He paced the room with his phone clutched in his fist, willing it to ring. It didn’t. He called her house one more time, then checked his voice mail at the bank. Nothing.
He saw Carmen Khan striding toward him and decided he might as well make one last call to his own house. Maybe there’d be something on his answering machine there. Not likely, because Sheila knew he’d be here at the Fairmont, but it was worth a shot.
It took a second to remember what buttons to push. He was surprised to find there were two messages. The first was from Pietro, the Italian tailor, letting him know his suit was ready.
As it turned out, the second message was from Sheila. It was time-stamped—she’d left it ten minutes ago. Morris breathed a sigh of relief at the sound of her voice. She’d probably pressed the wrong speed-dial button on her BlackBerry. But his relief evaporated instantly when he realized she was crying, sobbing so hard he could barely understand her.
“Morris. It’s me. I . . . I’m so sorry. I’m not coming. You and I both know this marriage would be a huge mistake.”
Morris stopped breathing. Had he heard her right? There was a long pause before she continued.
“We both know I need to get help. There’s a treatment center I can go to. It’s out of state, and I’ll be gone for a couple of months. Or longer, I’m not sure. Morris, I might not come back to Seattle. I need you to . . . cancel the wedding. I’m sorry to leave it to you, but I just can’t bear to deal with it right now.”
Another crackling pause. Where the hell was she calling from, a cave? Morris’s heart was beating so hard he felt dizzy.
“In time I hope you can . . . forgive me.” She was full out sobbing by this point. “I’m taking a leave of absence from the university. Please don’t follow me or look for me. Respect my decision. If you ever loved me, you’ll let me go and move on with your life. I’m sorry, Morris. Take care of yourself.”
Her last words were barely a whisper and he could hardly hear them over the blood pulsing in his temples. He couldn’t have heard her right. He replayed the message again, unable to process that she was, indeed, leaving him.
“Everything okay, Mr. Gardener?” Carmen Khan said at his elbow. Her face was a picture of concern, but her dark, perfectly made-up eyes revealed her impatience.
Morris turned to face the woman, scarcely able to believe the words he was about to say.
“The wedding’s off,” he said hoarsely. “It’s canceled.”
The wedding planner’s eyes widened in alarm. “I—I’m sorry to hear that. Are you certain?” She placed a hand on his arm.
Morris moved away from her. He didn’t want to be touched. “Truth be told, I’m not sure.” He felt deranged. “We’re having . . . problems.” He couldn’t think of how else to phrase it.
Carmen stared at him a moment longer before consulting her clipboard. “The wedding’s not till Saturday. We can sign off today assuming it’s a go and give it a couple days.” She hesitated. “The thing is, Mr. Gardener, everything’s already been reserved. You’ve already paid the deposit for the room and the food, and it can’t be refunded. Same goes for the DJ and the photographer. If there’s any chance you two might . . .” She noticed Morris wasn’t listening.
“Mr. Gardener.” She touched his arm again.
He jerked his arm away and looked down at her. She instinctively stepped back.
“Mr. Gardener, if you cancel the wedding today, you’ll lose a lot of money. I don’t know if you realize how much—”
“Cancel it.”
“But I really think—”
“Cancel it.”
Carmen Khan pressed her clipboard to her chest and nodded. “I’m very sorry.”
Morris watched her walk away, her four-inch heels soundless on the thick carpet. “So am I,” he said quietly to no one.
CHAPTER : 19
Something was around her neck that hadn’t been there when she’d fallen asleep. Reflexively, Sheila pawed at it.
“Easy,” Ethan said. “You’ll break it.”
She opened her eyes. Ethan was sitting on the edge of the bed, blocking her view of the TV, but she could hear Anderson Cooper’s voice recounting the day’s top stories. She had no idea how long Ethan had been here. Her captor was watching her, a thoughtful expression on his face.
