“He’s trying to help you, Danielle. You’re not open enough.”
My gaze shot to hers. “I can’t remember a thing, Mom. It doesn’t matter how open I am or not.”
“Danielle, I’m just looking at this through his perspective.”
“I’m trying, Mom. Can we please change the subject?”
“Okay,” she said softly with her hands raised up in defense and carried on reading through a journal.
“So, what’s new?”
“Percy found something really interesting about John and Mary.”
“John and Mary?” I squinted, trying to place the names.
“John is Cloey’s son, and Mary is John’s wife.”
I nodded. I knew Cloey. Her mother, whoever she was, and I had a lot in common. She dropped her baby off too because she couldn’t deal with being a mother.
“They actually were part of the Salem witch hunts, protecting most of the witches, condemning the innocents.”
I lost it. “Why do you want to know so much about this, Mom? Our ancestors were cruel and evil.”
“What would you do if you knew your people were hunted like wild animals, Danielle? They did nothing wrong.”
“I doubt that,” I said.
Silence lingered. These topics weren’t doing this conversation with mother any good.
“But the trail runs cold with Cloey. Persey said without her mother and father’s names, he can’t carry on. And he is graduating soon, meaning that he’s going back to America soon.”
I didn’t reply.
“He was such a great help with all these journals.”
“Did you show him the spells?”
Her gaze snapped up to mine. “I’m not that stupid. Still, I would like to ask him about the family crest burned in on those books.”
“Mom, you should burn those books. They are pure evil.”
“I read through them—they aren’t all bad. Well, the one is pretty bad, but others are actually light spells, Danielle. Helping humans, like yourself.”
“You are a human too.”
“Witches are special, sweetheart.”
“You’re not a witch, Mom.”
She glared at me, her eyebrow raised.
“And, please, don’t show Eva any of this.”
“I told you before, I lock the door before she comes back from school. Besides, I’m Eva’s mother now, Danielle. When she is older, and if she wants to know about our family’s history, I will tell her.”
“That she is part witch.”
“You make it sound like we are not humans at all.”
“Well, if I’m part witch, where the fuck were my powers when I needed it?” I got up and left. Why I even come here, I have no idea. My mother changed so much. All that crap about her being here when I fell and broke my wings were all just a big lie to get me out of her house.
My mother only had time for her journals and Eva now. Danielle was broken, and Eva was her second chance, or that was how I saw it.
I didn’t even tell my mother about Sebastian, the dark-haired stranger who was shocked to see me still alive.
The afternoon shift at the cafe helped taking my thoughts off the quarrel that happened at my mother’s house. I was glad that I got out of there before Eva got back from school. But throughout the entire shift, I felt paranoia creeping up through me.
I could feel eyes on me. Bianca told me that it was guests wanting service from me.
Brolin was gone. His wife, gone.
Bianca words didn’t calm my beating heart. I was glad when eight o’clock finally came, and I could go home.
Safe in my apartment, my evening routine started again. I fed Noir, grabbed a glass of wine, took a bath. I thought about the stranger some more and couldn’t shake the feeling that someone was watching me the entire time.
Was it Sebastian?
At my next meeting with Gaston, he saw something was wrong. I could easily hide things from my mother, but not from him.
I filled him in about Sebastian and about how I tried to not become too paranoid about it. Gaston didn’t take this information lightly at all, but I told him that it could’ve been all in my head. Sebastian sounded American and could be someone that knew me during that time I worked in America, that maybe I just could not place him.
Still, Gaston didn’t like it. “It could be someone that was connected to Brolin. You should go to the police and let them know about the incident.”
I sighed. The entire hour was spent dealing with this new stranger in my life. When time was up, I said goodbye and had to deal with my insecurities and paranoia by myself.
Still, I manage it.
I finally had a day off and decided to go take a hike in the Forest of Fontainebleau. I knew that forest well. I grew up under those trees, searching for fairies with my mother. It was still my sanctuary, and I drew strength and peace from the forest.
The hike was a relaxed one. My backpack was filled with snacks and wine that I usually ate at my favorite spot in the world. I just walked. Clear my head, clear my paranoia.
Many people were exiting and entering the path. I didn’t pay them much attention. This walk was always for me. To give me strength for another week or two.
I wonder many times if my mother wasn’t right about where we came from.
Witches had a thing for forests, for nature. I felt safe with the trees, as if nature knew my burden and showed me some sort of compassion.
I reached my favorite spot and put down my blanket when I saw another figure behind me slowing down. The older man was inspecting a tree.
The feeling of paranoia crept into my gut again: that the man was following me and didn’t give a rat’s ass about that tree.
Stop it, Danielle. Get a grip on yourself.
I closed my eyes, opened my bag, and took an anxiety pill again.
It’s time to fight the paranoia. No one is following you.
