It’s strange that when everything is destroyed, this still remains, she thought sadly. She remembered the poppies from Oregon, and the one Ambrose had found in the woods. She’d give anything to go back.
The closer they got to the looming monster of a building before them, the more Vicki was filled with resolve. If hhher ankle wasn’t throbbing as much,she’d run. Hide herself in the fields, and escape. Get back to Oregon. Find Ambrose.
Her fists curled as they pulled up in front of a massive mansion, three stories high with pillars around a grand veranda. It was anti-bellum in its finery, but Vicki had a feeling it was more of a prison than a home. Or at least, it would be.
A dozen armed guards escorted Vicki and Will into the mansion, where he had nearly dragged her up the grand staircase to a lavish room filled with gold-etched finery. Golden silk sheets were pulled taut on the huge king size bed, old fashioned, with four-posters like out of a Victorian movie, and a washbasin stood atop a small dresser in one corner. Save a new brown rug on the floor, the room was completely bare of anything else.
The long drive and even longer flight she had been silent, but her anger welled up in her until it spilled over. “I’m not staying here!” she exploded, turning to scream at Will.
He cleared his throat, his face calm.
“Did you fucking hear me?” Vicki stomped so close to him their faces were almost touching. She slapped him, a loud crack that made the soldiers behind him share a wide-eyed glance.
He blinked at her, then smiled.
Oh, no. She regretted everything.
With a calm force and stern look that sent shivers down her spine, Will threw her against the bed, her head hitting one of the massive posts and sending stars exploding across her vision.
“You can, and you will,” he snapped, standing over her with his fists balling at his side. “And you will learn to love it.”
She struggled to stand, shaking her head, and marched toward him, beating him on the chest with her fists.
“You can’t keep me here in this prison!” She screamed at the man who had once been the love of her life. “I’ll run away!”
“The hell you will.” His voice was still so calm, what Vicki mistook for lacking empathy.
When had he grown so cold? She wondered briefly. But then she realized, he’d always been this way. In the deep recesses of her mind, she had just chosen to ignore it. She briefly remembered how he’d turned away from her kiss the morning they left for the airport. Why hadn’t I known then?
Before she could stop him, he grabbed her upper arms and began shaking her.
“Ambrose will come for me! He’ll find me, and he’ll…” She couldn’t get the words out as she concentrated on keeping her head from lolling backwards painfully.
With absolute clarity Will stopped shaking her and squeezed her arms hard. “If you want to play the whore, fine. Play the whore.”
Vicki gasped. He reached in his waist and she saw the flash of metal in his hand and choked on the scream bubbling in her throat. She struggled out of his grasp, and he let her back away from him. “Will, please don’t do this,” she pleaded.
She was sure this was the end, though she could welcome it.
Her hands protected their unborn child as he advanced on her, towering over her five-foot-eight height by only a few inches, his sudden cruelty terrifying her more than his size.
He grabbed her hair and yanked her back on the bed. The glint of metal she saw was not a knife, but instead, long, sharp scissors. He ran them through her long blonde hair and Vicki cried as she saw her tresses fall to the silken blanket under her.
Will tossed the scissors into the corner with a clatter, he pressed his lips to her ear and whispered, “You are mine, and you do what I say, or I will take the rest.”
Vicki felt every bit of strength drain from her body. She didn’t give him the satisfaction of an answer, instead she clamped teeth to lip and resisted the urge to make him any madder. He kissed her roughly and stomped out of the grand room. With a definite click, she feared this dungeon would prove to be her final resting place.
The world as she knew had finally ended. She felt the jagged tips of her short hair, tears streaming down her face as her eyes ran over the piles of blonde hair scattered around her. She hugged her arms to herself and rocked slowly on the bed.
A month went by.
Then two.
How everything had changed.
It wasn’t a bleak existence, not exactly, but she could feel her soul slipping away from her more every day. Vicki went through the motions, just as she was expected to. She was woken every day at the same time by a maid, an older woman named Rosa, who she quickly learned spoke no English. Vicki showered every morning and dressed in the same plain dresses – Will insisted material things were not a necessity in this world, not anymore.
