by Jette Harris
“Why?” he mumbled. “You got a date?”
“No, I mean…” She chose her words carefully. “When did Monica get sick? Was that yesterday or the day before?”
“Yesterday.” Rhodes gave up on going back to sleep. He leaned up on his elbows, chuckling. “You don’t remember a damn thing, do you?”
Biting her lip, she shook her head. “What happened?” She wasn’t sure if she wanted the answer.
“Well…” He lay back down with hands behind his head. “I fixed the window, told Moné-sha I would kill her even though she’s—even if she’s not the one attempting to escape… thought you were asleep, but apparently you were staring out the window. You told me Z’s body was being eaten by crows—”
“What?”
“—demanded I move it, which I did—for a price.”
“Oh, God.” Heather’s throat tightened.
“Would you like to know?”
“Oh, God.” She shook her head. “No, I don’t want to know.”
“Too bad!” He leaned up again. “You’re going to bake me some cookies.”
“I’m what?” Who the hell would think of cookies in a place like this?
“Baking me cookies,” Rhodes repeated. His body quaked with silent laughter.
“Is that code for something?” Heather didn’t see why the question was so funny, but Rhodes almost fell out of the bed laughing.
“No,” he replied. “Sugar, flour, eggs. You know, cookies?” He started to laugh again.
Heather was not amused. “I’m pretty sure there are laws against entering into a contract with someone who is under the influence.”
“Rabbit, there are laws against everything occurring in this house. I’m not concerned.” Rhodes coughed and composed himself. Taking her arm, he pulled her back down onto the bed.
“Then…” he continued his narrative, “you made a joke about Mr. Kite, and… you told me about losing your virginity.”
“No, I didn’t.” She snapped. There was no way, high or not, she would share that.
“You did! You don’t remember; You were very stoned.”
“I didn’t. I wouldn’t.” She rolled over, away from him. He put his arm down, preventing her from rolling any farther, and leaned his weight on her.
“Tell me,” he whispered, his lips brushing her ear.
“No.”
“I have ways of making you tell me.” He threw back the sheets.
Her muscles tensed. She shook her head. “No.” She wondered how far she was willing to go to cling to this one secret.
He nudged her playfully. “Tell me.”
“No.” She refused even to think of the answer. She continued to shake her head.
Rhodes reached down and spanked her. “Tell me who.”
“No.”
“Who deflowered Heather?” He tugged her robe up and spanked her harder.
Pursing her lips, she shook her head again. “No.”
He slapped her again, leaving an angry red handprint. He grinned like a schoolkid. She continued to shake her head. The pain wasn’t making her sniffle as much as the stress. Her muscles jumped under her skin. A tear escaped down her face. She lowered her head to hide it.
“Just tell me!” he insisted. “Just a name. That’s all, and I’ll stop.” A blotchy welt rose on her skin.
“Stop it!”
“I’ll stop when you tell me!” he yelled back, slapping her harder still. His hand was starting to sting. He raised his head to scan the floor for a belt, but Heather rolled over. Her elbow hit his face with a sickening crunch.
She froze, her hand over her mouth. Rhodes lay stunned. Blood spilled from his nose. He reached up, and it covered his fingers. The bridge of his nose grew an angry purple. He raised his eyes to her, full of rage. She crouched on the edge of the bed.
Heather’s mind froze. No rational thought went into what happened next: Rhodes flicked the blood off of his hand, raining red speckles on the sheet. It began as a chuckle. Laughter welled up in her throat like a swarm of flies from her lungs. Once she started, she couldn’t stop.
“What’s—so—funny?” Rhodes demanded.
“I—I—” She wanted to say, “I didn’t mean to,” but the words wouldn’t come out. She only laughed harder. She couldn’t spare any breath.
Rhodes pitched forward and shoved her off the edge of the bed. Hitting the floor knocked the breath out of her, but she still could not stop laughing. She held her breath in an attempt to regain control. The moment she inhaled, she began to laugh again.
