two with my forehead leaning against the wall. The carnival ride began spinning again.
My hands were up over my head still clinging to the wall to steady myself hoping the room would stop spinning long enough for me to be able to slowly turn around and assess my situation.
Finally, when the room slowed down along with my heart and my breathing was almost normal again, very carefully so as not to fall or turn on the room’s spin cycle again, I turned until my back was now flat up against the wall. My hands and arms were down by my side, the flat of my hands turned inward against the wall. The wall now served as a prop to hold me up while I slowly and carefully looked around at my temporary I hope new dwelling.
As I slowly looked down, I saw that my new Saint Laurent khaki dress slacks were stained with dirt and dried blood. “Where did the dirt come from? Whose blood?” I wondered.
My light blue Brooks Brothers short-sleeved dress shirt was partially unbuttoned and torn. Half of the shirt was still tucked into my slacks; the other half was hanging out. My shirt too was stained with dirt and dried blood. My Ferragamo tie was still tied, but hanging loose over my shirt. My jacket was nowhere to be found.
My feet were planted close together a few inches away from the base of the wall, which helped to steady me.
As I looked down, I saw that my new $1,600 dark brown Gucci loafers were also stained with what looked like dirt and dried blood. Again I wondered, whose blood and where had they taken me that I got this dirty? I didn’t appear to be or feel like I was cut or bleeding, but in my state of mind, anything was possible.
From where I was standing, I could see a closed door almost directly across from me, which I’d be willing to bet my lucrative law practice as one of Pinellas County, Florida’s leading defense attorneys was locked. Halfway up in the wall next to the door was a disconnected light switch with wires dangling.
As I continued to check myself out, I realized that my wallet, Rolex watch, and Harvard class ring were gone. The gold chain my fiancée, Pauline, had given me as an engagement gift last week was also gone, but I still had my brown alligator belt. Obviously, whoever put me here wasn’t worried about me hang
ing myself so I guess that ruled out the police and a jail cell.
I stood there still trying to steady myself. Suddenly, my legs began to wiggle-wobble. My weakened condition and the exertion of crawling to the wall and standing up were taking their toll. I slowly slid my back down the wall until I was in a sitting position hoping the entire time that I wouldn’t pick up any wood splinters on the way down. My knees were up with my hands on my knees trying to think.
“Think Jerry, you dumb S.O.B. You obviously walked into a trap, now get yourself out while you’re still alive and whoever did this to you comes back and finishes you off.”
I wanted to tell that little man who was talking to me somewhere inside my throbbing head to shut up, but he had a point. The sun appeared to be setting. Soon it would be too dark to see anything. The realization that I had very little time to do something… anything… seemed to give me a burst of something… energy, strength? I didn’t know. All I knew was that the start of an idea began filtering through my still a bit cloudy mind then slowly became clear.
Using my by now numb butt, I ooched over to the box of tissues and the toilet paper rolls next to the port-o-potty. I picked up the box of tissues and pulled out all of the tissues leaving the box empty. I removed my belt and using the metal tongue of the belt buckle, I took the now empty tissue box and began punching holes in the side of the box to form and spell out the word H E L P. It was slow going, but eventually it was done. It wasn’t perfect, but it was good enough to suit my purpose.
I was trying to be as quiet as possible just in case there was someone on the other side of that forbidding looking door. Until now, I had not heard anything that would indicate there was anyone else here but me. However, just in case, I still did not want to chance alerting someone that I was awake. They might come in to check on what I was doing. Obviously, I was in no shape for another physical altercation. For sure I’d be the loser… again, and this time it might be permanent.
Once I had finished punching all of the holes in the side of the tissue box, I removed the red and green wrapping paper from around each roll of toilet paper and placed the paper inside of the tissue box immediately behind and up against the holes that spelled out H E L P. With the green and red paper firmly placed behind the holes, the letters stood out in red and green when you looked at the side of the box. Perfect…. so far.
I unrolled one of the rolls of toilet paper until I had about six feet of toilet paper forming a ribbon strung out across the floor. I widened the box opening to accommodate the two rolls of toilet paper. I picked up each roll of toilet paper and squeezed each one hard so they would fit side by side inside the now empty tissue box. I carefully wedged the two rolls of toilet paper into the box securing the red and green paper behind the holes in the side of the box while making sure the box didn’t tear apart.
It was imperative that the rolls remain wedged inside and the red and green wrapping paper remain intact behind the holes with the ribbon of toilet paper still attached to the one roll trailing along on the outside.
