Torn in Two

by J. D. Weston

  “Yes. One company replied. We booked a boat trip later. But I haven't checked my emails for the others. Should I check now?”

  “You’ve been busy. I understand. It wasn't an attack. No need to check just now. I’m just looking for threads to pull on. Lines of enquiry.”

  “I understand. I didn't give it a second thought. As soon as the first company responded, I booked the trip.”

  “Did the police ask? Have they followed this trail?”

  “No. To be honest, I haven't even thought about it since…” His words trailed off.

  “You can say it, Alan. You need to.” Checking the door was closed, Frankie leaned in closer to Alan. “It’s been four days. Do you understand what that means?”

  Nodding his confirmation, Alan muttered something. His lips moved, but the sound was inaudible. Like a silent prayer.

  “Are you a religious man, Alan?”

  Watery eyes found Frankie’s stare. “Right now, I’d give anything a shot, Mr Black. Anything at all.”

  “Did you come straight back here after the little trip out?”

  “Where else would I go? I came back here and did some work. Then I cooked some dinner while I waited for the girls to return.”

  “And what is it you do exactly? For work?”

  “I work for a non-profit organisation.”

  “So what kind of thing do you have to do on your holiday? Isn’t that the type of job you can leave behind for a couple of weeks?”

  “You’d think so, wouldn’t you? No. We’re audited heavily. You know, there’s always someone trying to slip a few quid out. But we have to account for it all.”

  “So what’s your role in the business?”

  “I’m the finance manager, but before you get any ideas, it doesn’t pay as much as you think. Like I said, it’s non-profit.”

  The first page of Frankie’s notepad was filling up. He flipped to a new one, checked his watch, and waited for Alan to continue.

  “The girls got back mid-afternoon. They made some cold drinks and sat in the garden. I think they were having some kind of girlie time so I left them to it. It’s good to see them growing closer as Emma gets older. Sharon could talk to her about things that I can’t.”

  Scribbling a note on his notepad, Frankie underlined it and watched as Alan relived the first days of their holiday.

  “It’s difficult, you know, being a father, watching your little girl become a woman. You understand. You have a child.”

  “I'm fortunate in that respect. The only trouble I have talking to him is finding the time to do it.”

  “Keeps you busy, does it?” It was the second question Alan had asked, and a sign the flow was slipping. “The job keeps you busy?”

  “Something like that.” Preferring to keep his own affairs out of the mix, Frankie directed Alan back to the events. “The newspapers said that Sharon went out that night. Is that right? Where did she go?”

  A faint involuntary laugh emerged from Alan's throat followed by the rolling of his eyes.

  “Her friend. She went to meet her friend.”

  “And you didn’t want to go?”

  “What? And listen to them rattle on all night? No, thanks. How long have you and your missus been together?”

  The question caught Frankie off-guard. Talk of Jacqui was off-limits to anyone but her parents and Jake.

  “We married fifteen years ago. But we don’t need to go there.”

  “Fifteen years? Well, you should have learned by now that when the missus and her mates get together for a catch up, you need to make yourself scarce. They’ll talk until the sun comes up and then some, I can tell you.”

  Frankie sensed that Alan was getting a little too comfortable. He wanted to avoid Alan thinking the two men were sharing some kind of male banter and growing closer than Sharon would be able to get. So Frankie threw him a curve ball.

  “So you stayed home and took care of Emma, did you?”

  Alan’s smile dropped.

  The room fell silent.

  “I did.” His voice lowered to a hoarse whisper and his confident demeanour faded. He shifted in his seat. “I stayed at home with her most nights. I always protected her. She always came first.”

  “So how was it that somebody managed to break in and take Emma, and you didn’t see or hear a thing, Mr Fletcher?”

  Chapter Twelve

  “There.” The lady stepped back from Emma to admire her handiwork in the poor light. “Keep your eyes closed while I fetch you something to wear.”

  The urge to open her eyes a crack was overwhelming. Never being allowed to wear makeup, the sensation of the lady applying various powders, creams, and brushes to parts of her face had felt alien yet somehow exhilarating. Like it was some kind of turning point.

  “I think this is the one. Now hold out your hands and I will help you stand.”

  Emma did as requested and felt the lady’s hands on hers. With her eyes still closed, she was guided by the woman as if they were performing one of the old-fashioned dances Emma had seen in the black and white films her father used to watch.

  “Remove your clothes.” It was as if the request was as natural as asking her to tie a shoelace or brush her hair.

  “My clothes?”

  Pulling her pyjama top closed and covering her chest with her arms, Emma opened her eyes, letting them adjust to the dim light. The shape of the lady’s face became clear. She was smiling, just as Emma had pictured, and seemed to relish in Emma’s moment of joy as her eyes fell upon the dress that was held up beneath the light. It was the prettiest dress Emma had ever seen. The material was red satin with a scooped neckline, the figure-hugging cut was something her mother would never have allowed. But the lower section was pleated, short and fun.

  “Is that for me?”

  “Of course. I believe it will fit well. Do you want to try it on?”

  Tentative fingers found the top button of her pyjama top and popped it free. But at the next button, they froze. Embarrassed, Emma shied away, turning to face the corner, her safe place.