Her head groggy, Sheila touched her neck again, rattling her chains. He’d put some kind of necklace on her while she was sleeping, and she pulled it away from her so she could see it better. It took a few seconds for her vision to clear, and when it did, she saw a silver amulet on a leather string. Engraved on it were symbols she didn’t recognize.
“It’s Apache,” he said. “From New Mexico. Something to ward off evil spirits. I got it from a friend.”
She stared at him through her brain fog. “Are you being ironic?”
“It doesn’t quite match the diamond bracelet Morris gave you,” Ethan said, his voice sly. “But it looks good on you still.”
He was thinking about the tennis bracelet Morris had given her? Why in the world would he be thinking about that? The bracelet was at home, locked up in the small vault in her bedroom closet, safe and sound. Unlike her engagement ring. She was still too scared to ask what he’d done with it.
Her bare legs felt cold. He’d taken her jeans off a couple of days before, and all she was wearing was her sweater, stained and rank from her own body odor and covered in dried particles of food. As if sensing her discomfort, Ethan pulled the blanket over her legs. He looked tired. His eyes were rimmed with red, and new lines were on his forehead and around his mouth. A small red pimple on his cheek marred his complexion, and he’d cut himself shaving.
It confused her. If he’d kidnapped women before—and of course he had, this entire room was built for it—then what was he stressing about?
She needed him to talk to her. She had so many questions and they were gnawing at her the same way the steel handcuffs were eating into her wrists.
“So. What’s going on at the university?” Sheila’s tone was casual. She could have been asking what movies were coming out next weekend, or whether it was cold outside. “Have they replaced me?”
“Not permanently. Dean Simmons sent out a department-wide memo the Monday after you left him the voice mail. It said you were taking an indefinite leave of absence due to stress, just as you told him in your message. But there are some weird rumors floating around.” There was a smirk on Ethan’s face. “Rumors that you’re going to rehab for sex addiction. Heard it from the dean’s secretary herself, the gossipy little twat.”
Sheila stopped breathing. “That’s not possible. How could she know? Nobody could know, unless you . . .” She saw the glint in Ethan’s eyes. He was messing with her. “You asshole.”
His laugh was cruel. “I’m amazed you’d even care.”
She did care. It might seem trivial to worry about her reputation, but she didn’t want to die with people knowing her secret. It was the absolute last way she wanted to be remembered. She blinked back tears, not wanting to show weakness around him.
At least he was talking. That was the important thing.
He smiled. “Nobody’s looking for you, if that’s what you’re wondering. Nobody’s even talking about you.”
“Why are you doing this?” she said softly. “Ethan, talk to me. Whatever it is you’re going through, whatever’s caused you to do this, I can help. You know I can. There’s still time to fix this.”
She had tried this tactic several times over the past few days, using her best psychologist voice to varying degrees of failure. Individual therapy wasn’t Sheila’s specialty and she was running out of ideas.
Ethan looked away, his jaw tightening. Then he stood up and began pacing the room.
She had agitated him with her question. She watched him pace, waiting. When he slowed down, that would be the time to ask another question.
His pace slowed, and she pounced.
“Have you thought about the consequences
of this?” she asked.
Ethan didn’t quite break stride, but he did glance her way.
“Like after I’m dead, what will you do with my body? You can’t just get rid of a dead body, Ethan. There are a million ways to get caught.”
He looked surprised at the question, one she hadn’t asked before. “You don’t think I have a plan? I’m very good at what I do.”
“I believe you.” She did believe him. She’d been here for days, which wasn’t a feat any amateur could pull off. “I just want to know what you’re thinking. Do you have impulses? Urges? Do you hear voices?” He didn’t reply, so she tried again. “Are you acting out a revenge fantasy? Do I fit some kind of . . . profile? Were you abused as a child?”
Ethan’s eyes glinted with amusement. “What else? Any more theories?”
Her mind working fast, Sheila said, “Do you care about me at all anymore?”
He looked away again.
