When I Know Your Name

by Gemma M. Lawrence

  He ignored the backchat and crouched down beside her. Reaching out, he took her hand and checked over the small mark on the back of it. Her hand felt warm in his, but she snatched it from his hold and stared at him.

  Would things have been different if he had been here? Maybe. But right now, she didn’t care for the finer details and let anger fuel her on. ‘You can keep your false concern. You are no different to the others, despite what you may think.’

  ‘Maybe, Elena, but you do need to understand that nothing is going to change,’ he said calmly. ‘The rules are simple. You will remain here until the ransom is paid and until that is done, it’s only you who will suffer from these little attempts at escape. You must see that.’

  She did see that. Her bruises and aches demanded it, including the inflamed wound on her leg – still wet and refusing to heal. Resigned, she nodded and shuffled uneasily under his gaze.

  ‘Are you suffering any effects of the sedative?’ he asked as he looked her over.

  She shook her head. The effects were, mercifully, nothing like the first time.

  ‘Here, have this,’ he said as he produced a bottle of water from his pocket.

  She snatched it from him, a reflex action to get the liquid into her dehydrated body. She unscrewed the cap and drank down half the bottle in a few large gulps, feeling the cool liquid lubricate her mouth and pool into her empty stomach.

  ‘I’ll get you a couple of painkillers too,’ he said as he watched her drink and scanned over her body. ‘And I’ll see to it that you get more to eat and drink than you have.’

  She nodded and replaced the cap, saving what was left of the water for later. Maybe he had noticed how her clothes had begun to hang on her frame, just as she had. ‘Do you expect me to thank you?’

  ‘No, I don’t expect anything from you, but you’re right, I am the boss and I will see to it that you get what you need.’

  ‘I’m not interested in you or some twisted code of honour you may have,’ she whispered as emotion tightened in her throat. ‘I just want to go home.’

  ‘I know, Elena. I know.’

  ***

  The chaos of Elena’s new existence calmed considerably following the last visit from her captor. Since that time, it was only the doctor who would come to check her over, escort her to the poor excuse for a toilet and give her a sandwich and a fresh bottle of water. Every day she hoped that would be all she’d have to deal with.

  She understood the significance of this gesture. Her captor had been true to his word in providing better living conditions for her. That fact alone kick-started another emotion within her: one of gratitude, and that worried her a great deal. It would have been easier if he had been like the stinking cigarette man, but he wasn’t. He was much more complex than that and she found herself both fascinated and terrified of him.

  As well as drinking the water she was given, she would use a little to cleanse her body too, as best she could. It was all she could do. She may be held like an animal, but she wouldn’t be reduced to one. They wouldn’t take her dignity. It took time, her body aching and fatigued, slowing each movement, but she had the luxury of that, for now, as she awaited her fate. With weary fingers, she pulled her hair into a long braid, an effort that would require her to pause and catch her breath.

  Feeling cold, she wrapped the blanket around herself and pulled her knees up to her chest. Her skin was hot to the touch, probably the start of a fever. Her leg also throbbed in a way that told her it was infected now. She pressed the palm of her hand to her forehead in a bid to soothe the headache that had taken up residence there, and watched the sunrise shining through the gaps in the wood.

  The lock turning startled her. She hadn’t heard the warning sound of approaching footsteps and stumbled to her feet. Her captor walked in, a small paper bag in his hand.

  ‘Are you here to release me?’ she asked.

  ‘No,’ he said as he handed her the bag. ‘Not today.’

  She opened the bag and took in the thrilling sight of a large doughnut and bottle of water. Divine. Her mouth watered and stomach growled in anticipation. She looked at him.

  ‘I suppose this means you don’t plan on dispatching me anytime soon.’

  ‘This is a business transaction,’ he replied. ‘And I, for one, don’t want to hurt you.’

  Her stomach turned. She nodded.

  He moved to the door, having done nothing to her and expecting nothing in return.

  ‘Thank you,’ she murmured. ‘For the food.’

