She left the room in a hurry, the locks turning in place as Naomi looked down at her sandwich. It was the best food she had ever tasted.
AN INTENSE, pounding headache and spells of stomach cramps plagued her most of the night. After deciding it was because of the food, she wished she had heeded Evelyn’s advice and eaten more slowly.
Now she tossed and turned beneath the blankets, repeatedly waking in a cold sweat until she looked at the clock for the hundredth time, saw that it was six in the morning, and realized her headache was finally gone.
She heard muffled voices. Doors opened and closed, and the faint hum of a hairdryer drifted through the far right wall. One of her kidnapper’s bedrooms was next to hers, but what were they doing awake at six o’clock in the morning?
She could pound on the door again.
No, she felt too sick. She couldn’t remember the last time she had felt so crappy. Her nannies always took such good care of her when she was sick as a kid. They never let it get too bad.
The air was missing something. She was used to the sounds of crashing waves and screeching gulls. She longed for those sounds now, the smell of salt in the air when she woke up every morning to the brisk commotion of her parents getting ready for work. They woke up at six every morning, but they had jobs. Did her kidnappers work like normal people? It was so weird to think of them that way, but as the clock ticked through the darkness, she heard them passing her door, talking and clearing their throats as if nothing was wrong. Downstairs, dishes clattered, cupboard doors closed. Faint voices, laughter, the smell of coffee. All the voices sounded male except for Evelyn’s smooth tones.
The minutes ticked by, each one building up the nervous tension inside her until she finally slipped out of the bed and rushed into the bathroom.
“Good thing there’s a lock,” she grumbled and switched on the light. She pressed both of her palms to her forehead and looked at herself in the mirror. She needed to think, to feel safe for two minutes. She closed her eyes and leaned against the wall.
Think. Think.
They thought she had seen something. She hadn’t, but they weren’t going to let her go now. It was obvious they were going to keep her here until ... until what? She groaned and dug her fingernails into her scalp. Whatever happened, she had to play by their rules until she could figure something out. Eric would kill her if she made one wrong move. She believed that with every fiber of her being. She had to obey.
For now.
She left the bathroom to search through the clothes in the closet. Jeans, long-sleeved shirts, sweaters, even a pair of cotton pants and a camisole to sleep in. They were all brand-new, the correct sizes, and clean. The smell of her own dirty body was getting on her nerves. She could at least take a shower before Evelyn came to cut her hair. She snatched a change of clothes.
Something urgent nagged at the back of her mind as she locked herself in the bathroom. Were the clothes kindness? The food Evelyn had brought her? The promise to cut her hair? It felt like kindness.
SHE PEEKED around the shower curtain every ten seconds to make sure the door was still locked. It felt good to stand under the water. The steam drifted around her like fog, and she thought of the banquet she and Brad went to the night she was taken. That night had ended in fog.
It was one of the few banquets she had attended for her father’s company. He was the CEO. The press liked to take pictures, and her parents liked to be in the pictures. It would look strange if they didn’t have their daughter with them when everybody else brought their older children to show them off like trophies.
She shook her head in awe as she and Brad entered the banquet hall decorated in blue and white roses. She didn’t know blue roses existed, but apparently they did.
“Good thing you wore a blue tie,” she mumbled as Brad’s fingers closed around her hand. She thought of his knuckles slamming against her cheek the night before and almost pulled away as he squeezed her fingers and smiled. He looked at the spot on her cheek—right where she had caked make-up over the bruise.
He had been nothing but gentle and loving the entire day, but she was still annoyed with herself for forgiving him so quickly. It had only taken him ten minutes of tender apologizing for her to speak to him again. She finally yanked her hand away once they found her parents’ empty table.
“So you think the food will be good?” he asked as he pulled out a chair and sat down next to her.
“It usually is.”
The room was packed with over-dressed men and women. It was loud with what she liked to call corporate talk—things her father was always saying that made no sense to her. She didn’t care, either. The only reason she was there, she reminded herself, was because they had basically ordered her to come. People found their seats, and after a few minutes the room fell silent.
“You look amazing, by the way,” Brad whispered into her ear. His hand inched to her hip and slid across her lap. He nibbled at her ear when she leaned into him because she knew that’s what he wanted.
