Mrs. Learella Kingston had spent three weeks holed up in a tiny filthy, putrid smelling, bathroom.
The walls were gritty and covered with graffiti. The constant dripping from the corroded faucet was in tune with the beating of her heart.

She was becoming claustrophobic. Breathing was difficult.

“Please pay the money and get me out of here,” she silently prayed.

She was wearing her pink bathrobe when she was abducted by three masked men while retrieving her morning paper .

The last meal she had was a bite of an onion bagel, she was beyond weak, and starving,with only rusty water to sustain her.

With the sleeve of her bathrobe Mrs. Kingston wiped a spot on the smeared mirror. She did not recognize the bedraggled reflection looking back at her.

A week ago she had hollered out for help and in answer a gruff voice called out, “Shut up in there, I’m tryin to watch the Phillies’ game.”

Afterward she was afraid to make a sound for fear the Phillies’ fan would come in and murder her, or worse.