by Costa, Bella
The perfect penis extension - big and flashy, full of it in the back and nothing in the front. The luggage compartment is so small, I’d be lucky to get a driver's licence and registration in here, never mind hiding in it! I close the lid and look at the other two cars, aware of noise now filtering down from the rooms above. There was only one set of keys in the box. Maybe the other two cars are unlocked. I throw the Veyron keys onto the seat of the super car, quickly closing the door, and run to check the other cars. The station wagon is far too open. One glance, through any window, will expose me. I try the small hatchback, and sigh with relief when the boot pops open on first attempt. It is small but clean. I open a back passenger door, and locate a latch that releases the backrest, of the seat. The last thing I need, is be trapped in the boot. Running around I climb in and lower the boot lid hearing it click into place loudly.
I focus hard, needing to calm my ragged breathing. I don't think my heart and lungs have ever worked so hard. I hear the door, separating the garage from the house, slam open. I strain my ears. A rubber sole squeaks once on the polished concrete floor. I hear the Veyron door open and then close. Another squeak. Closer. The boot lid flies open and I'm left staring into Robert’s cold, hateful eyes.
"Well my dear. You have become quite inventive haven't you? But you forget who you are dealing with." His face splits into a thin, cruel smile. The edges of my vision start to blur, reminding me that I need to breathe. Grabbing a handful of my hair, he pulls me painfully from the boot, making me yelp. I've always suspected that Robert has the capacity for physical violence, but never experienced it firsthand. Still holding my hair, tight against my scalp, pulls me from the garage. It is hard to walk crouched so low, my head held just above his knees. I stumble several times, but he doesn't falter, causing me to gasp in pain as my hair is yanked violently. I scramble up the stairs on all fours, and tumble into the kitchen.
"Let's see how inventive you are, after I've reminded you who you are, and who you belong to!" he hisses and pulls my hair up so I'm standing on my toes in front of him, my hands clutching at his wrist. He releases my hair and cocks his head, the evil smile adorning his face again. I'm frozen with fear, unable to tear my eyes from his gaze.
Suddenly I'm flying across the kitchen, crashing painfully into cupboard doors and protruding door handles. I wheeze as the air is knocked from my lungs, and I struggle to drag it back in.
I notice Robert saunter over to me, something in his hand, but I am more concerned with trying to breathe. I feel him bend over me. I feel the suffocating tightness, in my chest and throat. I feel his breath, across my face. A thin trickle of air seeps down my tortured airway. I feel a faint sting in my arm. I feel another trickle of air, cooling and tickling, inflating my lungs and I cough. It's getting easier to breathe. I look up into his face, still inches from mine and rub my arm. He holds up an empty syringe and needle, waving it slowly in front of my face.
"Goodnight my dear. Dream about me." His voice is soft and slightly distant and I frown confused, still sucking hard for air.
"What's that?” I wheeze. My tongue feels a little thick and slightly unresponsive and the room shifts and blurs. He just grins.
Oh no! I stare at a paisley swirl on his tie, willing it to stay still, to stay in focus, as I try to fight the effects of the drug. Suddenly it is all just too much, the stress, tension and fear. Suddenly I want it all to go away. I want the dark peacefulness the drug is offering and I welcome it, allowing it to envelope me, to cocoon me in its numbing embrace.
~.~
A strange pink face is looming over me. A few stray hairs poke out from above the face's large, golf-ball eyelids. The lips have that 'bee stung' look, so sought after by a select, elite band of extreme cosmetic surgery addicts. The whole effect is so comical; I cannot help but giggle. I continue to watch in amusement, as he face morphs into giant red balloon, and floats up, higher and higher, into a dark night. I think I am still giggling, as the darkness engulfs me again.
~.~
21st July
Faint and far away, I hear a voice in the darkness. At first, it is easy to shut it out and continue with my slumber, but it is growing nearer, louder and more persistent. I groan in protest.
"Acacia. Shit! Acacia, come on, wakeup."
No. Go away! Sleeping here!
"Acacia, please wakeup. Come on Angel. Open your eyes!"
Angel? Only one person calls me that, has ever called me that. But I can't remember who? I only know it's someone safe. Someone nice.
"Angel please, wakeup for me," the voice pleads. My heart aches at the pain I hear in the familiar voice, and curiosity wins over the strong desire to stay in the safe embrace, of my new friend, darkness.
I claw my way up through the blanketing layers of my subconscious, until I'm able to distinguish the light shining through my eyelids, and I can feel the cold hardness of the surface I'm lying on. More than that, I feel the ache. Ache in my shoulders, ache in my arms and hands, ache in my back, bruised and sore.
"That's it Angel. Come on. Almost there."
I flicker my eyelids, squinting against the whiteness of everything.
"Thank God," the beguiling voice breathes, and I feel a hand on my hair, smoothing it back. My eyelids feel heavy and are dying to close again, but some deep instinct, forces me to fight it. Slowly, I open my eyes more, letting them adjust to the light. Every time I blink, the urge to keep them closed, becomes a whole new battle. Finally, I win and search out the source of the beautiful voice.