“Stop!” Rhodes screamed, standing over her.
She could not. He kicked her in the stomach. She coughed and sputtered, but continued in a broken, staccato laughter. Roaring, he unleashed a rain of blows. His heel came down on her chest with a crack! and her head slammed into the hardwood. An eerie silence followed, broken only by Rhodes’s ragged gasps.
65
When Heather woke, all she wanted to do was go back to sleep, where she did not have to feel so much pain. Although she was lying somewhere comfortable, wrapped in a blanket, she felt worse than she had after any of the abuse she had endured that month. To add to the pain, her tongue felt like cotton and hunger gnawed at her stomach. She gritted her teeth and tried not to groan as she leaned up. An Ace bandage was bound around her torso.
She wasn’t in her closet, the Bedroom, or the Camera Room, but a small room that may have once been a laundry room. The only furniture that was in it was the tall cot on which she was lying and a side table. On the table was a large bowl of murky water, a blood-stained towel, a clean, folded towel, and a glass of water. After hesitating a moment, Heather took the glass and drank. It hurt to move her neck. It hurt to swallow. It hurt to breathe. Without bothering to return the glass, she lay back down.
Heather realized she had fallen back asleep when the glass rolled across her and fell off the cot. When she wrenched to catch it, she found herself face-to-face with Rhodes, who already held the glass in his hand. She expected him to be angry, or to wear his usual devious grin, but when he smiled at her, she was alarmed to find something sincere about it. Despite the pain, she backed against the wall, pulling the blanket up to her shoulders.
“How are you feeling?”
“I hurt.” She would not meet his eyes.
“Yes, well, you did take quite a beating.” Leaning close to her, he picked up the clean towel and dipped it in the bowl. He wiped dried blood off the tender spots on her face.
Heather forced herself not to flinch or cower. Pain radiated from her left shoulder when she moved her arm. Her fingers found some stitches over the collar bone. “Did you do this?”
Rhodes hesitated as he inspected her face, his gaze meeting hers for a moment before looking away again. “I took you to a back-alley sawbones out by Grady who was willing to put you back together without asking any questions.”
“And you didn’t get him to fix your nose?”
The bridge was still bruised and flat and he had a livid black eye. He raised his hand to his face as if the injury had slipped his mind. “You should apologize to me.”
“For what?”
Rhodes clenched his jaw, but didn’t allow any anger in his voice. “For laughing at me when you fractured my nose.”
“I didn’t mean to fracture your nose,” she said. “I don’t know why I laughed.”
“Is that an apology? That’s not an apology.”
“No.” She shook her head. “I’m not going to apologize to you.”
He was more fascinated than angry. Putting his hand under her chin, he turned her to face him. He didn’t say anything, but stroked her lip with his thumb and furrowed his brow.
“I really beat the shit out of you.”
“I’m used to it.”
“Are you?”
She shrugged, then winced; Her shoulder didn’t want to move that way. Rhodes chuckled. He took her hand and pressed it against her torso, indicating she should hold it there.
“I’m going to have to change my strategy, then,” he said, raising his brow. He wrapped his arms around her and slid her off the cot. She was reluctant to move, but he held her until she found her feet. When he let her go, she pulled the blanket around her.
With an arm around her waist, he guided her to the door. It opened onto the great room. He led her into the dining room and pulled out a chair at the table. She stared at it.
“It’s a chair,” Rhodes said. “You sit in it.”
“I don’t think I can sit down right now.” She didn’t want to be standing either; Any kind of movement felt torturous.
“There is, medically, no reason you cannot sit down.”
“Thank you, Doctor,” she muttered. A shadow passed over his face. She couldn’t determine if this was for her tone or something else, but she wasn’t up to finding out. Wincing, she sat down.
“Good girl.”
