In anxiety, Hansen made a ridiculous error. He pulled out the duct tape from her mouth instead of untying her hands. She right away launched the piece of cloth inside her mouth. Before watching her breathe, she screamed as loud as she could, "Help me! Help! He is going to kill me. He's kidnapped me! HEEELLLPPPP!"

What the hell are you saying? I just saw you…how can I kidnap you?

She screamed for help twice and for help. In the night time the sound of scream prolonged all around thin air.

The sound could have been heard from half a mile away which could eventually lead to an old man, suffering from Insomnia (who could have fallen asleep without taking doses of sleeping pills) to rise from his bed and wonder what the hell of sound it in fact was.

Someone in the area could have taken it as a wolf howling, hyena laugh or a child's shout at his/ her best. It would matter to them if the scream had erupted from throat of a male or female. It was only the voice which mattered.

"I didn’t kidnap you!" Hansen bellowed but his voice, comparing to the girl's, was just like singing in front of an amplifier and hoping someone behind the amplifier would listen as well as respond to him. The fear made Hansen slip and crash on the glass table which he had purchased from a local furniture shop spending a total of thousand dollars. The scream mixed up with the sound of broken glass. It would make a bystander, a druggist or an awaken man to think a terrible thing was happening in between walls of Hansen's house.

A child rape? A kidnap? Or a murder?

Hansen wasn’t in mood of anyone of those. He just wanted her get shut up, which by far was looking impossible from every avenue he had thought with rationality.

The girl hopped out, with her feet tied, but with the hands which were not fastened at all. She could feel her palm had turning numb and she had almost forgotten there are fingers (those also moved) in the tip of palm.

Hansen, however got up, not knowing how many glass pieces had gone inside his back, through the cotton shirt. His thighs also had been cut, like he was flogged, through the Denim shorts he always had believed to be rough and hard to tear.

She didn’t bother to look at her feet. Her attempt to run crashed along with her body; face first, on the hard floor. She bled and panicked even more after it. She hopped like a bullfrog with both legs tied up and made her way to the door.

He stumbled to notice there were no more screams in the house. Now she was all focused on the round door knob which required to be moved clockwise. But the easier task couldn’t get tougher with numb fingers which wouldn’t move. Even she knew her scream wouldn’t work as Open Sesame as it had done in story he had read Ali Baba and the Forty Thieves.

She either required fingers or shoulder strong enough to dislocate the door off the wooden frame and nails. Alas, none of them belonged to her.

With more misfortune to pile on, Hansen had got both of them fine. He could feel himself fly shoulder first towards back of a girl like he was professional NFL athlete. The next thing he realized was that the shoulder tackle had knocked the hell out of her.

Her breath stopped and eyes rolled backwards. For some ten seconds she stopped breathing. Perhaps he had tacked her as hard as he could. She almost had died.

But most importantly, she was under his control.