Finding Wisp (Finding Us, #2)

by Noelle Marie

  As usual, it looked undisturbed. I shifted uncomfortably at the way Thane sprinted towards the door, where he began to bark in earnest. It had happened every time we’d come to the cabin this week, and while I couldn’t read the dog’s mind, I would have had to have been a brainless fool not to realize that he always hoped she would be here. Wisp.

  It didn’t matter that he had been disappointed every time we’d come to the cabin thus far, he still ran to the door and yipped. He still hoped.

  You still hope, you mean. Don’t pretend you don’t secretly fantasize that she has somehow made her way back to you every time you come back here.

  Ignoring the derisive voice (and the truth it spewed), I entered the cabin and showered before making Thane and I brunch. I’d dragged the chocolate lab’s kibble to Abram’s after the first night I had slept over, but the man didn’t have much in the way of human food.

  I suspected he filled his belly as a bear – chowing down on the raw meat of downed elk and deer for sustenance.

  Then, after stopping to make sure to feed the chickens (Wisp would never forgive me if I forgot about them), I was on my way back to Abram’s cottage.

  I tried not to let irritation take root when I discovered the man still wasn’t back from wherever he’d gone. He was supposed to be working on cracking Cornelius.

  For lack of anything else to do, I set about cleaning up the cottage.

  I’d been doing it off and on throughout the week, trying to make the space at least somewhat habitable. I had tackled the most pressing issues first, fixing the plumbing so that more than a dribble of water trickled out of the faucet when the sink was turned on, and patching the largest holes in the drywall.

  Abram hadn’t commented on the repairs, so I assumed he didn’t mind.

  A few hours later, I was sweeping bug carcasses off of the decaying porch and trying not to let the anger simmering in my stomach turn to worry when Abram finally appeared.

  He didn’t come wandering naked out of the woods as I’d come to expect. Instead, he meandered down the weed-infested dirt path that connected his house to the main highway, fully clothed. He was dressed shabbily in dirty jeans and an outdated jacket, but for him, that meant he was practically outfitted for a fucking ball.

  He had something – some sort of flimsy package – draped over his shoulder. When he got closer, I could see that it was actually two packages – or rather, two garment bags.

  I could also see that his hair had been washed and that he’d gotten his beard trimmed so that he no longer resembled the homeless mountain man he essentially was quite so strongly.

  I frowned. “Where the hell have you been?” I demanded as he marched up the porch steps.

  The man’s only response was to flash me a shit-eating smile as he walked by.

  Knowing by then that it would do me no good, I clenched my jaw in an effort not to cuss him out before following him into the house. Abram laid the garment bags out over his dining room table.

  “What are those?”

  Abram picked up one of the bags. “See for yourself,” he said, unzipping it.

  I took in the navy-colored, pinstripe suit.

  “Suits?” I demanded incredulously.

  Abram rolled his eyes. “Not just any suits. Dolce and Gabbana suits. They cost me nearly five grand a piece.”

  I frowned. “Someone sold you these?” I asked, eying the outfit he was wearing. “I’m surprised they even let you into the store.”

  At least I knew where he’d been. Travel time to the closest city that sold anything like this was easily an hour there and an hour back. The man didn’t have a working vehicle, so he must have hitchhiked. The question was… why?

  Abram snorted, his uncharacteristically good mood untouched by my critical appraisal. “What can I say?” he said. “Money talks.”

  Neither of us bothered pointing out the depressing manner in which we had come into our separate fortunes. Me, through the impressive inheritance my parents had left me, and him, through whatever life insurance policy he’d had out on his wife. I imagined it was the first time he’d touched the money since the fire seventeen years ago.

  “What are they for?” I asked, hesitantly examining the suit he held out for me. It reminded me of the ones the men who had accosted Wisp at The Tavern had been wearing, and I handed it back to Abram before my nails could sharpen into claws at the memory and I accidently tore into the wool fabric.

  “For our meeting with Mr. Radcliff, of course.”