  He turned to her as he opened the door, his head tilted, intrigued. ‘You’re welcome.’

  She waited for the lock to turn and ripped open the bag, grabbing the sugary doughnut. She couldn’t think of anything, her ever-present fear, her infected leg, or the fact that this locked room was becoming her cocoon. Nothing, except the divine sugar-coated glory as she stuffed it into her mouth, its jam oozing and mingling with the sweet, spongy dough. With meticulous care, she sucked the sugar from her fingers and licked her lips until they were clean. Next, she opened the bottle of water and swiftly gulped it down, not caring in the slightest how she may have looked. So much sugar would take her on a strange high, but if that was all that would happen in this awful reality, it wasn’t so bad.

  She leant against the wall and waited for her body to process everything she’d just given it, and for her heart to stop pounding in her chest. It made her feel alive though, still part of this world, and while she could still enjoy the vibrancy of it, she’d fight to remain so.

  ***

  The night was long and endless. Whichever position she lay, she couldn’t shake the shooting pains in her leg. Heat radiated from it, and her, and little beads of sweat formed on her forehead. But even burning like a furnace, her body shivered uncontrollably. The fever was setting in hard.

  She pressed her leg against the cold floor in an attempt to cool it, but nothing helped, and after a night of no sleep and watching the dawn break, she feared the next visit. The thought of being so unwell, so vulnerable with these men, frightened her.

  ‘Calm down,’ she murmured to herself, providing her own comfort in the gloom. ‘Just keep breathing. It’s going to be okay.’ She repeated the last part over and over again, creating some sort of mantra in her mind.

  Grabbing the half-empty bottle of water at her side, she downed a few gulps and trickled the remaining water over her wound, watching the blood and pus mingle together and ooze down her leg. She tried hard to think back to that day in the woods but couldn’t remember seeing anything in her path that could do such harm.

  Well, that’s what you get for misbehaving, girl. You clearly didn’t learn, did you.

  ‘Shut up,’ she said to the irritating voice in her head and concentrated on what she was doing, only stopping when footsteps climbed the stairs.

  Her captor appeared as she struggled to her feet. His gaze went to her leg and the little trickle of blood making its way to her foot. ‘What’s going on?’

  ‘It’s nothing. A cut on my leg, that’s all.’ She tried to straighten up, but the effort was too much for her fatigued body and, empty of food and dizzy with fever, her vision blurred. A darkness hovered on the edge of her consciousness, a black fog that threatened to claim her.

  He moved closer. ‘Elena.’

  His voice was distant, dreamlike, as the room spun and her eyes fluttered closed. Her knees buckled as the sounds of movement echoed in the room, of shoes against floorboards. She was spinning, falling into the dark, until firm hands were upon her, scooping her legs from beneath her.

  It jolted her awake. ‘Don’t,’ she murmured and tensed, holding her body stiff, afraid of what he would do.

  He held her close enough to feel it. ‘It’s okay, there’s no need to panic. I’m just getting you comfortable,’ he assured as he carried her to the blanket in the far corner of the room. ‘We need to check you out.’

  With the cold floor as her only comparison, his warmth against her shiv
ering body was comforting. She let her head rest against his chest and breathed him in. It was impossible to be so close and not do so.

  The fever is making you delirious. You’re in this hell all because of the man placing you down on the blanket. Remember that.

  Her senses returned and she lifted her head, her conscience pricked with a strange guilt.

  He looked her over, and she noticed the glimmer of concern in his eyes as he did.

  He turned and left the room, leaving the door open, and she found herself staring at it, looking through it, knowing that it led to both danger and freedom. More footsteps and he appeared again with the man who had previously sedated her following close behind, his bag in hand. Elena tried to move, frightened at the sight, but the attempt was weak.