  “A woman who is ashamed of her body does not deserve such a dress.”

  Emma could find nothing to say in reply, at least nothing that would not reveal her insecurities.

  “Turn around, Emma.”

  “I’ve never…” She paused but knew she had committed herself. “I’ve never undressed in front of anyone before.”

  Glancing over her shoulder in a hope to catch the expression on the lady’s face, she found her hanging the dress beside the door. Emma turned away as if her cautious look might anger the lady. She might take away the dress. Worse still, she might stop helping her.

  The lady’s heels clicked three times on the floor.

  The soft, rose-scented perfume grew in strength as Emma’s senses heightened.

  And her warm, sweet breath found the nape of Emma’s neck.

  “Do you remember the girl in the mirror?”

  “Yes.”

  “Do you remember how pitiful she was? You pitied her. You felt sorrow for her weakness. That is what you said. Am I correct?”

  “Yes.” Hanging her head, Emma recalled the image she had seen in the mirror.

  “Do you remember why the girl died and why you survived?”

  Allowing a few moments to string the words together, Emma bit her lower lip, frightened of saying the wrong thing, of reviving her former self.

  “She was weak.”

  “And you?”

  “I’m strong. I have you.”

  “You don’t have me, Emma. You don't need me. You have yourself. Remember that. You do not need anybody but yourself now.”

  “Nobody but myself,” Emma whispered, verbalising the thought as it processed.

  “Do you know what makes you strong, Emma? Do you understand your power?”

  But even the lady’s prompts failed to promote a single one of Emma’s thoughts to the top of the whirlwind of immature suggestions.

  “Power is
born from desire,” said the woman.

  “Desire? But I desire only to be free from here. To have my parents-”

  “Not your own desire. It is the desire of others that nurtures power. It is human nature. You have something very special that men want. A gift, if you will.”

  Turning to face the lady who stood a few inches taller than Emma, she found herself in wonder of her beauty.

  “A gift?” Emma recited, unable to find words among her admiration.

  Long, slender fingers found the second button of her pyjama top. Her heartbeat increased both in speed and ferocity. She wanted to pull away. Part of her wanted to fall into her corner and cover herself with the blanket. Her blanket.

  But part of her wanted to stay.

  Emma let her hands fall to her sides where they clutched at the material as the lady found the lowest button, all the time holding Emma’s scared and wondrous gaze, offering intimacy and strength.

  She inhaled sharply but deeply when the lady’s soft hands eased the top off her shoulders, and Emma felt her own hair on her naked back. Her knees shook with trepidation. Her hands twitched and the desire to cover herself was stronger than ever.

  But she stood still, her stare unwavering. So under the lady’s spell was Emma that she did not feel the drawstrings of her pyjama bottoms being untied. It was only when the lady’s soft fingers eased the elastic over her hips and let them fall to the floor that Emma realised what was happening.

  And still, she held the lady’s gaze.

  Stepping free of her pyjamas, for the first time in her adolescent life, she was totally unclothed under the eyes of anyone but her own mother.

  The silence continued, increasing Emma’s insecurity. She watched the lady’s eyes rove over her body, settling nowhere for any period but leaving no part of her unscrutinised.

  “My dear Emma.”

  As Emma felt the back of the lady’s finger on her skin, the gentle touch stirred something inside her. A new sensation began with the tightening of her skin and hardening of her chest as if for the first time her body had come alive. A warmth clutched Emma’s stomach, growing as a new-born flame might reach further afield. Her mouth opened as she sucked in the cool air, quietly urging the lady not to stop.

  “You will have such power.”

  With the lady’s lips just inches from her own, Emma found herself wanting to feel them. Her breath came in juddering bursts as the fingers teased at Emma’s chest. It was as if electricity coursed through the lady’s hand. A hidden power.

  But a hunger in the pit of her stomach wanted more.

  “Do you feel it?”

  “Yes.” Unable to disguise the pleasure, Emma breathed the word, unconscious to anything but yearning.

  “You want more.”

  It wasn’t a question. It was a statement borne of fact that elicited a moan of pleasure from Emma’s throat.

  Leaning closer to Emma, the lady’s soft, gentle hand moved through her hair, her fingers stroking her ear as they passed causing a tingling wave of warmth to rise up. Emma closed her eyes, waiting for the kiss. She felt it. She knew it. Fear and wonder combined in the pit of her quivering stomach.

  But no kiss came.

  Only whispered words that sent her body screaming and yearning for more.

  “Do you feel my power?”

  “Yes.” Unable to contain herself, Emma pursed her lips, waiting.

  “Do you feel the desire?”

  A soft moan was all Emma could muster as wandering hands teased at her body like never before.

  “I can be anyone I want.”

  “Yes.”

  “I have everything I need.”

  “Mmm.”

  “Do you want to know a secret?”

  “Yes.” Pushing her hips toward the new found intimacy, Emma found rhythm in her pounding heart.

  But the hand stopped.

  On the brink of an internal explosion, Emma opened her eyes to find the lady smiling at her just inches away.

  “You have the power.”