Heather’s face burned. She considered standing back up to defy him, but that sounded like too much work. Rhodes disappeared into the kitchen, leaving her alone for a precious moment. Her eyes fell on the mirror on the opposite wall. She touched a tender spot on her face. Curiosity overcame her pain. Laboriously, she stood and walked around the table.
Despite the pain implying her condition, she was still shocked when she saw her reflection. Her eyebrow had been split, along with her lip, and one side of her nose. Her eye was swollen, turning from purple to yellow. She lifted her chin. There were hand-shaped bruises around her neck.
Anger rising in her chest, she dropped the blanket. There were stitches where her collar bone had been re-set. She unwrapped the Ace bandage and let it fall. Her skin ranged from pale white welts to sickening green bruises. Her fingers followed the curve of her ribs, feeling the uneven surface where they had been broken. She had gone from lean and muscular to emaciated over the past three weeks; Her skin sank around her hips and ribcage.
Tears welled up in her eyes. She lifted her face to the ceiling to keep them from falling. She heard the sound of a plate on the table, but didn’t move when Rhodes came up behind her and picked up the Ace bandage. Pressing against her back, he kissed her shoulder and began to re-wrap her ribs.
“Why did you stop?” she asked.
“Stop what?” His mouth moved up her neck.
“Killing me.”
Rhodes paused. His eyes met hers in the mirror. “Why did I stop killing you?” he repeated. Heather tried to nod, but it hurt too much. Rhodes turned his attention to the bandage. “Then I’d be stuck with Moné-sha for the rest of the month—how boring would that be?”
“‘Boring’,” Heather repeated under her breath, slowly lowering her head. “Is that why you killed Zachariah? You’re just picking us off as you grow bored with us?”
This question made him flinch. “I enjoyed Z immensely, but I had to make a choice between him and you. I can’t have two trouble-makers.”
Her throat was tight with tears. She had to keep her voice low. “Why did you choose to keep me?”
“I chose you,” he said, “because I prefer the snatch.” He picked up the blanket and draped it over the back of her chair. “Come eat.”
Heather returned to her seat and wrapped the blanket around herself. Rhodes placed a plate containing two crepes smothered in blackberries in front of her. The smell of it made her mouth water, but also turned her empty stomach.
“I would give you coffee,” he said, “but that would not be good for your condition.”
Heather shook her head. He had given her a real fork this time. Why would he do that? she wondered. She took it and pushed the food around until her stomach settled.
Rhodes watched her as she speared a berry and nibbled at it. “You’re doing it again.”
Rhodes’s eyes dropped to her plate. She stared down at the food, turning the fork between her fingers. When she looked back up, he smirked.
“Habit.” She considered the food for a moment, then leaned her neck as gracefully as she could manage and gazed at Rhodes through her eyelashes. She wasn’t sure what kind of effect this would have with her looking like a patchwork doll, but she hoped she appeared unassuming.
“Did you make enough for everyone this time?” she asked. “Or may I give Monica some of mine?”
“Everyone?”
The word hit her hard. She closed her eyes. And then there were two. “M—Monica,” she corrected herself. “Monica. You, me, and Monica. Everyone…”
He pursed his lips and nodded. “Moné-sha has already eaten,” he informed her, “but I’m sure she would appreciate more if you can’t stomach it.” Done with his own plate, he sipped his coffee pensively. “Exactly how long were you feeding her?”
“Say again?”
“When you were breaking out of your room with the sill sweep. You were doing that to feed Monica.”
“Yes,” she said. “Um… I couldn’t even begin to tell you. We can’t really—couldn’t really tell time all that well. Maybe four days?”
“You never cease to amaze me.”
Heather became irritated with this new, strange tone and the expression on his face. She turned her attention to her food. The sooner she finished, the sooner she could get the rest to Monica. When Rhodes had finished his coffee, he went back into the kitchen. He returned to place a paper plate on the table.
“Much obliged,” she murmured. She glanced up to him to see his reaction, but could not translate his expression. He leaned close to her face.
