Chapter Three
The lights, coming back up in the cell, woke me. Before I opened my eyes, my body tensed. As much as I wanted to believe that none of what had happened was real, I knew better. If I was going to hold onto my sanity, I had to find a way to cope.
For the moment, bodily needs took over. A small privacy screen was folded up beside the chemical toilet. I made use of both, then automatically looked around for a sink before remembering that there wasn’t one. That meant no running water, no way to wash or brush my teeth. More importantly, there was nothing to drink.
I was thirsty again and so hungry. My stomach felt as though it was gnawing on itself. The possibility that my captor intended to withhold food made me shudder. Suddenly seized by chills, I grabbed the blanket and wrapped it around myself but I refused to huddle on the ledge. Instead, I paced up and down, both for warmth and to ease the stiffness in my limbs. Whatever I was going to have to face, at least I’d do it on my feet.
The door at the far end of the hallway opened. Relief flooded me when I saw that my visitor was “Marilyn”, not the hooded man. Even better, she was carrying a tray. All thought of hunger and thirst vanished as I realized the opportunity in front of me. She would need to open the door of the cell to hand me the tray. If I acted quickly enough, I could overcome her and escape. Never mind that I had no idea what was on the other side of the hallway. I had to take the chance.
But even as I gathered myself to act, my hopes were dashed. Instead of unlocking the door, “Marilyn” opened a horizontal slot in the bars and slid the tray through it. Without a word, she turned and left.
The whole incident had taken less than a minute but it left me deeply shaken. To have even the illusion of freedom dangled in front of me, only to be snatched away--
Despair threatened, a black void that in my weakened state would be all too easy to fall into. Instead, I clutched at the tray. There was another water bottle on it, once again sealed, a bowl of plain oatmeal, a plastic spoon, and…a paper napkin. A hysterical laugh broke from me. I might be in a cell, wearing sackcloth and terrified out my wits but at least the social niceties were being observed.
Paradoxically, hunger and thirst came to my rescue. I put every other thought aside and sat down on the ledge, carefully setting the tray beside me. The water tasted as good as it had the day before and this time, my stomach didn’t cramp.
I tried the oatmeal next. It was warm but flavorless with no trace of milk or any sweetening. I didn’t care. It stilled my hunger pangs. For the moment at least, that was enough.
When I’d finished every morsel and drunk the rest of the water, I picked up the napkin. It fell open a little as I did so, enough for me to see that a few words were written in black ink on the inside. I stared at them in astonishment as I slowly made out what they said:
Fate come dice lui e lui non ti farà del male.
I didn’t speak Italian but I could recognize it. A spurt of excitement went through me. The note didn’t necessarily mean that I was in Italy but it was the first real clue I had about my whereabouts. Now all I had to do was decipher it.
Grandmother had insisted that I learn to speak French rather than study Spanish as I would have preferred. As much as I liked France, I’d never been grateful to her for that until now. The similarity between the two languages allowed me to at least guess at a translation:
Do as he says and he will not hurt you.
I desperately wanted the words to be true but if they were, they carried a significant downside.
To avoid being hurt, I had to obey.
So far, the hooded man had done nothing except ask me a few questions. But what more did he intend? Why did someone, most likely “Marilyn” herself, feel compelled to warn me not to defy him?
I was still mulling all that over fearfully when the heavy metal door opened again and the object of my dread walked in.
He was all in black again, his head still concealed by a hood. The mechanical tone of his voice created by the distorter made him sound inhuman. More than the first time I saw him, I was aware that he was big--tall with broad shoulders. His size and the strength it implied was just one more intimidating factor added to all the rest.
“Give me the napkin,” he said.
My fear, already so high, spiked even further. For the moment, I couldn’t even question how he knew that I had received a message. All I could think of was what he would do because of it.
Dread held me frozen. I stared at him through the bars.
He held out a gloved hand and said again, “The napkin. Give it to me.”
When I still didn’t move, he added, “Unless you’d rather that I come in and take it.”
That possibility and the horror it provoked dissolved my paralysis. Like a puppet whose strings had been yanked, I stumbled forward. My hand shook as I held the napkin out, just close enough for him to take it from between my fingers. The moment he did so, I snatched my hand back.
He scanned the message. “It’s good advice.”
Could that possibly be a note of amusement I heard through the distorter? At that thought, anger seared through me, burning away fear. For the moment, at least.
“Maybe,” I snapped, “but that depends on what you want me to do.”
He flicked a hand at the bars of the cell. “Look where you are. Do you really imagine that you have any choice?”
I felt my face heat. “I know where I am. I want to know why. Why am I here?”
“Because this is where I want you to be, at least for the moment.”
Fear flickered deep inside me, but it wasn’t enough to discourage defiance. “What happens when you don’t want that any longer? Are you going to kill me or will you let me go? Is that why you won’t let me see your face or the woman’s? So I won’t be able to identify either of you. Tell me!”
He was silent long enough for me to be terrified of what his answer would be. As much as I wanted to hold onto hope that he would release me when the ransom was paid, the possibility that he would not was real and inescapable. How many kidnap victims ever returned home safely?
