Again, she tried to make peace while maintaining her boundaries. She found his hand and pulled it to her heart. “How can you not tell how much I want you? Listen to my heart.” He moved to her again, this time laying his head on her chest.
“I don’t understand,” he admitted. “Help me understand.”
“Can’t you simply trust me?” she pleaded. She’d never thought it would be this difficult. Jaynee obviously didn’t understand how in tuned her husband was with her. “Jordan, will you just kiss me again?”
He sighed, clearly not understanding, but conceding to her irrational request. He started right where he’d left off, minus the part where he pulled her hips against his, the part she wanted more than anything…the part she couldn’t have or allow.
He kissed her long enough and passionately enough, though, that she had to break away for air. It would have to do. He didn’t persuade her otherwise; instead, he collapsed on his back. She scooted next to him, resting her head on his chest. He moved his hand to her head, pulling his fingers through her hair.
He pressed his lips to the top of her head, inhaled, and then released a long breath. “You changed your shampoo and perfume, too?” he asked, partly as a question, mostly matter-of-factly. Proving to her, she guessed, what a great detective he was.
She huffed lightly, almost laughing. “You sure sound as though you’re still a detective, Jordan. I used the hotel’s products for a change. I didn’t think you would notice.”
“Once a cop, always a cop, you know that, Jaynee.”
She laughed lightly. It was nice just lying here in the dark.
“Jaynee,” he said after a few minutes of silence.
“Yes?”
“I thought we decided thirteen years ago we would always be completely truthful?” He paused for a second before continuing, “Please don’t ever lie to me again.” He scooted out from underneath her, then got out of bed and closed the bathroom door, casting them in total darkness. When he came back to bed, he rolled over on his side and was asleep within minutes, while she stared at the ceiling for hours.
Chapter Eighteen
(Jaynee)
Jaynee did as instructed, and when she woke up, she was in a pitch-dark room manacled to a double-sized metal frame bed.
She couldn’t describe her attacker, as he was wearing a black ski mask along with jeans and a long jacket, even though it was still sweltering outside. All she knew was that he’d had a gun trained on her, forcing her to back up into the living room. The rag he’d pressed over her face had a pungent, sweet smell, and within seconds, she’d passed out, only to wake up here. Wherever here was.
She’d been in the bed for what must have been hours. She was starving, since she hadn’t eaten lunch. Her abductor had kidnapped her right before her pizza had arrived. She should have tried harder to scream, knew she should have never let someone take her, but all she could think was that some poor pizza delivery boy wasn’t going to be able to assist her.
She tried to remain awake, but fatigue overtook her; it must have been around eleven. She never could remain awake past eleven. Most nights they were in bed before ten. She wondered what Jordan and Caycee were doing right now. She hoped Jordan had believed what she’d told him today and hadn’t pressed Caycee. She knew how persuasive he could be, and inside, Caycee was the same person. So if she loved Jordan, then so did Caycee. And if she couldn’t restrain herself, how would Caycee?
Of course, if he’d figured it out, he’d be looking for her right now, so she should want that. But somehow, she wasn’t sure which was worse: Jordan thinking she’d wanted something else in life or a deranged stalker kidnapping her.
She’d made a mistake, and now she was paying for that blunder. Her eyelids, heavy with tears and dehydration, drifted closed, exhausted after hours of struggling to stay awake, wondering when her assailant would return and finish her off. Her last thoughts were of Jordan and the kids, praying God would deliver her from this and return her safely home to her family.
***
Screams. C.J. hated them! She closed her eyes and covered her ears as she felt her body lifted in the air.
Squinting through one eye, she could see her mother’s face; though, it blurred as it moved. The kitchen cabinets also seemed to move up and down as if doing jumping jacks.
What was happening? she wondered as her tummy sloshed around inside of her and a throb vibrated through her head.
A deep gasp caught her attention. Her father. He’d come back. “Put her down!” he ordered. The house stopped shaking for a moment, but then she felt herself soaring across the room, landing with a thud, and then the room went dark.
When she opened her eyes, her father’s arms surrounded her, warm and strong. “No one will hurt you, C.J. Never again, I promise.”
She wanted to believe him, wanted to believe it was possible, but the crushing, the pain, she could still feel it.
Within seconds of his vow, she found herself in another time and place, trying to run across the yard to stop him. But her legs wouldn’t propel her through the black muck and blood enveloping her, tugging her downward into nothingness. “No, Daddy, don’t do it!” she pleaded, reaching for him. “You promised nobody would ever hurt me!”
Too late. She’d arrived a day too late.
***
Jaynee awoke with a start, salty tears streaming down her cheeks, burning her already chapped lips.
She attempted to swallow, but didn’t have enough saliva to moisten her mouth. It’d just been a nightmare. The nightmare she used to have nightly after her father committed suicide. Though, she hadn’t had it in years. Not since Jordan had taken her away from her previous life, providing a stable home, love, and strong arms to shield her from the demons that haunted her.
Unfortunately, Jordan wasn’t here, and her surroundings were all too real. Pinpricks of sunlight streaked through the corners of the shaded windows, illuminating the dust motes dancing in the air.