“Wow! Watching MacGyver reruns must have paid off. He’d be proud of you.” The little man in my head was talking again. I guess the drugs they gave me hadn’t quite worn off yet.
Once the rolls were safely tucked inside and the holes spelling out H E L P were clearly visible in red and green, I wadded up the ribbon of toilet paper and lightly stuffed it into the top of the cardboard roll that held one of the rolls and picked up the tissue box. Then I picked up the clear plastic bottle of what appeared to be water and slowly inched my still sitting body that by now felt like it weighed over 400 pounds, over to the window. I placed the box containing the rolls of toilet paper and the bottle of water on the floor below the window.
I grabbed the window ledge and gradually pulled myself up. I reached up and unlatched the window. After several lunges and shoving, the window gradually opened. It took some doing because the window had long ago been painted shut. Fresh air came streaming in welcomed by my nose and mouth desperate for relief from the putrid odors in the room.
I stuck my head out, drew in a deep breath of fresh air, and looked around still hanging onto the ledge. I guessed I was at least six stories up in what looked like an old abandoned red brick office building. Slowly looking down, then to my left and my right, I could see what looked like shattered windows and graffiti on the driveway below.
Very little traffic was going by in the street to the left. Judging by the July setting sun in Florida, it was probably long past five o’clock quitting time, which would account for the lack of traffic.
There was what obviously used to be a playground situated straight ahead on the other side of a chain-link fence located between the playground and the driveway below. The driveway ran from the street to the left the length of the building and disappeared around the back to the right.
The playground was in major disrepair. The faded green concrete surface was broken. Weeds were struggling to grow up through the cracks and there were broken pieces of concrete, empty soda cans and other trash everywhere. A makeshift wire basketball hoop was attached half way up a large oak tree that was leaning forward at the rear of the playground. A group of young boys who looked to be in their teens were playing basketball.
I could see that I was much too high up to even consider jumping. Besides, my body would never fit through this small window opening and even if I did, I would never survive the fall.
I was up too high and too far away to be heard if I hollered. Besides, that could be dangerous. If the person or people who brought me here were still in the building, they might hear me. I didn’t dare risk it.
I pulled myself back in and sat down again. I reached over and picked up the tissue box, pulled out the ribbon of toilet paper, and stretched it out. I picked up the water bottle, removed the cap, then very slowly I poured the water into the box soaking the rolls of toilet paper thereby adding weight to the box.
With my right hand holding the box now dripping with what little excess liquid wasn’t absorbed by the toilet paper, I pulled myself back up to the open window again with my left hand. Although it was another major struggle, I managed to push the window open a little farther this time, far enough to give me enough room to throw.
With my left hand holding onto the window ledge, I drew back my right arm and with every bit of strength I could muster, I hurled the tissue box in an upward arc through the air in the direction of the playground below. (In college, I had a pretty good throwing arm as a pitcher on the varsity team, but that was more than just a few years ago.) I was praying that my skill would not fail me now.
As the box of tissues with the water-soaked rolls of toilet paper sailed through the air, the long tail of toilet paper rippled behind it like the tail on a kite. As I had hoped, the box and the fluttering tail caught the attention of several of the boys in the playground just as one of them looked up to throw the basketball.
As the boys saw the box flying through the air, they ran to catch it; each one trying their best to be the first to catch this “prize” before it landed.
The boy who caught the box, looked at it, bewildered. He turned it over several times while closely examining it. The other boys gathered around, curious to find out what this was.
“Hey you guys.” He finally yelled out all excited.
“Look, there’s the word H E L P punched with holes on the side of the box. You can clearly see it in what looks like red and green lettering.”
They all looked at the box, then up at the building trying to figure out where the box had come from. I was still leaning out the window now frantically waving my arms.
They saw me and waved back.
I took off one shoe and threw it, then the other. I hoped they would realize that it was me that threw the box and that I was in trouble and needed help.
I saw one of the boys take out his cell phone while the others continued staring up at me yelling, “Hey mister. You okay? Don’t worry. We got your
message. We’re calling the police.”
I don’t know if they could see me or not, but I gave a thumbs up anyhow and smiled.
Soon I heard the sound of sirens in the distance whooping and wailing coming closer and closer, a welcome sound signaling that help was on the way.
I owe my life to a box of tissues, two rolls of toilet paper and a plastic bottle of water.
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About the Author
Gail S. Kibby White