A follow-up to the kidnapping incident…

Shattered FB Header

In six weeks, “Shattered: Memoirs of an Amnesiac” will be out and available for everyone to read! The time has flown by for me, to be honest, and I’m excited that soon, this will see the light of day. For those who are interested, the pre-order link for Kindle is still up on Amazon! And for those still waiting for other eBook formats such as iBook and Nook, it will be a slightly longer wait, but I promise those links are coming – as are links to purchase either a signed or unsigned trade/paper copy of the memoir. Everything will be ready in short order. Publication can take some time, but again, 9/12 is almost here!

I received an overwhelming response to last week’s blog about my kidnapping. Therefore, I have decided to reveal some further details about what happened in this week’s “Shattered” fragment post. Obviously, I can’t give away the entire story, but based upon the emails, comments, messages, and blog hits – I think one more sneak peek into the incident won’t hurt anything. So here is a bit more about that very terrifying event, which took place prior to my amnesia, in February 2000:


I’m completely oblivious to the situation until we go to an apartment—not the big, mansion-like house Ryan had been talking about for half of the car ride. It’s not a bad apartment, but it’s not that different from mine: one bedroom, one bathroom, with very minimal furnishings. Dishes litter the sink, and they smell awful. The curtains are all black, and the room’s only light comes from dim, overhead bulbs.

“Very funny,” I say when he lets me inside. “Now, where’s your house?”

“We’re not going there tonight,” he says. “For tonight, we’ll stay here. Maybe tomorrow, too.”

“I have to work tomorrow,” I tell him. “I can’t lose out on the money.”

“But I told you I’d take care of you.” He takes my purse from me—the only possession I currently have, which holds my keys, my wallet, some medication, and a bag of make-up—and while he leaves the room with it, I stand there, shivering in my red tank top and black skirt, wondering if this is a mistake.

I know that it is when he comes back with a blindfold in his hands.

“No,” I say. “Give me my purse. I want to go home.”

“Not tonight,” he says. “And I have cameras in this apartment. If you leave, I’ll know immediately. An alarm will sound, and I’ll knock you down the stairs before you even get outside. So why not just stay in here with me? It’s warm. We’ll have a drink, watch some TV, and you know—have a chance to play.”

I start to cry. “My boyfriend will know I’m missing if I don’t call him,” I say. “If I’m not back at my apartment, someone will look for me.”

Ryan sets the blindfold down on the kitchen table and approaches me. He takes my hands—almost lovingly, almost like a father would—and says, “No one is looking for you. Rick told me your story. You’re a big girl now, and you’re on your own. I’m not going to hurt you. I just want us to have some fun together. And I promised that I’d give you some money. I will. I swear. When I’m done, I’ll pay you.”

I have two choices: try to run, or play along.

When I had been raped by Thomas in 1996, I had learned that running didn’t help. All it did was create pain, death threats, and a year of sheer terror. No one had bothered to come to my rescue.

Therefore, I know that, for now, it is decidedly safer to play along.


(For more excerpts from “Shattered: Memoirs of an Amnesiac,” please check back every Monday at 10 am. And pick up your pre-order for Kindle today right here on Amazon!)

Pre-order Now

Kindle | iBooks | Nook | Kobo | Google Play


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

Blog at WordPress.com.

Up ↑

%d bloggers like this: