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Where am I? What's happening? What—how—
Morgan screamed, the sound muffled by the dirty rag stuffed in her mouth. She could feel the tears making tracks down her cheeks, body heaving with sobs, heartbeat pulsing in the headache that raged behind her eyes. Daddy, I want my daddy!
"Good morning, little girl." A man in a ski mask leaned in close. His breath stank, and Morgan fought back a gag. Mommy, where are you?
"No one's going to hurt you," the strange man said in a voice that was less than comforting. "We're just waiting for your daddy to give us the money we want, and then you'll be back home again."
All that Morgan's four-year-old brain heard was "you'll be back home again, " and her crying abated slightly, though her body still shivered. She sniffled. I'm going home?
Her captor's mouth twisted into a smile, and she swallowed hard. The mouth just looked creepy. She shifted uncomfortably on her seat and blinked back more tears. Mommy would want me to be brave. She sat up straight and squared her trembling shoulders. Daddy would beat them up. She tried to speak, but the cloth in her mouth made it impossible.
The man sighed and reached toward her with gloved hands. "Promise you won't scream if I take the gag out of your mouth? Not that anyone would hear you, it would just make me very angry."
Morgan hesitated, then nodded. She could scream anyway if she needed to. Once the offending article was finally out of her mouth, she made a face, turned her head to the side, and spat at the floor, trying to rid her mouth of the foul taste. "I h-have to go potty."
The man rolled his eyes and groaned. "You've got to be kidding me."
Morgan tilted her head and raised an eyebrow, a sassy front to her nervously twisting stomach. "I can have a accident." Daddy? Where are you?
He rubbed a hand over his face with a huff. "Fine." He produced a knife and circled around behind her to cut the zip ties that held her hands behind the chair. "But no funny business, little missy. I'm five times your size and I don't mind saying that it wouldn't go well for you."
Morgan hopped off the chair and made a beeline for the door, but before she could grab the knob and jerk it open, he grabbed the back of her shirt and pulled her back. "Remember the no funny business part?"
Morgan turned her swollen, itching eyes and gave him the puppy dog look that always won her father's approval, even as she wanted to throw up when the man touched her. "Potty."
"All right, all right." He opened the door and pushed her down the hall, never loosing his grip on her shirt. "This is it. I'll be waiting right here, all right? There's no way to escape, so don't bother trying."
Morgan slowly opened the door and slipped inside, locking the door behind her. The room smelled bad, and the dirty toilet in the corner sported a scum that matched the color of the sink. Morgan wrinkled her nose and desperately searched the rest of the room for something, anything, that she could use to break her way out. She tried to jerk the towel rod off the wall, but it wouldn't budge beneath her small fingers.
"Hey, are you done?" A knock sounded on the door, and she jerked around, eyes wide. She gave the room one last frantic search, and her eyes landed on the toilet plunger. Her mouth soured, but she pulled her sleeves down to cover her hands and gripped the handle of the plunger in both fists, dragging it to the door. It was heavy for her slight form, but she would make it work.
She'd make her daddy proud.
She unlocked the door and wiggled the knob. "It's stuck!" She stepped back and readied her hands around the plunger handle.
The groan from the man on the other side of the door was audible through the wood. "All right, let me—"
As soon as he opened the door, she brought the plunger up over her head and swung with all the strength her little body could muster. It hit the side of his face and glanced off his shoulder, the momentum ripping it out of Morgan's grip and sending it clattering to the floor.
She didn't wait to see if she'd knocked him out—she could always hope, but she'd never tried before and might have aimed wrong—before she took off running down the hall, screaming bloody murder. The panic she'd been trying to hold back returned in full force.
Her voice cut off abruptly when he lifted her from behind and clamped a hand over her mouth. Her eyes welled again, and all she could think was I want my daddy, I want my daddy! She lashed out with her feet, and her teeth clamped down on his finger—hard. His yelp preceded the smack that sent pain exploding through her face.
She cried harder. Daddy, where are you?
"In the room—now," he snarled. She stumbled back the way they had come, unable to see clearly through the haze of tears and pain of her still-smarting cheek. She wanted Mommy to kiss it and help her take a bath, wanted Daddy to read her a bedtime story with his usual departure from the plot line. Her moment of bravado over, she just wanted to go home.
At first, she didn't hear the initial explosion over her crying and the pounding in her head; but when her captor's head jerked around to look down the hall, she blinked back more tears and saw dust emerging from somewhere in the distance. She gasped. Daddy?
Before she could react, her kidnapper jerked her in front of him. "Don't try anything, or—or I'll…do something, something bad to her!" he shouted. He didn't sound convincing, the but the words still sent a pang of fear through Morgan's heart.
And then she saw him. The sight of the familiar red-and-gold metal suit made her knees tremble, and she couldn't hold back her tears. "Daddy!"
The figure stopped ten feet away, the eye slits seeming to narrow with fury. "Stay. Away. From my. Daughter." He raised a hand, the palm lit up, and suddenly the arms wrapped around Morgan fell away as the man hit the ground with a thud.
Her face was hot and sticky, and she felt lightheaded. She was ready to go home. Iron Man's suit retracted and she stumbled forward into her daddy's arms, sobbing.
His hands gently caressed her hair. "I'm here, baby girl, I'm here," he whispered, over and over, voice shaking. She felt herself being lifted, a hand still stroking her back, and she buried her face in his shoulder. The familiar smells wrapped her in a hug of its own, and she felt so…so tired . When her crying ebbed away into hiccups, she closed her eyes and let out a sigh.
Until she realized she had something to tell him. "Daddy?" She could tell she was slurring, but she was too tired to try to speak clearly.
"Hm?"
"I hit him with a plunger."
He chuckled, giving her a tight squeeze. "That's my girl." He sounded kinda mad, and she hoped he wasn't mad at her, but his arms were still around her and that's all that mattered.
"Daddy?"
"Maguna?"
"Thanks for rescuing me."
His arms tightened. "Just part of the job description." He sounded like he was going to cry, but Morgan knew better.
Iron Man didn't cry.