She felt she was living in a dream.
But really, it was a waking nightmare.
Especially when Will came to her after dark.
She fought him, landing scratches to his arms and face, and he went away begrudgingly. “I don’t hold to forcing a woman,” he had muttered, “but if you enjoy those platters of food and that little maid I’ve given you, you won’t fight this next time. Unless you want to see her hurt.”
She wouldn’t give in to him. He could hurt her all he wanted, but she wouldn’t ‘play the whore’ as he wanted. She squeezed her eyes shut and tried to remember her, Ambrose, the woods, the fire cracking softly.
The last time someone truly loved her.
This bleak morning, Vicki shook her head, pushed her half-eaten plate away, and looked out the grand windows facing the table. There was nothing but arid farmland for miles, nothing but flat terrain against the bright mid-summer sun. The days passed with little meaning, so she didn’t quite know what day it was, but she figured it was sometime in July. There would be no running, no escaping, no hiding in the lavender fields when the snipers on the roof could see everyone coming and going.
As if he could read her mind and saw what she planned, he would bring her lavender bunches in a vase every day. Her room reeked of it; a reminder she was truly trapped here.
As she did three times a day, Rosa came and took her nearly untouched plate away. She’d been trapped in this room for eight weeks, and every day her appetite waned.
Today, Vicki refused to even acknowledge her. She sat still at the little table in the corner of her room.
“Mistress must eat,” Rosa fretted, “or will make trouble.”
Vicki didn’t answer. She fixed her sight on a blank spot on the stark white wall. Rosa sighed and turned to leave with the tray in her hand. Both arms occupied, Vicki waited for the familiar lock behind her.
When she didn’t hear it, she slowly rose to her feet.
Could it be?
She tugged at the ornate handle of her door and it opened under her grasp. She shut it immediately, terrified someone would hear her. It was still broad daylight outside, a little after five or so in the evening.
Can I even make it?
She opened the door again, expecting to see a guard positioned just outside. Instead, she opened it to the wide staircase just to the right, with no one in sight.
Wrapping the thin silk robe around her, her feet still bare—her closet was absent of shoes for a reason, she supposed—Vicki jetted from the room and flung herself down the stairs two at a time. She had no idea where she was going, and she couldn’t think straight. All she knew was she had to get out of here. Nearly tripping on the last step, she crossed the foyer to the grand front doors and tugged at the handle.
They flew open, but not from the inside. Vicki fell backwards, landing on her read end.
“Vicki?” Will blinked at her. “What do you think you’re doing?” He snapped two fingers, and behind him four of his military soldiers, all dressed in dark blue, marched forward. Two grabbed her under the arms and hauled her to her feet.
“Well?” Will closed the
distance between them, fast. “What the hell were you doing?”
He nodded to one of the soldiers. “Tell the Supreme Leader!”
Vicki started to cry. “I just thought…”
Crack. Will slapped her across the cheek. He whipped his hand in the air, as if he’d hurt himself. “Look what you’ve made me do, my love.”
Vicki couldn’t even comfort her throbbing face, so she just stared at him, tears streaming freely. “I can’t stay here anymore.”
Will stepped back, narrowing his eyes at her. “Perhaps I’ve been harsh in keeping you cooped up, Vicki. Should we take meals together, then?”
Vicki blinked at him. She wasn’t sure what to say.
As if she’d answered anyway Will continued, mostly muttering to himself. “Of course, I should have done that in the first place.” He nodded to the soldiers holding her. “Take her back to her room, and I’ll deal with this later.”
“Will…” Vicki started to plead, but he’d spun on his heel away from her. He turned to one of the soldiers next to him. “I’ve almost forgot! Fetch her maid, Rosa, and also her husband, Miguel. Tell them to meet us in the Mistress’ bedroom.”
