It was a hot, sticky evening in Palm Bay, Florida, just like any other afternoon throughout the year. Roman had to wait until 7:30 so the temperatures would be comfortable enough for him to go on running. He was in his last year of high school and just got accepted into the soccer team as a winger. Roman went on long runs 3-4 times a week, in addition to his team practices. He chose a course close to home that included going into an abandoned park, and usually kept track of his time. Roman's current goal was to sustain a rate of seven minutes per mile, a formidable goal considering the entire course was over five miles long and he ran without breaks and only a bottle of gatorade to replenish himself.
Despite his parents’ protests, this grueling regimen helped: Not only was Roman becoming more aggressive on the field, but between all the players on his team, he had the highest endurance levels, by far. This proved to be a valuable weapon: In the second half, when the rest of his team (and their opponents) were beginning to slack off and make mistakes, Roman still had enough energy to crush his team’s opponents. Although the season was just starting out and no games have been played, Roman was getting noticed outside of the school. The Anderson Collegiate Jaguars - his school's historical rivals - were beginning to notice him, and their reaction was not positive. Frankly, with the amount of Facebook and twitter feeds Roman was sending to his friends, it was impossible for him to remain anonymous. But Roman never assumed he'd be paying a price for not keeping a low profile...
Roman Fleishman was almost eighteen years old and was halfway through his final year at King George Secondary Institute. His body was ideal for the role of goalie – he was 6 foot tall, thin, with lots of lean muscle and an effortless high jumping ability, yet he preferred to take a more active role in his team as a right winger. Roman was also a swimmer, having swum competitively since he was 10 years old, and continued to swim, although less vigorously this year, to maintain his incredible stamina. Although Roman only weighed 150 pounds, he possessed broad, well-rounded shoulders as a result of mastering the breaststroke. His lean legs were deceptively strong, although this strength never generated in the form of kicks until now. It didn’t matter, though. At his age, most boys on the soccer team were not much bigger than him, and his tall, fast-moving frame sent lesser players into helpless mode whenever he approached. In short, Roman had no doubts that thanks to him, the King George Cubs will decimate all opposing teams, at least on a regional level. The Jaguars, as far as he was concerned, were history...
“Thursday, April 17, 2010; 7:35 P.M.” Roman checked his iPhone, turned on his stopwatch and started running. His body was already warmed up from the excruciating practice that Coach Nelson made them have that afternoon. Everybody else was at home, either doing homework or watching TV. It didn’t matter. Roman didn’t earn the nickname “Crazy Horse” for no reason. Today he was going for a five mile run, his longest one yet. Roman laced his black Shox running shoes and headed out. He was wearing his team’s colours – navy blue nylon shorts and a white t-shirt with the school’s crest on it. He took one last look in the mirror, and couldn’t help but admire himself, his stylishly wavy black hair and stubble, surprisingly thick for a boy his age. He shrugged and headed towards the park.
It was getting dusky already, and most young families already left to put their young ones in bed. There were two senior couples sitting on benches, watching him whiz by. Roman did not pay attention to them. He scrolled down his music list, put on “Poker Face” by Lady Gaga and started listening on his headphones. His roommates were not here to ridicule his choice of music, thank God!
Roman's sexuality has been called into question on several occasions. He was the only member of the team who never had a girlfriend, nor did he ever boast about his past sexual escapades, real or otherwise. But that didn't mean he was gay!
...
The song ended, but Roman kept running. He was now listening to the rest of the album “Fame”. It was getting dark, and almost reached his destination, an old sign carved into a tree in the middle of the woods.
“I made it!” He growled to himself. After touching the sign, he decided to make a quick break. It was still pretty hot, and he was getting dehydrated, after all. A few seconds off wouldn’t kill him.
He took a few swigs of Gatorade, capped his bottle and looked around. Just before he was about to resume, a young guy walked towards him. He had shaggy brown hair, a thick stubble and was wearing a short-sleeved tweed shirt, jeans and sneakers. He must've been around Roman's age. Roman didn’t recognize him, but since he thought the guy looked normal enough. He yelled towards him “yo, what’s up?”
“Hey, you there,” the guy began, “do you know how to switch tires?”
“No, why?” asked Roman. He didn’t even know how to drive, honestly.
“I was driving my truck when suddenly I hit something, and now me and my friends are stuck here. I need someone strong to help us take out the punctured tire and put the spare one in. Think you can help?”
Roman never missed out an opportunity to show that he was stronger than he looked. “Sure! No problem.”
He followed the young man, who made his way towards the side street. Just as he said, there was a large silver van parked on the roadside. All four tires seem to be in working order.
“Are you sure it’s punctured? It looks alright to me,” he said.
“No man, you’ll have to look closer,” the guy’s friend said as he exited from the back door. He was wearing a white t-shirt and jeans and long shaggy hair like his friend, but his was a rather dirty blond.
Reluctantly, Roman bent down on his knees and inspected the wheel. He noticed no visible holes or serious damage, but kept on looking anyways when suddenly, he felt a hand across his mouth.
"What the..." he began before he felt something hard and rubbery fit inside his mouth. It was a ball gag.
"Shut up, Roman. It's about time you found out felt the wrath of a Jaguar," the guy said. To Roman's surprise, a number of guys jumped out of the van, holding rolls of duct tape, rope...what the hell was happening?
"Leave me aaaaa!!" The ball gag was shoved deeper into Roman's mouth before he could finish that sentence, and then reinforced with duct tape which was pulled tightly around his head several times. Shit, he thought. Taking this tape off is gonna hurt!!
His kidnappers, four of them in total, forced Roman into a prone position, giving a few painful smacks every time he tried to resist. Eventually, Roman decided to let those jerks have their due. They tied rope around his wrists, tying his hands behind his back, then securing his elbows tightly together.
"MMMMMMMM!!!" Roman yelled through the tight gag. His outburst was met with a firm slap to the face. He felt tears welling up in his eyes.
"Zip it, faggot. Look at that, he's gonna start crying!" The leader of the group, the guy that lied about the tire, pointed out.
"Cryin's for fruits and pussies, I thought you should know that by now," another guy pointed out. Roman made an effort to take his fortune like a man, but it was too late now.
"I don't wanna have to look at this loser's face," said the leader and nodded to one of his helpers. The guy had a black leather hood in his hands, with only two small nose holes for breathing. He looked menacingly at Roman. The last thing Roman remembered was seeing his captor place the hood on his head and then lace it a little too tightly. He was still fighting them off when they carried him off, but being only 150 lbs against four guys who were considerably heavier and stronger, Roman didn't stand much of a chance.
"Wait until his team mates hear about this," snarled one of the voices.
Once Roman found out he could still breathe with the leather hood on, though with some difficulty, he began to contemplate what those bastards had in mind for him....
TO BE CONTINUED