She’d touched a nerve. She leaned forward, her chains clanking against the side of the bed. “If you care about me, you wouldn’t do this to me. You’d let me go. It’s the right thing to do, and you’re a decent person—”
“Don’t talk to me like I’m a nut job.” He turned back to her, glaring. “You don’t think I know what I’m doing? If I let you go, I get arrested. I go to jail. For life.”
So he understood that his actions had consequences. He didn’t want to get caught. Which meant he wasn’t completely psychopathic. He knew there were rules.
“Bet you’d like that, wouldn’t you?” His tone was scathing. “I’m sure you’d love to see me locked in a tiny little cell, away from civilization. Wouldn’t you just love to get me out of the way, so you can go and live your happy little life with Morris?”
Morris again. Sheila watched his jaw work in anger. Such irony in his words, considering he’d locked her away from civilization. “I’m sorry I implied that, Ethan. I don’t believe you should be locked away.” The lie almost stuck in her throat. “I’m just scared. You can understand that, can’t you? And if it makes you feel any better, Morris knows everything. I told him about my sex addiction, and the affair. There won’t be any happy little life, even if you do let me go.”
Ethan looked genuinely surprised. He hadn’t expected that. “Yeah, but you had an appointment to finalize wedding plans. He was still going to marry you.”
“I don’t know if the wedding would have happened.” She was being truthful now. “He was so disgusted. It would be a miracle if he forgave me.”
“Did you tell him it was me?”
“Of course not. I didn’t want him to be able to picture it. I’ve already ruined everything.”
Ethan’s jaw finally relaxed. “I’d tell you I’m sorry, but I’m not. The thought of you and him together—” He turned his head away again.
Sheila stared at him, incredulous. She waited a moment but he didn’t continue. “Ethan, you don’t want me to be with him? Is that what this is about?” She tried to process this new revelation. “I’m here because you’re jealous?”
He pulled something small and silver from the back waistband of his jeans and walked toward her. It was the gun. She flinched at the sight of it. She hadn’t realized that he’d been armed this whole time. Her wrists burned as she reflexively strained against the cuffs.
He frowned at her reaction. “Relax. I’m just taking it out so you don’t try anything stupid. You want answers, right?”
She nodded, afraid where this was going. “Yes.”
Ethan clicked the gun. “There. I just took the safety off. This gun has a particularly sensitive trigger. I’m going to uncuff one of your hands, so I suggest you don’t do anything to make me shake or jerk.”
“I’m not stupid.”
“No, but you’re desperate.” Ethan leaned in toward her, his face only inches from hers. “I’ll tell you what you want to know. Hell, I’ll show you. But to do that, I’m going to have to take the handcuffs off. Don’t do anything stupid. I won’t think twice about shooting you in the face.” His cinnamon breath wafted over her. To think she’d once found that alluring. Now it made her nauseous. “Do you believe me, Sheila?”
She nodded. He put the gun to her temple gently. The cold steel felt like fire.
“This is how we’re going to do it. I’m going to unlock your right hand first. Don’t move until I tell you. You do, and your brains will be splattered all over Anderson Cooper’s pretty face. Still with me?”
She was afraid to nod under the pressure of the gun, so she simply said, “Yes.”
“If you’re good, I might even let you take a bath and brush your teeth. Wouldn’t that be nice?”
There was a bathroom here? Then why the fuck was she in this diaper?
“Now where was I?” Ethan said. “Oh, right. After I uncuff your hand, you can do the other one, then you can do your legs. Once that’s done, we’ll walk over to the next room, and I’ll show you what it is you’re so eager to know. Capiche?”
“Capiche.” She was beginning to wonder whether she even wanted to see what was in the next room, but she sure as hell wanted to get out of this awful bed.
He pulled a key out of his jacket pocket, the gun never leaving her forehead. Leaning over her, he unlocked the cuff of her right hand. She could smell the cologne he always wore and couldn’t stop herself from shuddering.
Was it really only a few weeks ago she’d had fantasies about being draped in his scent?