“Wait!” Vicki cried. “They had nothing to do with this!”
Will smiled over his shoulder. “I don’t know that.”
“Will!” she screamed as the soldiers dragged her back up the stairs. “Will, no!”
The two strong men were no match for her, especially in her weakened state with very little nourishment for the last few weeks. She gave in and let them drag her.
Once back in her bedroom, they shoved her in and shut the door, locking it behind her.
She fled out to the balcony, looking over the stone railing at the hedges two stories below. Maybe I could jump? She thought morbidly. The fall might kill me, but I’d be out of this room.
She stumbled away from the railing. “What is wrong with me?”
Suddenly, the door behind her opened and the same two soldiers who had thrust her in her room pushed her aside from the balcony and threw two ropes over the side, tying them tightly to the stone.
Vicki stared at them, wondering what the ropes were—
“Of course, there is the matter of your punishment,” Will said behind her. She spun to face him as the soldiers gripped her by the arms once more. Flanking Will, three more soldiers escorted Rosa and Miguel into her room, guns pointed at their backs. Rosa was sobbing loudly, muttering in her native Spanish, and Miguel’s face was ashen white as he gripped his wife’s hand.
With awful finality, Vicki realized what the ropes were for. “Will, stop this! I promise I’ll never escape. I’ll stay right here! It wasn’t their fault!”
He smiled slightly and shook his head. “You have to learn that I won’t tolerate this behavior.” He ushered the soldiers to bring his prisoners forward. They stepped onto the balcony and fashioned the ropes into nooses, which they slipped over the two servants’ necks.
“No!” Vicki screamed, thrashing against her captors. With terrifying quickness, the soldiers looked to Will, who nodded. They each sat their guns down. One lifted Rosa, the other Miguel, and tossed them over the edge of the balcony.
With a sickening crack and a horrifying gurgle that was quickly silenced, Vicki heard their necks snap. Struggling to breathe with the shock, she collapsed, and the soldiers let her fall to her knees.
Will knelt in front of her and cupped her chin in his hand. “Next time, you’ll know your place.” He stood and dusted off his knees, heading for her door.
“Sire? Should we cut them down?” one of the soldiers on the balcony asked.
“No. She needs a reminder for a few days,” he barked without looking back. “And Vicki? Next time, it will be your Ambrose.”
They all marched out of the room, leaving Vicki on the floor. As soon as they’d gone, she hugged her knees to her chest and screamed as loud as she could.
Her nightmare continued for another four weeks. The baby grew, the small bump around her middle erupting overnight as she reached what she figured would be her second trimester. A few doctors had been in and out, all to assure her she was completely normal, but she’d never seen them more than once a piece. She figured Will had whisked them away and executed them just as he did Rosa and Miguel. Her back hurt these days, and some she spent in bed, tears falling from her eyes as she wished death would just claim her and get it over with.
But death never came, and the sun still rose every morning.
Two weeks after the execution, Will started to come around, and saw to it she had a desk, a sketchpad, and oil paints. “That’s a good girl,” he muttered, as she thanked him begrudgingly.
She sat at her desk this morning, trying to sketch something, anything, to take her mind from this prison. A poppy with one single petal was all she could form on paper, and a sad one at that. She could see the balcony outside her bedroom, the remnants of rope blowing in the morning breeze.
Three weeks ago, they’d had to chop down the bodies of Rosa and Miguel, where Will had thrown them over to hang to their death, a warning if she tried to escape again.
But true to his word, Will had let her escape her room twice a day. Armed guards escorted her downstairs to breakfast and dinner, tying her legs to the chair each time. As Will put it, at least he could ensure she was eating. She remembered the solemn dinner the night before.
“He’s taken a job in Oregon; did you know that?” Will had said, eating the roast in front of him with gusto. “He’s working in construction near the airport.”
“Ambrose,” she breathed, and suddenly her growing appetite dissolved.
“Yes. I know exactly where he is, and my guards are watching his every moment. I could have him here in a day, and you could watch him die. It’s up to you, Vicki.”