  I tensed, my entire body stiffening at the deceptively blasé declaration. While I was almost completely certain Abram wouldn’t joke about such a thing, part of me was almost afraid to believe him. Because if he was wrong…

  “You finally arranged it?” I asked as calmly as I could.

  Instead of verbally responding, Abram merely offered me a smug grin.

  “When?” I demanded tightly.

  “Our get-together with the distinguished Mr. Radcliff is scheduled for next Monday. We’re meeting up for tea at his place.”

  Almost immediately, the hope threatening to sprout in my chest withered away, and I couldn’t understand why Abram was still smiling. “Next Monday? That’s almost an entire week away!” I shook my head. “We can’t wait that long.”

  Abram shrugged. “We don’t really have a choice, Derek. It’s the best I could do.”

  “The best you could do?” I repeated disbelievingly. “Well, it’s not good enough! Don’t you get how dire the situation is? Wisp could be locked away in some dusty attic. They could be torturing her, brainwashing her into believing-”

  “Or,” Abram cut in sharply, “far more likely, she is sitting perfectly content in her father’s mansion-like house, having her every need attended to by the man’s undoubtedly impressive staff.”

  Fury licked at my insides. “You don’t even care what they could be doing to her,” I accused hotly.

  Abram’s eyes flashed at my condemning tone. “Of course I care!” he snapped, slamming his fist against the table so hard it shook. “If I didn’t care, I wouldn’t be doing this!”

  For a long moment, we did nothing but glare at each other. A few seconds into the stare down, however, Abram’s gaze abruptly softened. The man sighed. “It’s only six more days, Derek,” he said, voice much softer than before. He placed a hand on my shoulder in what I imagined was supposed to be a comforting gesture. “Then we can go get her, I promise.”

  I ripped my arm away from the unwanted touch, hardly in the mood for his pitiful reassurances. I fled the house, ignoring Thane, who faithfully followed me as I retreated into the forest.

  Six more days?

  Abram wasn’t the one who had to endure Wisp’s desperate pleas ringing in his head night after night. I knew, of course, that they were only dreams, but the thought that even a hint of the urgency I could hear in her voice might be real…

  “Help me, Derek. Please.”

  I bellowed my displeasure into the quiet woods, the noise that escaped my throat raw and gritty. But it didn’t make me feel any better, and in a fit of rage, I beat my very human hands against the nearest tree until they were bloody, until the anger finally began retreating from my body, until all that remained was a sense of helplessness so intense it bordered on despair.

  After all, deep down, I knew that none of this was Abram’s fault. Ruthless, murderous shifters weren’t closing in on Wisp because of something he had done.

  I had done this.

  I stared at the blood running down my wrists. “Six more days, honey,” I muttered, not sure who I was talking to – Thane, who lay whimpering at my feet, myself, or somehow, through the distance that separated us, Wisp herself. “Just six more days.”

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  I stared blankly at the basement wall, trying – and failing – to ignore the way the cuffs shackling me to the drywall dug into my wrists. The cold metal bit into my skin, and I found that staying as still as possible was the only way to avoi
d irritating the developing sores.

  Unfortunately, the way the cuffs pulled at my shoulders made such a goal impossible.

  It was cruel – giving me enough slack to allow me to lie down or sit up at will, but not quite enough to stand. It ensured that no matter what position I twisted myself into, the chain connecting my wrists to the wall was always straining my joints.

  At this point, my shoulders were alternately aching and numb.

  Unfortunately, at the moment, they felt as if they were on fire. It was almost enough to make me look forward to Felix’s next “visit” – almost.

  If my math was right, I’d been trapped down here for an entire week now, and I’d grown used to the man’s coming and going. He left me alone during the day, but like clockwork, he would make his way down to the basement every evening after Marianne had left for home.

  The only time he had strayed from his routine was that very first morning when the sound his boots had made on the basement steps had woken me from my fitful slumber.

  Creak.