“Take the key,” Ethan said. “Move slowly. No sudden movements.”
“As if I could overpower you.”
“The gun keeps you from trying. Which makes it easier for both of us.” He held out the key. “This ain’t my first time at the rodeo.”
It was something Morris would have said.
She took the key from him with an arm that was practically numb. Her shoulder muscles screamed when she moved her left arm toward her right. She bit her lip in pain.
“I guess I could give you longer chains.” Ethan had a funny expression on his face. He looked almost sympathetic.
“How about no chains?” Sheila wanted to cry. “It’s not as if I can beat you up.”
She finally got her left hand free, then attempted to bend forward to her ankles. Every muscle and nerve in her back was instantly on fire.
“Does it hurt?” His concern seemed genuine. “Your back?”
“Yes,” she said through gritted teeth.
“Take your time, then. After you’ve unlocked yourself, I’ll let you stand up. You can stretch, get the blood flowing. It’s about time we did this, anyway.”
She managed to get her ankles free, sweating from the exertion. He offered her his hand, and she moved her bare legs carefully over the edge of the bed so her feet dangled.
Taking a deep breath, she stood. A million burning needles flooded through her body. In desperation, she gripped Ethan’s arm for support.
“Take your time,” he said again.
After what seemed like a lifetime, relief set in. She put her arms over her head and stretched. The bones in her back cracked and the sound was like microwave popcorn.
“Better?”
“A little.” She had never before despised another human being this way in her life.
“Walk over there.” He pointed to the far wall she’d spent almost every waking hour staring at. A doorway was to the left, but no door. “Remember, you move funny and I’ll have no choice but to blow your head off.”
The gun looked too small to blow anyone’s head off, but she wasn’t going to argue semantics with a murderer. She didn’t doubt the little gun could punch a nice, neat hole in her skull, the bullet bouncing around, shredding the very essence of who she was into pulp.
She shuffled toward the wall, feeling the blood rush through her legs and feet. The pain was finally subsiding and it felt good to move. They passed through the doorway, and she wasn’t entirely surprised to find a long corridor behind it.
She couldn’t beli
eve how large this place was. She’d come to assume she was in a basement, but now that she was getting a better idea of the size, it seemed too big for that. The house above them would have to be huge. Maybe a warehouse of some sort?
Two doors were at the end of the corridor, one with a keypad bolted beside it, and one without. Sheila wondered if the door without the keypad was the bathroom.
“Stop,” Ethan commanded. With the gun trained on her head, he reached past her and punched a code into the keypad. His arm was in the way and she couldn’t tell what he’d entered. After a short beep, the door popped open.
“Go on,” he said, nudging her lower back. “Go see. Everything you wanted to know is inside.”
Sheila shuffled forward.
The room was dark and Ethan reached past her again. The lights came on suddenly, glaringly. It took her a moment to focus on what she was looking at. Even then, she didn’t know what to make of it.
It was a room wrapped entirely in plastic.
She blinked, trying to take it all in. The space was large, approximately twenty by twenty feet, about the same size as the area where her bed was. In the middle sat a folding table resembling something a traveling massage therapist would tote, only it was wrapped snugly in some kind of cellophane. The walls were also covered in plastic and, through the transparency, she could see stained concrete cinder blocks underneath.
Against the wall to the right, a six-foot-tall stainless steel cabinet showcased a bevy of weaponry. It was mostly guns and knives, but she could also see a small ax, an ice pick, and a sledgehammer. A large freezer sat beside it. Leaning against that was a chain saw, and a few feet away was something that looked like a mini-forklift.
Her bare feet felt cold, and she looked down. Unlike the wall, the cement floor was exposed and pristine. He followed her gaze.
“You’re right, I have to remember to lay down fresh plastic.” He sounded pleasant and matter-of-fact. “You can’t get blood out of concrete.”
Though she hadn’t entirely processed what she was seeing, she felt faint. Her knees buckled and Ethan placed an arm around her waist to keep her steady.
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