Chapter 19
"You're here? Oh, this is so cruel. You can't be!" I croak, gazing into his beautiful, emerald flecked eyes.
"No Angel. I'm here.” I feel his hands smooth over my face.
"Robert...it's dangerous...you must go!"
"Shhh. I know. He'll be history before the night is through." His voice is laced with anger, hatred and relief.
"Water." My mouth is so dry. I'm surprised I can make any sound at all.
"Of course. Can you sit?" His strong arms push my shoulders up. I'm in the bath, and Chayton has been sitting in it with me, cradling my head on his lap. I look around. All my things have been removed, even the mattress, and the television. And worse. Both my hands have been cuffed to the bath handle.
Once I'm steady, Chayton climbs out of the bath. He fills his mouth with water from the tap and tilts my head back gently, letting the sweet, cool nectar pour into my mouth.
"More?"
I nod. Whoever would have though water could be so tasty, and delicious? Every drop, helping clear the molasses in my head.
"Enough?" I nod, licking my lips, and his thumb gently wipes a stray drop from my chin. I gaze at him, still not believing. Hallucinations are normal with drugs, right? He looks torn, like the bearer of bad news, as he gazes back at me.
"Acacia...I'm going to have to leave you here, just for a while longer. Do you think you can hang in there for me?" He brushes the back of his knuckles against my cheek.
"What? No! Why?" The details of my world are still a little fuzzy and I wonder what I am missing.
"Angel it's okay. Shhh. I am really, really sorry. I just need to find a way to get you out of these hand cuffs." He kisses me tenderly on the forehead.
Oh. "Okay," I think.
"Sure?" I nod. He grabs my face in both hands, and kisses me chastely on the mouth.
"Be strong. I'll be back soon with help." And with that, he's gone, leaving me alone in the clinical whiteness of my cell, a stark and painful contrast to the familiar dark I have come to trust.
~.~
It feels like hours later, and my eyes are red and raw from crying, my head thick from the effort, and still fuzzy from the chemicals flowing through my system. My heart soars when Chayton returns, and kneels on the floor next to the bath, looking anxious. I want to sweep the mop of hair from his tired eyes, but the cuffs stop me short. I glance at my hands in frustration. The cuffs are too tight, and my hands have swollen.
; "Angel, I haven't found keys but Morgan will be here in a minute. He is ace with a lock-pick. I have found a film crew who can broadcast live. I'm going to expose that bastard to the world."
"How? No one will believe he kidnapped me. I'm in the servant's quarters. He'll claim he knew nothing about me being here. He'll think of something." I can hear the panic in my own voice.
"Not if we film him checking up on you."
Huh?
He stands and goes to the door, speaking softly to someone in the hall. A second later, he returns with a skittish looking young man, who appears to exist on caffeine alone.
The young man pales when he sees me, but quickly recovers, and starts looking around the room. In his hands are two small objects. Chayton kneels down beside me again, and whispers urgently.
"Acacia, I can't coach you on what to say or how to act. We just don't know what he is going to do, so you will have to improvise. What we want is for Robert to say enough that a jury won't have any doubt that your kidnap was planned and executed by him."
I nod. After everything I've been through, one more conversation with my ex-husband, doesn't seem unreasonable. Chayton draws my shoulders into his arms and I nuzzle into his neck. He smells edible. I hear his groan and pull back in concern.
"I can't go through with this," he mutters, his eyes squeezed closed. "It was madness to ask you." He takes a deep breath. "I'm calling Morgan to get you out of here. I'll find another way to make that bastard pay, if it takes the rest of my life, but I'm not going to expose you to his madness for a minute longer."
"Chayton no," I whisper, in a rare moment of mental clarity. "Let's do this. Let's get it over and done with. I don't want him to be a part of the rest of our lives. Please," I urge.
Chayton wrestles with his emotions and finally nods with a worried frown.
"Okay. But Morgan and I are in the room next door. If he so much as..."
"It will be okay.” I whisper and our foreheads touch.
The young man has fitted what I assume is a miniature camera, and another object which looks like a small antennae, above the door. He is talking softly on a mobile, making small adjustments. He gives the thumbs up and waits for Chayton by the door. Chayton holds my hands, staring at the marks under the cuffs and I can see the muscles in his jaw working and anger.
"Get that bastard, and then get me out of here,” I whisper.
"Soon," he whispers back, and I'm alone in my sterile prison again.
I expect to be left alone for ages, so I'm taken by surprise, when I hear clipped footsteps marching toward the door. It flies open, slamming against the wall and Robert storms in. He stands, glaring at me, with a mix of confusion and disdain, and I stare back with all the menace I can muster.
"I assume you are here for a reason Robert, or are you just going to stand there gawking all day?" I spit.
His stance alters slightly, as he recovers from his momentary confusion. I wonder what Chayton said or did exactly to draw Robert here.
"The drugs have worn off early. Just checking that my little butterfly is still in her glass jar, otherwise I may have to pin her to the board," he smirks.