“Don’t think for a second,” he whispered, “that I don’t see straight through your sugar-and-spice act. If you want to keep feeding Moné-sha, I want you to keep looking at me like you did when you asked for it.”
“Like what?”
Rhodes hesitated. His tongue slid over his teeth. “Like you love me.”
She turned to him with narrowed eyes.
“And you may want to watch the attitude,” he warned. “As you are intimately aware, it only takes three days for a human to die of thirst.”
66
Rhodes did not return Heather to the White Room, but allowed her to stay in the Bedroom. He gave her a smaller dose of Dilaudid, which made her lethargic without making her creepy. He was confident he could leave the house without her getting into any mischief.
When he returned, he had a tablet computer in his hand. She recognized it as her grandfather’s (the case was emblazoned with the M*A*S*H logo, to remind him of the PIN passcode he could never remember). Heather had been sitting on the edge of the bed, unsure of whether her legs would support her if she stood up. Doubt aside, she shot to her feet, but Rhodes put a hand up and began to speak before she could say anything.
Dear Heather (he read),
I’ve been crying for two days straight. I don’t even think I have any tears left. I’m watching the news non-stop, and it’s breaking my heart, but I can’t stand to turn it off. I’m afraid I might miss the announcement that you have somehow escaped. They say you were taken by a man known as The Phoenix (“That’s me,” Rhodes interjected). Normally I would see that as strangely poetic, but… he has no survivors (“That’s true.”), but I know you, Heather Stokes. I know that if anyone can escape, it’s you (“Doubtful.”). When you do, I will come see you.
Love, Charli
Heather opened her mouth to respond, but Rhodes continued before she could speak.
P.S. There’s so much that I want this message to say that it doesn’t. Hopefully, I will be able to tell you in person.
Rhodes took a deep breath and smiled at her. “This Charli-boy really loves you.”
“Charli is a girl,” Heather snapped, reaching out to snatch the tablet. “Give me that!”
“Ah—no.” He lifted it above his head, high out of her reach. “Bossy, bossy!”
“Where did you get that?”
“I stole it from your grandpa.”
Heather’s eyes went wide. “Did—did you hurt him?”
“Me? Hurt an innocent old man?” He bar
ked a laugh. “No, it was left out on the kitchen table. I walked in and picked it up.”
“What were you doing in my house?” She attempted to pull down his arm. When that failed, she began to scale his body.
Rhodes grabbed her by the throat. “You don’t ask me questions in that tone.”
She closed her eyes and nodded. He shoved her back onto the bed.
“Now, let’s see…” He tapped the screen a few times. “A surprising number of people commented on your Facebook, giving you up for dead: Lots of RIP’s, ‘I hope you’re at peace now…’, ‘You’re with your parents now…’” Rhodes made an exaggerated grimace. “Ouch…”
Heather squeezed her eyes shut. “Did you actually pause and think to yourself: ‘I’m tired of raping kids today… but not tired enough to take a nap… I’m not hungry… What to do? Oh, I know! I’ll hack into their social media accounts and use it to break their hearts!’”
Rhodes thought for a moment, then nodded. “Yes, actually, that was my exact thought process. Except I was hungry, so I stopped by Starbucks and had a scone. And your password was saved; No hacking necessary.”
She shook her head and pointed to the tablet. “You know they can track that, right? It will lead the police straight here.”
“Only if they’re looking for it,” he said, but still shut the power off. “Tex… Tech will have it back before he even notices it missing.”
“Do not go into my house.” She stood back up. “And stay away from my grandfather!”
“There’s that tone again!”
“The tone expresses what words can’t,” she blurted, “and that is exactly how big of an asshole you are!”
The corner of Rhodes’s mouth twitched. He couldn’t determine if her insolence was a side-effect of the drugs, or the perceived threat to her grandfather. “Say that again… only slower. I’m not sure if I heard you correctly.”
Heather spoke slower: “Words cannot express how big of an asshole you are.”