Finally, after what seemed like an interminable time, he said, “You don’t give any orders here. On the contrary. You will do as you are told or you will suffer the consequences. Is that clear?”
“No, of course it isn’t! Nothing about this is!”
I heard the note of hysteria in my voice. Panic was building in me but I was determined to control it.
At least until he said, “Take off that garment.”
The quality of my fear changed suddenly. Up until that moment, I was afraid in a general way, stunned by what was happening to me, acutely aware of my own helpless and terrified that I’d be harmed in some way beyond what I had already experienced.
With his words, the much more immediate and real threat of sexual assault descended on me like a smothering shroud, threatening to drive out all reason.
I barely managed to stammer. “W-what?”
Even through the distorter, his tone was implacable. “That thing you’re wearing, take it off.”
“You’re out of your mind!”
The words burst from me, enraged, impulsive, and almost certainly ill-advised. The last thing I should have done was challenge him but I couldn’t stop myself. My fear was raw, gripping, a beast I couldn’t escape. But it was matched by anger so intense as to banish even the most basic thought of self-preservation.
By contrast, his response was remarkably calm. With a shrug, he said, “Let’s hope that I’m not. After all, it would be very bad for you if I was. You need to learn a lesson. Just like with the napkin, you either hand the dress to me or I come in and take if off you.”
I stared at him, hardly able to breathe. The mere fact that he sounded fully in control of himself made the threat all too real. Whoever he was, whatever his motives, my captor wasn’t going to back down.
He also wasn’t above taunting me.
“If it’s any consolation, it w
on’t be the first time I’ve seen you naked.”
My face flamed. The reminder of my vulnerability--when I was unconscious and now--ate away at any sense of control I still had.
“You bastard!”
“As you wish.” He withdrew a key from his pocket.
“Wait!”
A sickening realization burned through me. The same cell that held me captive also provided the only sense of safety that I still had. It had become both prison and sanctuary. If that wasn’t immensely messed up, I couldn’t imagine what was. Even so, I couldn’t deny it.
My lips pressed together so tightly. Stiffly, I turned my back and walked over to the ledge. Without looking at him, I pulled the sackcloth over my head. The air against my heated skin felt cool and damp in the instant before I snatched up the blanket and wrapped it around myself.
Returning to the bars, I thrust the dress at him. “Satisfied?”
Even as I spoke, my eyes widened, enough to take in the unmistakable bulge of his cock straining against his pants. The sick sense of my own vulnerability redoubled. I tasted bile in the back of my throat.
“Not quite yet,” he said. “Give me the blanket.”
A tremor ran through me, followed quickly by another. I wrapped my arms around myself in a futile effort to stop--or at least conceal--that I was shaking with fear.
“Do I really have to come in there?” I asked.
A tear trickled down my cheek.
Faintly, as though from a great distance, I heard myself say, “If I give you the blanket, you’ll stay on that side of the bars?”
I hated my own cowardice but I couldn’t fight it. Weeks before, when I was reeling with shock and horror at discovering the truth about my family, I imagined that I had touched bottom. But it turned out that I had much further to fall. Pieces of myself were crumbling away, leaving only an empty, quaking shell. I had to wonder what, if anything, would survive.
The hooded man was silent for a moment. My chest constricted tightly. I couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think, could only hang suspended on his will.
“I’ll stay on this side,” he said.
Relief flowed through me but it vanished in an instant, leaving only an all-encompassing sense of exhaustion. Slowly, keeping my eyes down, I unwound the blanket and handed it through the bars.
Instinctively, I stumbled back to the ledge. Turned to one side with my knees drawn up, I tried to hide as much of myself as I could. I couldn’t stop shaking. Another tear burned down my cheek, followed by more.
“Let us be clear,” the man said. “Everything--water, food, clothing, light, warmth--depends on your good behavior. Defy me in any way and you will be hungry, thirsty, and naked in the cold and the dark. Do you understand?”
I did, all too well. He had made his point. I was completely helpless and terrifying vulnerable. He could do anything he chose and I wouldn’t be able to stop him.
Slowly, not daring to look at him, I nodded.
~~~~~~~~~~~~
After assuring myself that my captive was sufficiently subdued, for the moment at least, I returned to my office. For the rest of the morning, I concentrated on the stream of emails and reports that required my attention. Or at least I tried to. My attention shifted to the video monitors more often than I would have liked.
Grace remained huddled on the ledge. If she moved at all, I didn’t see it. She would be feeling the cold by now and her limbs had to be painfully stiff. I could raise the temperature in the cell a few degrees--
I glanced at the clock. Barely two hours had passed and I was already thinking about easing up on her. That wouldn’t do. I’d gone ahead with my plan for her only after assuring myself that she had sufficient strength to endure it. Showing her any degree of compassion would only extend her suffering.
Impatient with myself, I went back to work. Under normal circumstances, I would have found the report on new energy discoveries in the eastern Mediterranean riveting. As it was I had to re-read key passages several times.