The room was still dark in most spots, but she could almost make out her surroundings. It looked like a cabin of some sort. The walls were a dingy off-white or possibly just stained from years of exposure, but the ceiling and trim were dark wood along with the slatted floors. A musty scent permeated the area, irritating her sinuses, but she couldn’t even scratch her nose.
Cuffs still secured her to the four bedposts. What kind of sicko would do such a thing?
Her arms and legs ached from the position they’d been in all night, and she had to go to the bathroom something awful.
When she opened her mouth to speak, nothing but a croak escaped, leaving a trail of lava in her parched throat. “Hel-lo?” Though her voice had cracked, she attempted to sound friendly. Screaming or sobbing wouldn’t do any good. Not that she had the strength or vocal cords anyway.
She wasn’t in the city; only the country would be as dark as it’d been last night when her assailant had brought her here. Even if she screamed her head off, no one would hear. “Please,” she tried again. “I really have to use the bathroom.”
The door finally opened, the hinges protesting in a lengthy screech, begging for oil. Her captor entered the room, still wearing a black ski mask, gloves, and the same dark jeans and thick overcoat he’d worn the previous evening. He wasn’t too tall or heavy. If given the chance, she could probably take him. Jordan had taught her a few things. But as long as he had the gun trained on her, she’d have to be submissive.
His gauntleted hand unlocked just one of her wrists. Then, placing the key in her hand, he stepped back. Obviously, she was to unlock her other restraints. She didn’t waste any time. She unlatched her left hand, then both of her ankles. After rubbing them to increase circulation, she jumped out of the bed on the opposite side of her detainer. He motioned with the gun that she should move to the door on the far side of the room. She did as instructed, opening the door to a small bathroom with just a sink and toilet. No window. She quickly relieved herself. It felt incredible; she’d a
ctually been in pain.
When finished, she opened the medicine cabinet and cubbyhole under the sink, finding nothing usable as a weapon. Both rooms were completely barren, stripped of everything. The abduction had not been a coincidence…but premeditated.
And it was her fault. If she hadn’t been searching…
She opened the door, peeking out at the stranger. He motioned with his free hand for her to return to the bed.
“Please, I’m not who you think I am. Please don’t restrain me again.” He made a frustrated motion with the gun, directing her toward the bed.
Jaynee stepped beside the discolored mattress. The key lay right where she’d left it. She locked both her ankles in the shackles, careful not to close them as tightly. Then she strapped her left hand in the cuff and clicked it closed as well.
The masked stranger went to her feet first, clicking the manacles closed another notch, and then fastened the cuff tighter around her left hand until it bit into her skin. He didn’t bother to strap her right hand. Instead, he retrieved the key from the bed and left the room.
A minute or so later, he returned with a plastic water bottle and a packet of peanut butter crackers. He placed them on the left side of the bed, then exited the room.
She tore open the package with her teeth, but then twisted open the bottle cap before feasting. She took a deep pull, allowing the cool liquid to quench her desiccated throat. She ate only two of the crackers, then stored the remaining four under her pillow. She allowed herself one more gulp from the bottle, but decided to take it easy on the water as well. Not knowing if he would be back anytime soon or why he’d even taken her.
“I’m not who you think I am,” she shouted to the yellowed walls. I’m not Caycee. Please talk to me; I can prove it. Please let me go!”
Nothing. She sat motionless for several long minutes hearing absolutely nothing. No sounds of life from inside or outside her prison.
Amazingly, she was calm. Living through death once was an ordeal she’d hoped she would never have to endure again, but this time she couldn’t help but wonder if she deserved this tribulation. This was obviously some misguided fan. She would explain the confusion, and hopefully he’d let her go. She hadn’t seen his face, so she would talk as sensibly to her captor as possible.
***
What had she meant that she wasn’t Caycee? It was a game; she was trying to confuse the issue. Thought she could pull a fast one. She’d been conniving for years, always wanting more. Why did she have to want more than she had? Why did she have to be so selfish?
***
The cuff ripped into her already tender wrist, as she bolted upright out of another nightmare…the same nightmare. It’d been years, but now every time she closed her eyes, she saw her father in a pool of blood with no way to reach him.
She did everything she could not to fall back asleep; she couldn’t keep having that nightmare. As the hours slowly passed, she stared at the walls, wondering what her abductor wanted. At least he’d left one hand free; it was something anyway.
At minimum, she could scratch and feed herself, wipe her eyes when she cried. She’d only broken down once, but then quickly chastised herself. Crying would do nothing but give her a headache. Time crept by painstakingly slow; it had to be nearing lunch. She was starving and needed to go to the bathroom again. She’d only taken sips of the water, enough to keep her throat from screaming, assuming her subjugator would leave her all day again. Unfortunately, she’d been correct.
***
Corey struggled all afternoon with the overwhelming need to see Caycee. He would explain to her this time, he would tell her who he was and she would understand. He was sure of it. When she realized how crazy he was about her, she would understand.
No…he thought anxiously. He couldn’t let her see how he really felt. He had to take it slowly, only give her little pieces of himself until she understood.
Soon…he would see her soon.