Every day that went by, her hope evaporated, thin wisps of anticipation slowly sucked from her soul. She was losing her will to live, and she didn’t know how to stop it. The baby stirred within her, and she grasped at her stomach. Without this, she would be free, but would she be alive? The baby was her saving grace. But Ambrose was alive, and that much gave her hope.
Poking her plastic fork around her plate, she tried not to think about the man she truly loved, about Ambrose’s strong arms wrapped around her, how she had left him in the darkness of that little town, three months ago, to save his life. She tried not to remember him, and how much she loved him, and how he had saved her life repeatedly, from taking a bullet for her and surviving raging rapids and wild animals in the woods.
She tried not to think at all, it was too painful. Some days were harder than others.
She woke every day in a bed much too lavish, surrounded by silk sheets. She showered in a marbleized rain-fall tub. She dressed slowly and carefully, usually pulling a dress over her head to cover the growing bump around her middle. Then she followed the circular, walnut staircase down to the first story, where the evilest dictator the modern world had ever known sat at the head of a massive oak dining table.
He greeted her the same way, every day, by discarding his cloth napkin and planting a kiss on her cheek, smiling wildly. He always said the same thing, too. “You’re up early, my dear.” Sometimes he pressed a hand to her stomach, over his child, and murmured something in her ear.
Vicki always smiled like she had to, pretending nothing was wrong. Pretending she was the perfect companion to this sadistic monster.
Everything was wrong, everything, she screamed in her head. On the outside, though, she sat calmly in the chair he pulled out for her. She prepared to poke around the poached eggs and ham steak in front of her, just like she did every day for the past few months, while Will droned on about new technology or something equally boring. Some days he bragged about a new conquest, a new state or city taken over by his massive forces. Vicki tried to ignore it, tried to focus on even breaths and calming thoughts.
This morning, Will had a different idea for a topic at the breakfast table. “I have a
few more ideas for the wedding.” He wiped his mouth with his napkin and reached for his coffee. “Don’t forget you have another fitting soon,” he reminded her.
She nodded. At the rate she was showing, she wondered how many other fittings she would have to endure.
“I can’t wait to see you in that white dress.” Will chuckled around his coffee cup. “My beautiful bride.”
Vicki choked back a sob and reached for her water glass to hide it. Will didn’t seem to notice as he focused back on the plate before him.
It was hard to believe not long ago she had sat across a small glass table with Will, her hand wrapped around his, while they smiled and chatted about restaurants, theater galas, and art festivals. He went to work as an engineer, and she to her accounting firm. They drove brand new cars, owned a boat and RV. She couldn’t wait to tell him about their baby. The world hadn’t been perfect; far from it. But her house had been safety. A wonderful place in a house they owned, with their college degrees proudly framed on the wall. It had been perfect, as perfect as it could have been.
Vicki still dreamed of Ambrose every night. His bright eyes, the way his long wavy hair lay over his broad shoulders. She could almost feel his strong arms around her, gently pressing a kiss into her hair, assuring her they would survive. And survive they had, for nearly two weeks, while managing to evade capture.
If it hadn’t been for that bitch, Danielle, they could have survived longer. They could have made it to California, found a plane, and got out. In the beginning Vicki wanted to get back to Will, but that soon changed as she found herself falling for Ambrose. She knew he loved her, too.
She’d do anything to get back to him.
But she was trapped.
“Your hair looks much more beautiful in this light, today,” Will said, a smile touching the edge of his lips.
“I’m not sure if I like it.”
Vicki swung her head, still recovering from the shock of not feeling her long tresses brush over her shoulder. Her chopped blonde hair was a vivid reminder in the mirror each morning of the rage that Will kept bottled away, waiting to spring on her at any, surely least suspected, moment. Vicki fought a shudder as she remembered her horrible first night in the mansion, and his every attempt since then to break her spirit.
Lavender Dreams: Life After Us: Book Two Page 11