After I gulped down the water and took a few deep breaths, my heartbeat slowed down, and I took out the sandwiches and bottle of wine I prepared for this trip. I poured the wine in the glass and then I sat with my back against my favorite tree. The tree was old, big, and beautiful with a canopy of branches and green leaves protecting me.
As I watched nature, the guy had moved on. He was just inspecting the tree. See? He’s gone.
I closed my eyes, listening to everything around me, when I felt a prick on my neck. I slapped at my neck but immediately became drowsy and dizzy.
The last thing I saw was a figure from behind the tree before the blackness surrounded me, drowning me. And this time, there was no waking up.
When my eyes opened, a pain shot through my temple. I closed my eyes immediately.
I was lying on a bed.
The last thing I remember was the forest, the beautiful trees, and the prick on my neck.
My heart raced and my eyes shot open.
I found myself in a dark room. No windows, just a door.
No, no, I can’t be here. I started to breathe deeply. I got up and went for the door but was yanked back with a painful tug around my arm.
I fell to the floor and saw the thickest metal chain I’ve ever seen around my wrist. I tugged and pulled, but this chain wasn’t going to give away, break away from that wall.
Everything was concrete.
I should’ve gone to the police. This had the new stranger, Sebastian, written all over it. I could feel it. I was never going to see my mother again, or Eva, or Gaston.
This was my nightmare, and something told me that this time, my mind wasn’t going to block a thing.
I pulled and tug again, trying to get my wrist out of this metal bandage, but only hurt myself instead.
Tears rolled down my face in streams, but no sobs came. This, this was no stranger—this I knew. Entrapment, helplessness.
For so long, it was part of my life. Even if I didn’t want to remember it, it was still a part of my life. Part of my mind.
I sto
pped as I heard faint voices outside.
All men.
What they said, I had no idea, but I knew the violation were going to start again. I knew the torture was waiting.
“Please, help me,” I said to whoever listened—to whichever power my mother believed guided us, to those two creepy ancestors who had no names, to even Cloey. It sounded stupid, but if you were in the situation I was in, you would have asked ghosts for help too.
The door unlocked, and I moved back on the bed, pretending to be asleep. It opened.
“How is this possible?” A man with an American accent spoke softly.
“I don’t know,” another said.
I know that voice. It was Sebastian’s!
“I told you she was alive,” said Sebastian.
Silence filled the space again.
“What are you thinking?”
“He would think she is a doppelganger.”
“Then show him that she isn’t. She’s alive—we didn’t do what they said we did. Marick will listen when he sees she is still alive.”
“Marick doesn’t have a say, Sebastian. He gave that up.” Silence lingered. “But Eli might. Let her sleep.”
“Does she have to be in shackles, Dad?” Sebastian asked.
“It’s Danielle, son. She’s our only hope of getting back now.”
They door closed and locked it again.
My heart was beating fast.
These people clearly knew me, and I had no idea who they were or what they are talking about. Who was Marick and Eli? And what say do they have over me?
Chapter 3
After a few hours of trying to escape, I gave up. There was no way out of these chains. I couldn’t fathom how or who Eli and Marick were but to wait for them. Were the two of them in with Brolin? Were they his back up? But why hadn’t any of the other girls disappeared too? They would’ve mentioned it in the newspapers, wouldn’t they?
Nothing was making sense to me. They did say I was their ticket to getting back in. Back in with what? This whole kidnapping thing?
I couldn’t remember my time with Brolin. The media had written pages and pages filled with the horror that happened to all of us during our time with the monster. It was another dead end to my case of trying to move forward, as any of them would have helped with detail.
I remember the group sessions. Each of the victims opened eventually, cried about it. All of them remembered so many details, except for me. I dreamed about their experiences but never my own.
And now I was getting pulled back into this entire mess, deeper and deeper, and meeting the ones who were behind all our nightmares.
The door unlocked again, and I pretend to be asleep ones more. Silence filled the room before the door was closed and locked again. Something told me to not open my eyes. A few seconds later, a chair scraped softly on the floor.
There was someone with me in the room. I could feel a presence lingering, as if waiting for me to wake up. I wonder if they were still sitting in that chair. I haven’t heard the door unlocking again.
This was it. I had to stop pretending and face the music to the new horror that was awaiting me.
I stirred slowly, announcing my fake wake-up.
The minute my eyes opened the guy was on top of me. His huge hand covered my mouth. He had a strong salty smell.
I could feel a full-on panic attack coming again as his face was inches away from mine.
He was somewhere in his sixties, gray streaks in his dark hair. He stared at me with hard and cold, gray eyes.
I whimpered and struggled, tears blurring my vision.
“You will do exactly as I say,” he said. “In a few hours, you will speak in front of a camera and you will answer the questions I’m going to ask. If not, you will regret it. Do you hear me?”
I nodded.
“We should just kill her and be done with it,” another said which made my heart race again. I couldn’t see the other one as I was still overpowered by the older man’s figure.
“We won’t do such a thing.”