***
The sunlight diminished, and Jaynee knew it had been almost twenty-four hours since she’d been in this hellhole. She prayed he would return soon. She didn’t know how much longer she could hold herself, and she certainly didn’t want to soil the sheets.
Staring at the shadows on the wall, she discovered patterns in them, everything from animals to haunting eyes. As the sun descended, the shadows disappeared, leaving nothing but inky darkness again.
How had she been so stupid? What driven purpose had brought her to New York? Sure, it was a mystery, how she could be two people, but why hadn’t she simply explained to Jordan, allowed Caycee to come to North Carolina?
She knew the real reason; she’d truly thought she was insane. Even when she’d met Caycee at the restaurant, she still hadn’t believed. She’d read where schizophrenia could produce an actual belief that you were really talking and listening to another person. But in reality, you were only talking and listening to yourself.
She wasn’t sure how she could ever really believe everything she was experiencing wasn’t all just a made-up fantasy. Maybe someone wasn’t holding her captive. Maybe she was in her hotel room, acting out an elaborate plot she’d created in her mind.
Her only saving grace was an excerpt she’d heard in a movie trailer. She’d never seen the movie, didn’t even know the name, but she remembered the line clearly: Crazy people don’t sit around wondering if they’re crazy. If it was true, she mustn’t be crazy, because she’d been thinking nothing but the possibility of her sanity for the last couple of weeks. So much so, it was driving her insane.
A door closed softly in the other room, footsteps padded across the wood floor, and then the door opened.
“Thank God,” she whispered.
The masked shadow placed the key in her free hand, and she quickly unlocked the handcuffs without asking any questions, sprinting to the undersized bathroom. Tears streamed down her face at the relief. So many things she took for granted on a daily basis. Now she was happy just to be in a tiny little room. She was grateful she was alive and thankful for every minute there was a chance she would see her family again. She would never take anything for granted again; she would never be depressed for no reason.
“Dear God,” she prayed. “Please let him feel compassion or help someone to find me.”
She heard the rap on the door like this morning. The man certainly didn’t converse much. It was as though he was afraid she could identify him, which meant she, rather Caycee, knew him.
She opened the door a crack, peering out as she’d done earlier. She was free…she could charge him. He could get a shot off, but he could also miss. It didn’t look as if the door had a lock on the inside, so he’d obviously turned it around before bringing her here.
Jordan had explained once, while they were watching a movie, how a police officer could use deadly force with a suspect holding a knife within twenty-one feet. She’d scoffed, as it didn’t seem fair.
He had demonstrated with a water pistol. “It takes an average man, one point five seconds to cross twenty-one feet, he’d said. A shorter time than it takes a person holding a weapon to assess the threat, aim, and fire.” He’d proven his point. He’d had her on the couch faster than she could pull the trigger. Then he’d attacked her with kisses. She’d laughed, asking if he did this to all the hardened criminals. He’d smiled and said, “Only the cute ones.”
The man was on the opposite side of the bed. It wouldn’t be possible for her to charge him with the bed between them. She’d have to wait until she was in a direct line. He motioned for her to lie down again.
“Please,” she pleaded. “I won’t attempt anything, but I’m so achy. Please allow me to sit up.”
Her captor nodded.
Good, he had some compassion. She would be patient and hope to make a connection. She was alive, so there must be a purpose to her kidnapping. Her abductor wanted something. She locked her left hand in the cuff and tossed the key back. In exchange, she received another packet of cracke
rs and a bottle of water.
“Is there something you want?” she asked, careful to keep her tone light and respectable.
“Yes,” her assailant answered in a low, gruff voice, then exited the room, slamming the door.
***
When Ben returned home last night, Sheila had still been gone. Good he thought to himself, she wanted this over as much as he did. It’d been years since they’d been anything other than roommates anyway. He’d wished Caycee would have wanted to be with him. He knew if he could have gotten her to listen, she would love and accept him. She would see he’d loved no one but her for the last sixteen years.
He had tried to save his marriage, but there was nothing left to salvage. He didn’t even know why Sheila stayed; she clearly didn’t love him. She could divorce him and take half of his money, Caycee’s money, really. How ironic would that be?
He knew Sheila had known about their affair. It was the reason she’d come to him that night, the reason she’d gotten herself pregnant after swearing she didn’t even want children. Tyler had been a great kid; he loved his mother, despite her coldness. It was probably the reason he understood when Ben had told him he was going to ask for a divorce. Tyler was smart, mature for his age. He had to understand at even his young age that a man needed affection.
Keys rattled in the front door.
“Tyler? Is that you?” he asked, walking out of his study in time to see Sheila strut into the kitchen. She reached into the fridge and pulled out a bottle of water. “Oh, you’re back?” he asked, surprised and disgusted simultaneously. He’d been hoping just to handle a few things, check that Tyler was home from school, and then go out for the evening.
“She walked out of the kitchen and stopped directly in front of him. Were you expecting someone else?” she asked, her tone sardonic.
“No, why would I be expecting someone?”
Split Decisions: A Southern Romantic-Suspense Novel - Charlotte - Book Two Page 15