  I woke with a start, snapping my eyes open from sleep – if one could call the state of drifting between awareness and the brink of consciousness “sleep”, anyway.

  True rest was almost impossible with the cuffs.

  Creak.

  I tensed when the strange sound repeated itself.

  I was wide awake now at any rate, and judging by the pinkish-orange threatening to peek out from behind the curtains covering the glass double doors, it was nearly dawn. Unfortunately, there still wasn’t enough light to see where the noise was coming from.

  Creak.

  I squirmed into a sitting position, my belly coiling as the idea of ghosts – monsters, even – popped into my head.

  Then I saw him at the bottom of the stairs. Worse than any swamp creature I could imagine.

  Felix.

  He ambled over to me, squatting down when he reached the dingy mattress that I was perched on. I could feel my heart pounding in my chest, hear it in my ears even – something made indefinitely more embarrassing by the knowledge that Felix could hear it, too.

  I felt stupid for having begged him to come back last night.

  “Pleasant dreams?” he asked so amicably I wanted to scream.

  I jutted out my chin, gathering my nerve. “Go to hell.”

  Felix grinned, the whiteness of his teeth practically incandescent in the dark. He reached forward to brush some wayward hair out of my face, and I attempted to lurch away, but he merely twisted his fingers around the roots of my hair, digging them into my scalp to hold me in place. “And to think, I was actually feeling sorry about having to do this to your pretty mouth.”

  His eyes flickered down to my lips.

  My heart, still battering against my ribs like a jackhammer, jumped into my throat. “What are you-?”

  Felix jerked my head backwards, cutting me off mid-question. That’s when I saw what was in his other hand, and my stomach dropped.

  Duct tape.

  In an effort to escape Felix’s hold, I pulled at the manacles chaining me to the wall, but I only managed to strain my shoulders in the process. Readjusting my strategy, I kicked at Felix, but he worked quickly to immobilize my legs, climbing over me and clamping his knees down around my thighs.

  He tore a piece of tape off the roll with his teeth.

  Riiip.

  “Don’t! Please! Mmph-!”

  Paying no mind to my pleas, Felix slapped the piece of tape over my mouth, making sure to carefully smooth it down afterwards. When he was finished, he released the hold he had on my hair, assessing his work with amused eyes.

  Meanwhile, I was trying my best not to choke on the panic rising in my chest. It tasted a lot like bile, and only the image of me suffocating to death on my own vomit allowed me to swallow it back down.

  “There,” Felix said, patting my cheek, “much better.”

  Tied up as I was, the only thing I could do in response to the comment was glare, so that’s what I did.

  Felix raised his eyebrows. “Now, now, don’t look at me like that,” he scolded. “After all, we can’t have your incessant shouting startling Marianne when she arrives.”

  Disappointment, sudden and sharp, stabbed my stomach.

  A small, optimistic part of me had hoped that the man had forgotten about the maid, and that by making enough noise, I would be able to alert her to my… predicament when she got to work. Obviously, he hadn’t forgotten at all. Hence the tape.

  “In case you were wondering,” Felix continued, “as far as that woman knows, your father sent you to stay at a top-rated mental health facility that specializes in memory recovery. You’ll be residing there for the next month, undergoing experimental treatment. Marianne will be thrilled, I imagine, considering how concerned she’s been with you lately.”

  I had stopped listening as soon as the words “the next month” escaped Felix’s mouth.

  Surely the man didn’t intend to keep me locked away in the basement for so long.

  And why not? a jaded voice demanded. He’s obviously enjoying himself.

  It was true. Felix seemed to revel in the way my body would tense with fear whenever he got near.

  Thankfully, after sharing that bit of depressing information with me, the man finally stood. Almost immediately, I found I could breathe a little easier.

  “I’ll be back later for your lesson,” he assured (threatened) before turning towards the basement steps. “Try not to have too much fun without me.”

  Then, much like the night before, he ascended the stairs. Also like the night before, I screamed. Instead of begging Felix for help, however, I yelled obscenities I hardly knew the meaning of at the man’s back.