“They can’t condemn us twice!”
The older man was losing his patience.
“They are never going to let us back in.” The other one said again.
The old man removed his hand from over my mouth. He got up, moved away from the bed, and walked over to the second man in the room.
The other man was slightly younger. A bit older than me, maybe in his forties.
“They will,” said the older of the two. “If Marick sees that she is still alive and didn’t die the way they think she did, they will listen. They will demand for another investigation.”
“You live in the past. They will never give us back what they took.”
What they took? Died ten years ago? Who the fuck was Marick? “You have the wrong person,” I said.
“Danielle?” They both looked at me. Squinting and then at each other.
My eyes lingered a bit on the second one. He had dark hair, hard lines, and unforgiving eyes.
“Do you know who I am?” said the older man.
I looked back at him and tried to place him, but eventually, I gave up and shook my head.
He looked back at the younger one.
“What is this?” The younger one said, still looking at me.
“Sebastian did mention that she seemed as if she didn’t remember him.”
“Then you found a doppelganger.”
“No,” his father lifted his hand, signaling him to stop. “Someone wanted her dead, but couldn’t do it, they….” He whispered something and looked at the ground. The younger man looked at the same spot.
The younger one’s gaze shifted back to the older man. “Dad, it’s treason of the highest rank. They will blame this on us too. We should kill her. Just be done with it!”
“She’ll do what we need from her first. We can decide what we have to do with her afterward.” He walked to the door. His son glared at me for a few seconds longer, and then followed his father. They door locked behind them.
“I’m not the person you want! You have the wrong person!” I cried again.
Kill me? What the hell was he talking about, treason of the highest rank? The darkness started to drown me again. Was I dreaming?
I pinched my arm, and it hurt. I felt the pain. No, this was real, and still it felt like one hell of a nightmare.
I cried myself to sleep not knowing whether it was day or night. I dreamt of nothing. I was completely exhausted and hungry. Not even this room unlocked the memories of what happened to me ten years ago. All I know now is that this Eli and Marick was connected to Brolin’s case.
I was getting dragged back, back to the darkness, back to my nightmare, and nothing I did was going to save me this time.
A light flickered on, and it woke me up instantly. My heart rate went up a few notches as I realized where I was, still trapped. My wrist was tender underneath the shackle, and pain in my shoulder and arms reminded me of my pathetic attempts of trying to escape.
I found the two visitors from before in my room again, plus a third—the guy that found me on the street, Sebastian.
He looked at me, but it wasn’t with cold eyes. It was something else that I couldn’t place. Guilt, or compassion, or pity, I didn’t know.
Sebastian looked away as the son got a camera ready. The camera stood on a tripod. The father nudged a chair closer to the bed and handed me a newspaper.
I took it and looked at the heading. It wasn’t anything about me being captive again or anything. Does Mom even know I was missing? I looked in on her about once a week, but when we had an argument like the one we had, it could take three weeks before I made my appearance again. Anything could happen in three weeks.
“It’s set.” The son looked at his dad before stepping to the back of the room. He leaned against the wall where Sebastian took his place.
“Hold up the newspaper,” the dad said.
“You have the wrong—”
�
�I said, hold up the newspaper!”
I flinched at the way he bellowed the command and held it up. He went and stood behind the camera.
“State your first and last name for me.”
“My name is Danielle Laurent.”
“Where are you from?”
“Paris,” I said softly.
“What happened ten years ago?”
Tears welled up in my eyes, still holding the newspaper. “Please, don’t,” I whispered softly.
“What happened ten years ago?!”
I flinched, and a tear rolled down my cheek.
“I was part of the Brolin case,” I manage to get that out. The old man squinted and looked over his shoulder at his two sons who also looked confused.
“The Brolin case?” he asked.
I nodded. “Brolin Maartin and his wife, Camille, kidnapped more than thirty women who were between twenty-two and twenty-five years old. They did awful things to them, and I was one of their victims.” I sniffled. “I was held captive for five years.” I wiped a tear away. “I can’t remember what happened—my mind doesn’t want me to remember the details. I won’t be able to give you any more information.” I didn’t tell them about Eva.
“How did you escape?” he asked.
I shook my head and shrugged. “My mind only worked again when I was found in front of the police station in Paris where all the other victims were.”
“Paris?” Sebastian asked.
“Shh,” his father said over his shoulder at his son. He turned back to me. “Why do you think you are here?”
I squinted. “You’re not part of the Brolin case?”
“No, we’re not.”
Then what? What am I doing here? “Then I don’t know.”
Silence filled the room as the camera still rolled. Why was he recording this? For what? My gaze shifted to his again.
“Please don’t kill me. I don’t know Eli or Marick.”
None of them answered. The older man’s hand reached out and switched off the camera.
“Dad, what is wrong with her?” Sebastian asked.
“They are going to blame us for this too. It’s death, Father,” the other one said.
Playing With Fire Page 22