  The doctor took a good look at her injury while her captor held her ankle. His hold was warm, gentle. She glanced at him, and noticed something in his eyes. A hint of something deeper, something that belied the stern mask. The sight of it made the first building block of judgement begin to crumble. She had wanted to hate him, and part of her still did, but she was knocked off balance by his reaction. They’d be motivated to keep her alive and well in order to get their money, that was a given, but she didn’t expect to see this, and didn’t like where she was heading with it. She needed him to be the monster. Not the man. Certainly not this man, showing something that looked remarkably like compassion.

  ‘It’s nasty but not too deep,’ the doctor said. ‘It’ll heal, but only if we stop the infection.’

  ‘Get it done,’ her captor ordered.

  The doctor nodded and took out a bottle of antiseptic and a large piece of gauze from his bag and began the task of cleaning the long wound. He was efficient, but he wasn’t gentle, and the antiseptic burned in her wound like liquid fire. She gasped with each swipe, sucking in air through clenched teeth, breathing away the stabbing pain as he worked.

  Finally, after an age of tortuous cleaning that left her exhausted, the doctor spoke. ‘The wound has been left unattended for too long to successfully stitch it now, so these are the best chance of pulling it together as it heals,’ he said as he placed some butterfly stitches across the tear. Once done, he placed a rectangular dressing over the length of the wound. He reached into his bag again, pulling out another syringe and two vials of liquid.

  ‘No, don’t,’ she cried, trying to pull away.

  The doctor looked at her as he spoke. ‘This is a shot of antibiotic, that’s all. It’s all I’ve got, but your leg is infected and will get much worse if we don’t do this. The other is a simple painkiller.’

  Her captor reached out and pulled up the sleeve of her hoodie. She watched as he did it, as if she was his property for him to make the decision for her.

  But that’s exactly what I am, and there’s nothing I can do to change it.

  She held her breath as the doctor administered the injection, but he was gentle, and it was a stark contrast to the way he had sedated her before. When no black oblivion descended, she breathed a little easier knowing he hadn’t lied.

  When he was finished, they discussed her injury. Nothing to be done, they said. She’d been lucky, they said. She could have laughed at that because she didn’t feel lucky at all.

  ‘The painkiller will soon kick in,’ the doctor said as he pulled out another bottle of water from his bag and handed it to her.

  As she sat with her back against the wall watching the doctor leave, she resisted the urge to thank him. He was elusive. He didn’t fit in here at all. Cigarettes, absolutely, but the doctor seemed out of his depth. And she was unable to make up her mind about the other man who was now standing above her, making no move to leave.

  The door clicked shut, and he looked down at her. ‘You need to get some rest,’ he said, a soft command.

  But she didn’t want to rest. ‘You need to let me go.’

  ‘I can’t do that.’

  Of course you can’t do that. I’m your prize – and an expensive one at that.

  He stood and walked to the door.

  She laid herself down on the blanket, desperate to fight the sense that she would never leave this place, that she would never again see the outside world. It was a futile attempt because however hard she tried to overcome the sense of dread, it would always return, stronger than before.

  Chapter 6

  Staring at the ceiling, Elena kept her mind busy trying to remember exactly how long it had been since her infection had cleared, or how many days she had been here, locked in this room. Her idea of marking the days on the wall had become an unreliable source too, because some days she would forget to do it, and other times she couldn’t be bothered by the pointlessness of it all.

  Childhood memories drifted into her mind. Happy times. Iced drinks on hot summer days, creamy hot chocolate after playing in the snow. Hot apple pie after a Sunday roast. Only the good times, her mind cutting out the bad. Self-preservation at its best. She thought of time spent with friends, her tribe, and the adventures they shared. The messy, deep roots of friendship. The fun, the dramas, and the laughter. Not normal laughter though, but the silent kind. The belly-aching kind, the kind that would leave them spent, and eyes wet with tears.

  She was lonely, homesick, and just wanted someone to talk to. Someone to touch. A connection with another human. She wanted to use her voice, discuss things, and feel part of life again. Essential human necessities, but things she was currently deprived of. A suspended animation of sorts. Waiting, hoping for her life to continue.

  The sound of the key fired energy in her belly, ready for attack. The doctor walked in carrying a stainless-steel bowl filled with water in one hand and a plastic bag in the other, both of which he laid down in front of her.