  The words rolled around. The passion fell away as if it had once covered her but no longer offered any protection, leaving her breathless and aware of her nudity.

  “Stand up straight.”

  The prickled skin on Emma’s body, now accustomed to the lady’s wandering hands, offered little resistance as Emma pushed her body straight.

  “Be proud of your chest. Hold your head high.”

  Each statement was accompanied by gentle hands that coaxed her into position.

  “I wish you could see yourself. I wish you could realise your power.”

  “So show me.”

  “Wait.” The lady’s hands restricted Emma’s movements. “First you must try the dress. You must always remember what you wear, how you look, and how you present yourself is where your power lies.”

  “Can I try the dress?”

  “Yes. But not yet. A dress is not simply a garment designed to bring out your power. It is not a mask you wear to hide your insecurities. You must have no insecurities, Emma. Tell me how you feel right now, and stop slouching.”

  The hands returned, repositioning her with a little more vigour than before.

  “Oddly, unashamed.”

  “You are naked. You are revealing everything to me.”

  “It feels exhilarating.” Moving closer to the lady, Emma sought her warmth until she raised a hand to stop the advance.

  “You cannot wield a dress such as this until you are comfortable in your own skin. And I cannot set you free with untamed power until you learn how to wield your power.”

  “I’m not afraid.”

  “Good.” The lady turned on her heels and stepped into the corridor. “Darius.”

  “What are you doing?” Realising that the lady had just summoned a strange man, Emma searched for the blanket.

  “Stand up straight.”

  The words came harshly like a scolding.

  A door opened at the far end of the corridor and echoed off the tiles, but all Emma saw was the lady summon the man with her index finger, slow and sensual.

  “Come here.”

  The lady stepped back inside the room somehow untouched by the harshness of the light.

  Tentative footsteps approached in the corridor.

  “But he’ll see me.”

  “It is your power.”

  The lady moved to stand behind Emma. She placed her hands on Emma’s bare shoulders.

  “I don't want him to see me.”

  “Watch him. Watch his eyes. He will want you. And you will show him. He will want more, and that is where your power grows. Give him all you need to give to receive the things you want.”

  With each footstep on the tiled corridor floor growing louder, the desire to cover herself grew stronger.

  “Stand straight.” The lady’s hands adjusted Emma’s posture.

  The first sign of him was his elongated shadow growing like a beast from the darkness on the floor as he approached, thin and ghoul-like.

  “I can’t.”

  “You can and you will. Look at yourself. Make him want you. Make him desire you, to touch you and feel your skin.”

  Closing her eyes, as if by some childish reasoning the whole scene would go away, Emma straightened. She pushed out her chest and lifted her chin.

  “Give him all you want to give and nothing more,” whispered the lady.

  The footsteps stopped.

  Sensing the man before her, Emma opened her eyes. He was as vile as she had imagined, an image formed by the very manner in which he moved and the odious scent that followed him like his deathly shadow.

  “Oh my.”

  It was all he said. The words were enough for Emma to question what was happening and instigate a surge of her heart. He stepped into the room, his eyes wandering across her body, his nasty tongue moistening his cruel, thin lips, and his hands fumbling with nothing, scratching at his dirty fingers.

  “Give him all you want to give an
d nothing more.”

  The lady’s words played over and over in Emma’s mind as he stepped closer, his foul breath tainting the air Emma breathed.

  But she held fast.

  And even as he reached out to touch, she remained calm, feeling the rise and fall of her breasts with each long, calm breath.

  “No.”

  It was a single word spoken with authority, determination, and strength.

  He stopped, his open hand ready to stain Emma’s body. His eyes questioned her, but her reply needed nothing more than a raised chin, a straight back, and a steely gaze that drew a line wherever she wanted it to be drawn.

  His hand lowered slowly and scorned to join his other.

  “Leave.” Surprising herself at her ability to retain her new voice of power, Emma gained control of her heart.

  Disappointment overshadowed the look of lust and desire that carved deep lines beneath Darius’ eyes. He remained, as if questioning if she truly meant for him to leave. His hands were busy adjusting himself as a little boy might while asking for the bathroom.

  But Emma remained strong. Her body was on display for his pleasure and his pleasure alone until she had given enough. She had sought him for one thing and one thing alone.

  It was as Darius’ footsteps, faster than they had been before, faded to a soft click and the door slammed behind him at the end of the corridor that the lady’s soft hands rested on Emma’s shoulders. The touch awoke the feeling she had stirred before, an unfinished longing that reignited the spark in her tummy.

  The woman leaned forward and whispered into Emma’s ear, “Do you feel your power?”

  “Yes.” Exhilarated, Emma breathed out, longing for more of the lady’s touch.

  “I think you are ready for the dress.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  “Tell me about this friend of yours.”

  Frankie offered the question as Mrs Fletcher settled into the seat, which gave her little time to try and lead the conversation. But the woman was adamant on being heard.

  “No. You listen to me, Mr Black. You break into our home and treat us all like criminals. At least have the decency to offer us some kind of sympathy. Our daughter is missing, and the past four days have been nothing but hell. So just stop your bossy attitude, show us some respect, and then get out there and find our bloody daughter.”