Shit, I need to draw him in. Get him closer. Get him on camera. I take a deep breath. "Robert, you never were very good at holding onto me. What makes you think you can get it right this time?" I pour as much sarcasm into my tone as I can muster, and it's easier than I expected. He stares at me as if he hasn't heard a word.
I'm suddenly overwhelmed by a need, to vent years of unshed rage on this arsehole. Just down the hall, Morgan and Chayton are waiting to rush in and protect me if needed and this gives me strength.
"Why are you doing this, Robert? I know you implied, that you were doing this to taunt Chayton, because of some 'imagined competitiveness', but that's not the whole truth is it?" I am warming up.
"The truth is you can't handle that someone might actually love me, isn't it? You have been watching me since I walked out and filed for divorce; you admitted as much. Only now, now that I have someone in my life, you just can't handle it!" I suck oxygen into my lungs.
"You see me as one of your possessions. If you can't have me, no one can. Do you know how juvenile that is Robert? Have you got any idea how twisted and demented that is?"
I stop and watch his face with bemusement as he tries to process the words. I can see him squirm inwardly in discomfort, while his mind goes into hyper-drive, searching for excuses and explanations, to justify his actions and discount my accusations. I am slightly amused at how well I still know this man. The depth of his crazy might have shot off the scales, but his basic functioning has not changed.
His face takes on a pitiful look and he saunters over to the bath, perching on the edge of it and patting my head gently. Christ, I am not a pet Robert! I twist my head away.
"My dear, I always suspected that you were slightly delusional. Now I know it's true. Such a shame too, I once had such high hopes for you. You and your irritating little boyfriend are already getting far more of my attention than you deserve but I'm afraid it's all very necessary." He is crooning to me like a parent to a young child and it makes my skin crawl. I try to shrink back away from him from his touch from the personal space he is invading but I have nowhere to go.
"Robert, I how long exactly do you plan on keeping me here like this?"
"As long as I feel it useful and entertaining," he smirks. "No tears? No begging? Well perhaps not yet. But soon! I must return to my guests. Your next shot should be arriving soon. In the mean time, think of me, and all the things I could have given you." He walks out and closes the door behind him and I sag into the bath, my weight pulling painfully against my restraints. I am exhausted, still in the strong sedative grip of the drug.
A moment later the door opens, and Chayton enters, his face taut with concern and anger. He has a key and quickly undoes the cuffs, and easily lifts me. I curl myself into his arms, gripping his neck tightly. Wincing as the feeling returns painfully to my fingers.
He pauses and glances both ways along the corridor before turning left and we exit into the garage and then out the open garage doors.
I gasp. Above us, the empty sky is a deep clear blue, but on the horizon, the late summer sun is low, framed by vivid purple and pink clouds, in a display even a good artist would be hard pressed to capture on canvas. The air is fresh and the bouquet of pine and the Puget Sound are heavy in the summer air, mingling with the warm masculine scent of Chayton. The effect is intoxicating.
"Are you okay?” Chayton asks, concern etched across his face.
"Uh huh. That view and the smell...it's the second most beautiful thing I've seen in a week."
"Oh?" he cocks an eyebrow at me.
"The first was you," I whisper. He smiles shyly and brushes his lips against mine. The drive is full of expensive cars. We weave between the long lines of parked status symbols, until we reach the Bronze SUV, and Chayton gently lowers me to the floor, holding me steady, while he opens the back door. He helps me in and slides in after me, pulling me back onto his lap and into his arms.
Oh, he smells divine and I realise in horror that I probably don't. I don't care. I tuck myself under his chin, breathing deeply listening to his voice echoing in the confines of this chest.
"Morgan?" he asks.
"It's done boss!"
"Good! Jack, if he gets bail...” Chayton's voice sounds choked.
"I'll worry about that, C.J. You just worry about looking after your girl."
I'm pondering this third voice, when I find myself drifting back into the dark. This time safe and warm, in the arms of the man I love.
~.~
"Angel baby? Time to wake.” My eyes flicker open, met by his glowing glaze in the dark. Somewhere a throat clears and I realise that we are not alone.
"Hi. Sorry."
"It's good to have you back in one piece Ms. Ward. I can promise you that I will do everything in my power, to make sure that Mr. Jones is not able to hurt you again."
I look up at Chayton, then back at the portly man next to us.
"Sorry Ms. Ward. I'm Jack Barns. From the Prosecution Office." I shake his offered hand weakly. "It's Ironic that I was invited to Robert’s gathering today. It says a lot about the man."
I nod, not trusting my voice.
"We're here," Chayton whispers, as the car pulls to a stop under a portico. Morgan opens our door and is waiting with a wheelchair, but Chayton shakes his head, lifting me instead. I wince slightly at a protesting bruise, then rush to ease his obvious concern. "I'm good; just stiff."
Still frowning, he carries me into a large converted, colonial styled house, in a leafy suburb. Somewhere near Green Lake, north of Seattle, I think. I stare, horrified, at the sign above the ultra modern reception desk.
"Sinclair 'Substance Abuse' Rehab Home and Clinic." I read slowly. Chayton pales at the look of hurt and horror in my eyes, as I stare up at him.
