Kidnapped! - episode 6

[in my apartment between Brookline and Brighton, near Cleveland Circle, in Boston]

All this time I had dutifully kept my eyes away from my attackers. Whether it was fear of "He saw me, so we now must kill him!" or simply being an obedient victim, I still had not seen their faces. My one huge regret—something I would do differently, and my recommendation to anyone who has a future adventure of this type—I did not pay enough attention to all the other ways in which I could have identified them. I should have considered their height, weight, body shape, and, most importantly, memorized all of their clothing. As it was, I completely neglected all of this, which was foolish.

When we reached the third floor and entered my apartment, I was tied and blindfolded. They found a scarf, which had been knitted for me by one of my students at St. Catherine's, in my closet and tied it over my eyes. Then they found an extension chord, and my hands were tied behind my back.

Now, where I was an mere amateur at identifying assailants, in the field of shackles, I was an expert. Hardly a day went by in my childhood that I didn't manacle, chain, handcuff or tie someone's hands behind their back or had my own hands similarly bound. We knew everything about imprisonment. Perhaps I should have shown them how to tie my hands behind my back and loop the rope around my neck to ensure that if I tried to escape, I would strangle myself. No, I had offered my last bit of advice back at the parking garage.

As any child who has brothers or sisters knows, there are two fundamental principles in the art of restraint. Number one, you must pull as hard as you can to the point of cutting off circulation. You learn quickly that if you don't use all your might in tightening the rope, your victim will escape before you have a chance to find a decent hiding place. Number two, when you are being bound, pry your hands slightly apart, cupping them ever so slightly, as best you can. Your assailant thinks your hands are flat together, but they are not. This technique has been documented in any number of Saturday morning cowboy movies. Well, as I have hinted before, my assailants had a lot to learn in the field of crime. One, they didn't pull nearly hard enough, and two, I kept my hands apart. The result was pitiful. I could pull my hands out of their bounds anytime.

Blind folded with my hands (weakly) bound behind my back, I was placed on the toilet in the bathroom. For good measure they took another scarf and tied it around my feet. Then they went about their business of emptying my apartment of anything of value.

[To be continued…]