  Unfortunately, the tape muffled the sound.

  A week later, I had grown used to the slight discomfort of having duct tape pressed over my mouth. At first, I had attempted to use my shoulder to rub it off, even somehow push it away from my face with my tongue, but both endeavors proved to be a waste of energy, and after a while, I was forced to accept the situation for what it was.

  After all, itchy tape was a mere annoyance compared to the cuffs. As warped as it was, in comparison, the tape was tolerable.

  What wasn’t tolerable were the “lessons” Felix had been intent on imparting upon me every night when Marianne left for home – the point of which, as far as I could tell, was to strip me of my pride. My entire sense of self, even.

  It was like he was trying to mold me into an entirely different person – not a person, at all, really. More like a living, breathing doll. A living, breathing doll that Graham Vanderbilt could do whatever he pleased with.

  My first “lesson” had taken place the evening of the tape incident.

  Squeak.

  I tensed at the sound of the basement door opening, followed by the creaking noise of what I assumed was Felix’s weight on the stairs.

  I’d spent the afternoon simultaneously dreading and looking forward to the man’s return after our little… chat that morning, for lack of a better word. Dreading because… well, it was Felix. Looking forward because my bladder was about to burst.

  I hadn’t gone to the bathroom in over twenty-four hours, and I’d been reduced to clamping my thighs together as tightly as I could in an effort to hold it in.

  Part of me was tempted to just pee my pants. Mostly because I knew that it would tick Felix off, and there was nothing I wanted more at the moment. (Except for maybe Derek, but I was steadfastly refusing to think about that.)

  Ultimately, though, sitting in urine-soaked underwear seemed like more of a punishment for me than it did for Felix. Hence the clamping and squirming.

  I was briefly distracted from the urge to pee when Felix reached the bottom of the stairs and I saw that he had a plate of food clutched in one of his hands. It was a platter of what looked like crackers, cheese, and an assortment of fruit.

  It might not seem like much to some, but considering I hadn’t eaten in as long
as I hadn’t relieved my bladder, my stomach tightened longingly at the sight.

  Less exciting was the foldup chair Felix held in his other hand. He set up the chair, placing the plate of food down on its padded seat before finally turning to face me.

  I forced myself to keep my gaze level with his as he approached me. He crouched down on one knee before reaching forward and grabbing the edge of the tape covering the bottom half of my face. “Don’t bother screaming,” he advised. “Marianne left a half-hour ago.”

  Then, without any warning whatsoever, he tore the tape from my mouth.

  Riiip.

  I gasped, my breath hitching involuntarily at the sudden pain, the tingling sensation of pins pricking into my lips all I could feel for a moment. (Of course, the gash on my bottom lip didn’t help matters.)

  Felix tilted his head, watching me with sharp eyes as I licked at the cut, attempting to sooth the sting. “Now… did you have anything you needed to ask me?”

  I didn’t know if my squirming was that obvious or he thought I was going to ask for food, but I grudgingly nodded my head.

  “Well?” he pressed when I didn’t elaborate.

  My eyes flickered down to the floor in embarrassment. “I… I need to use the bathroom,” I revealed, what felt like flames licking at my cheeks.

  Felix raised his eyebrows. “I’m sorry. Was that a question?”

  My eyes shot back up to his in disbelief, but his expression remained passive. I clenched my jaw. “May I please use the toilet?” I forced out between gritted teeth, almost regretting the decision not to spontaneously lose control of my bladder and go in my pants.

  Felix grinned. “Of course.”

  Without further ado, he reached behind me and unlocked the cuffs. I brought my tender wrists to my chest as soon as they were freed, attempting to somehow rub the soreness away. Before I could get too comfortable, however, Felix grabbed me by the bicep and began leading me not upstairs to a bathroom, but to the stationary toilet on the other side of the basement.

  “Can’t I use a proper bathroom?” I demanded, attempting to wrench my arm away, but Felix’s grip remained firm.