Finally, I gave up and went for a run. A week before, the Sirocco blowing north out of Africa had brought heat and heavy, torpid humidity to my island. But that was gone, replaced by an invigorating breeze and bright sunshine. I took the coast road that fell from the cliff where the house stood down toward a sandy beach and then around through rocky scrub land dotted with cacti and stands of ancient, gnarled olive trees.
The narrow strait to the north glittered invitingly but I wasn’t even remotely tempted by it. The riptides that ran there were vicious at any time of the year but never more so than in autumn. I had found that out for myself when, shortly after my first kill, I ventured into the waters that I had been warned away from all my life. I’d survived but only barely.
I ran a full circuit of the island until I came within sight of the house again. On the climb back up the cliff, I sprinted. By the time I reached the top, I was breathing hard and covered in sweat.
My impulse was to check on Grace immediately but I forced myself to shower first before returning to my office. As I approached, I wasn’t surprised to see Maria waiting just outside the door. My housekeeper was a small woman, barely over five feet tall. In her late forties, her jet black hair held just a few hints of gray. She had a plain, honest face that matched her character.
Her family had served mine for generations. Maria herself had come to work in my parents’ household the year I was born and had never been anything other than loyal. That being the case, I was inclined to be more tolerant of her than I would have been of most who dared to challenge me.
Yet I was surprised when, instead of confessing what she had done and asking forgiveness, she said, “Signore, your pardon but I am worried about the girl.”
“Woman, not girl.” I had no reason to be defensive about my actions, much less explain them. Yet, I found myself adding, “She’s twenty-one. She’s been pampered all her life. A little hardship won’t hurt her.”
Maria’s dark eyes flashed. Belatedly, I remembered that she had two daughters, one close to Grace’s age, the other younger.
“A little? She is locked up in a cell, cold, hungry, thirsty, not allowed to see anyone’s face, yours or mine. All that must be preying on her. You want her to get sick?”
“Of course I don’t,” I said. “But her defiance serves no one, least of all her.” More sternly, I said, “No more notes. Understand?”
Maria raised an eyebrow, her only expression of surprise that I knew what she had done. With a sigh, she said, “I meant no harm.”
“I know you didn’t.” I opened the office door and stood aside for her to enter. Following, I glanced at the monitors.
Grace was still sitting on the ledge, still with her arms wrapped around her knees. She was shivering. As I watched, she raised her head. Her eyes were wide and dark, and her lips were swollen, as though she’d been biting them. She really did look miserable.
Seeing her nakedness and realizing what I had done, Maria gasped. “This isn’t like you, signore.”
“You know better than that,” I scoffed. “This is exactly like me.”
She didn’t argue; there would have been no point, we both knew the truth. But she didn’t give up either.
“Please, signore, let me bring her water and a blanket. And something better than that disgusting porridge.” Her grimace made it clear that her culinary standards had been offended.
I repressed a smile. “Water and a blanket this evening, no sooner. And the porridge is fine for now. I ate it at school and it did me no harm.” I’d detested it but that wasn’t the point. “If my guest wants anything better, she has to earn it.”
With another anxious glance at the monitors, Maria conceded defeat. “Of course, signore. It shall be as you say.”
Her words were proper enough but her expression made her disapproval clear. With a further sigh, she left.
Alone, I settled at my desk again. There was always more work to be done but my concentration was lacking. Even as she re
mained unnaturally still, Grace was far too distracting. I had the sense of her withdrawing into herself, trying to get as far from her physical surroundings as she could. That couldn’t have been working too well. After an hour or so, she was shivering more than ever.
In a moment of weakness, I gave in and tapped a command into the house’s control system, raising the temperature in the cell by a few degrees. The change was small enough that I doubted she would notice it consciously but she would be marginally more comfortable.
For the moment. Tomorrow, she would have to start giving me what I needed. Or I would take whatever measures were necessary to assure that she did so.
Chapter Four
Alone in the cell, trying to escape constant fear worsened by hunger, thirst, and cold, my mind wandered down the darkest alleys of my memories. Rather than a “happy place” filled with bluebirds and bunnies where I would much rather have been, I was drawn back to the cemetery where Patrick had been buried.
The day was dank and chill with a lowering sky. All around me, the Delaneys were gathered in a show of solidarity to mourn the young man found under a bridge where it was said he had been living for months, a drug addict who left behind a rambling collection of writings that made it clear he was in the grip of paranoid schizophrenia.
All through the prayers, the murmured condolences, and the burial, a part of me screamed that the image of him leaked to the media wasn’t the Patrick I had known. Afterward, as I made my way past the cordon of paparazzi held back from the gravesite, I had almost said that something didn’t fit, something was wrong. But dazed by grief and blinded by the flash of cameras, I had kept going, wanting only to get away.
Get away…I wanted to again, more desperately than ever. Fleeing had become the theme of my life. But I had finally come to a place from which there was no escape.
When I raised my head and looked around, the walls of the cell felt as though they were closing in on me. I had never been subject to claustrophobia but now I feared that I might become so. The sensation that I, too, had been buried alive was all too real.
Chosen: Part Two (Allure) Page 2