Lowering her eyes, she stared at the straw-yellow satin that rippled against her legs when she walked. Brad slid his other hand across her bare shoulder blades, and she fought back a wave of tears. If she cried, the tears would wash away her makeup and reveal her bruise.
“Where are your parents?”
She lifted her eyes, folded her arms, and nodded toward the front. “Where they always are at these things—up there. We’ll be lucky if they ever make it down here.”
She was crying now, in the shower, still surrounded by steam. She didn’t want to cry, but she was kidnapped. What else could she do? She was supposed to cry, fight, scream, panic. That’s what all the books and movies showed. But now, as she faced the reality of where she was, those reactions seemed stupid inside her head. She didn’t feel like crying. She felt numb, and that made the tears go away.
She turned off the water and leaned her shoulders against the dark stone tiles. The room was steamy and hot, but the tile was still cool and sent goose bumps down her body. She sucked in her breath and savored the rush of awareness.
Someone opened the bedroom door just as she stepped out of the tub. She snatched a towel from the rack and wrapped it around herself.
“Naomi?” Evelyn voiced through the door. “Are you alright?”
Her stomach fluttered. None of them had said her name before. It was strange. Too personal. It made her cold all over as water slid down her legs and formed little pools around her toes.
“I’m ....” Her voice was hoarse and quiet. She cleared her throat. “I took a shower.”
Silence, a few movements. “That’s fine. Open the door when you’re finished so I can cut your hair. Hurry if you can, okay?”
She didn’t answer. She had no idea what to say to her kidnappers any time they spoke to her. If anything, she felt stupid and embarrassed. She should have taken a different way home. She should have screamed and fought back in the motel room so Eric would have killed her. That way they wouldn’t have to worry about her and go to all this trouble. She wasn’t worth so much worrying. It was ridiculous. If only they would let her go. She didn’t care about what they had done that night.
Slipping into her new clothes, she towel-dried her hair as much as she could before unlocking the door.
Evelyn had a barstool and small bag in her arms. She gave Naomi a brief smile and set the barstool in front of the mirror, then opened the bag and spread out a handful of haircutting supplies. Naomi sat down and watched her wipe off the foggy mirror.
“Is this alright with you—cutting your hair?” Evelyn asked, adjusting her white silk blouse on her perfect frame.
Naomi tried to keep her expression neutral. For some reason anger was surging through her. “I guess so.”
“Okay, then.” She ran the comb through Naomi’s hair and stopped near the wound at the back of her head. Stroke after stroke, she gently worked through the snarls, then took a pair of scissors from the counter and started cutting.
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Her hands were quick as she worked. She tilted Naomi’s head, measured the hair on both sides with her fingers, and checked her work in the mirror with swift, thoughtful glances. After two minutes, Naomi was sure she was a professional hairstylist. For some stupid reason, that made her relax.
“It’ll be short,” Evelyn said after a few minutes. “I’m sorry.”
Naomi let no emotion show on her face. She focused on Evelyn’s hair, long and twisted in spirals down past her shoulders, like tumbling black water. She was so graceful and elegant, like a supermodel.
Except for the scar.
Naomi widened her eyes. She hadn’t seen it before—a long, thin groove on the left side of Evelyn’s face. It was barely visible beneath her perfectly applied makeup, but Naomi could see she took great pains to cover it up. It started at the top of her ear, ran down across her cheek, and stopped near the edge of her mouth.
Evelyn cleared her throat. “You look a lot like your mother.”
Her mother? No, she didn’t. She looked at her own reflection and frowned. How did Evelyn know what her mother looked like?
“I’ve seen her on the news reports.” Evelyn shook her head and coughed. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t say things like that to you. I’m always saying things I shouldn’t.”
“It’s alright.”
“No, it’s not.” She took a clip from the counter, and Naomi caught a glimpse of a wedding ring on her finger—a large diamond and two deep red rubies. “You must think we’re horrible, terrible people.”
Yeah, just a bit.
Evelyn lifted the clip and twisted some of Naomi’s hair to fasten it out of the way. She started cutting again. “I can’t believe how calm you are—except for your kicking and banging on the door yesterday afternoon. We expected that.”
So they had heard her and were okay with it. Maybe.