  She looked at the washbowl and bag, and then at him. ‘I assume this means I’m not going to be released today?’

  ‘I’m not here to make conversation,’ he said. ‘You know that. Especially after your previous attempt at escape.’

  They both glanced at the locked door.

  ‘No, I suppose not.’ She smiled. ‘It’s all right, I’ve learnt my lesson. I’m not going to whack you over the head with that chair, rummage through your pockets while you’re out cold, find the key, and make my way down the stairs.’

  He looked at her, eyebrows raised. ‘But you’ve clearly given it some thought.’

  ‘I have a lot of time to think in here, and it would be a lie to say I haven’t brutally killed you all, many, many times. Up here, in my mind,’ she said, tapping a finger at her temple. She shrugged. ‘But another escape won’t happen, I know that, especially if that other man is downstairs. He’ll get angry again, and the pain he inflicts is very much real. And I don’t feel like living in that reality. Not today.’

  She saw the twitch under his eye that betrayed his discomfort.

  ‘Let’s talk about your leg,’ he said. ‘How are you feeling now? Any fever, or pain in the wound?’

  ‘No, none. There’s no pain in my face either, so I assume my bruises are fading.’

  He nodded, confirming it.

  ‘My body heals itself well it seems. It’s just my mind I’m concerned for.’

  He didn’t respond to her comment, but waved a finger towards the bowl. ‘You can wash with this water. It’s cold but fresh,’ he said. ‘There’s a cloth, some soap and a toothbrush in the bag. I’ll come and collect it later.’

  Surprised to be given such luxuries, she leaned forward and caught his eye. ‘You’re so different from the other man. The nasty, cigarette smoking one. How did you find yourself here?’

  The corners of his mouth curled into what would have been a smile, if he had let it continue, but he concealed it well. ‘My history and reason for being here is no concern of yours.’

  She continued. ‘No, I suppose it’s not, but you’re medically trained. You should be somewhere other than here. Somewhere safe and good and appropriate for someone whose job it is to keep people alive.’

/>   ‘I’m keeping you alive. Is that not safe and good and appropriate?’

  ‘Yes, it is. Unless that’s all about to change?’ she said, frustratingly unable to read his expression.

  ‘I take the orders, I don’t make them.’

  ‘And if that order came, could you do it?’

  He glanced away.

  ‘Could you?’

  ‘I’m not prepared to answer that.’

  She held her head up. ‘My name is Elena Dumont. I’m 27 years old and I have a mother, father, and brother. I like coffee first thing, my favourite of which I get from a little café at the top of my road. I have the reputation between my friends for being overly sentimental when I’ve had too much to drink. My favourite colour is yellow, and when I’m nervous I talk too much.’

  Confusion replaced his discomfort. ‘What are you doing?’

  ‘I’m sharing information about my life, so that you know me. So that I’m not a stranger to you anymore. Making you realise that I am a human being. I live, I breathe, and what is happening here is wrong. I want you to see that.’

  ‘It won’t change anything.’

  ‘No, maybe not, but you can’t blame me for trying.’

  He nodded but said no more and closed and locked the door behind him, leaving her alone again.

  Despondent, she dragged open the bag and found all that he had promised, and more. A bottle of water and a sandwich sat on the top of everything else. A proper little care package. She was being allowed to clean herself up, and she didn’t know what to make of it. She certainly needed it – her skin was sticky, and her deodorant had given up the ghost a long while ago – and it didn’t take her long to realise who was responsible for this treat. She grappled with the gratitude she couldn’t help but feel.

  She ate, consuming every last morsel of food and water and then dragged the bowl a little closer. Tracing her finger over the logo of a popular high-street chemist on the cardboard wrap around the washcloth, she found that she couldn’t let it go. It should have been of little consequence, but for some reason, it mattered. It was from a shop, and a shop meant the outside world, and the outside world meant people. So she folded it and tucked it into her pocket, wanting to keep it near.