Evelyn narrowed her eyes. “I don’t recommend any more of that kind of behavior. Eric doesn’t like it. He said you haven’t tried to get away, and it should stay that way.” She softened her expression. “But if it were me, well, you’re—”
“I didn’t see anything,” she interrupted, unable to hold back any longer. She gripped the edges of the barstool. “I don’t know why you’re keeping me here. Wouldn’t it be easier to let me go? I won’t say anything. I don’t care about whatever it is you’re trying to hide.”
“No!”
The scissors snipped shut.
“Don’t ask things like that. We can’t let you go now that you’re here. You’ve seen too much. Eric told me you had to come here or he’d have to kill you. That’s how things are.” She glanced at the watch on her wrist. “I’m almost done. Just a few more minutes or I’ll be late for work. It’s Wednesday. There’s always a time crunch on Wednesdays.”
So they had jobs for sure. Would she be left alone in the house? Were they so confident in keeping her locked inside the room? Not that she saw any possible way out short of tearing down a wall, and it wasn’t like she had strength for that.
When Evelyn finished cutting, she combed through the hair framed around Naomi’s jaw line. It looked better than Eric’s haircut, at least.
Evelyn smiled. “I like it, but Eric might have me dye it. We’ll see.” She glanced at her watch again, then at the floor where hair was scattered across the tile. “I have to go, but I’ll clean this up when I get home. I left you some fruit and a glass of milk on the dresser.”
Naomi brushed the damp clumps of hair from her shoulders and chest, then stood and followed Evelyn out of the bathroom.
“Do you like milk?” she asked, turning to Naomi before opening the door. “You drank it before, but would you rather have something else? Orange juice? Coffee? We like coffee in the morning.”
“Milk is fine.”
A sigh that sounded relieved. “Thank you for being so calm. Eric told me you would do what I asked, but I wasn’t sure what he meant until now.” She opened the door and twitched her mouth into a nervous smile before leaving the room.
When the locks clicked into place, Naomi hurried to the window where she could keep an eye on the driveway. Ten minutes passed before a sleek, black sedan with tinted windows pulled out of the garage, followed by a small, fire-red sports car driven by Evelyn.
Naomi tried to read the license plates, but was too high up to see anything helpful. Utah or Colorado? Idaho or Wyoming? It didn’t matter.
She ran her gaze along the horizon, following the mountains in the distance. She had never seen such sharp mountains before, at least not outside her own window. She was used to the smooth, flat lines of the ocean stretching on forever.
THAT NIGHT she dreamed of dragons and fairies. She sat at the edge of a cliff as storm clouds rolled across a deep valley filled with fire. Dragons circled the destruction, their wings transparent in the bright glow below them. When they shrieked, she covered her ears and fell off the edge of the cliff, her own screams matching the dragon-cries. Fairies flew in to rescue her, but their strength was insufficient. They wept when she landed on the rocks and broke in two like a china doll.
Later, a handsome, leather-clad man rode up on a horse, his battered, blood-stained sword glinting in the fire’s glow. He was too late to rescue her, and before she could warn him, a dragon flew above him and breathed a jet of flame, burning him to ashes. She wept as the failed hero crumbled before her eyes.
With a start, she sat up in bed, breathing hard. It was midnight. Clouds covered the moon. The only light came from the lamps on the street. Slowly, she lay back down and tried to get her mind off the image of her face cracked in half. The quiet bedroom was better than a burning valley ridden with dragons. Besides, her kidnappers were not hurting her, so why was her subconscious panicking?
She groaned and rolled over to discover her pillow was wet with tears. She hit the pillow with her fist. She had to get a grip on her emotions before they took over. Then again, she remembered that dealing with things inside your head could help you deal with everything outside. Wasn’t that Psych 101? That had to be what her mind was doing.
Taking a deep breath, she closed her eyes and relaxed her body, trying to imagine herself melting away. The dragons came back, but this time they had settled on the rocks to quietly watch the burning valley.
It was then that she heard the locks on her door twisting open. She froze, as tense as if a dragon was breathing down her neck.
“I have to see her again.” Evelyn’s hushed whisper floated across the room.
“Don’t wake her up, then.” Another whisper, a male’s voice, not Jesse’s or Eric’s. How many of them lived in the house?
“I won’t. She’s been quiet for hours, the poor thing. She’s out cold, like always.”
“She’s still adjusting. She shuts down. It will be months before she accepts any of this.” They stopped right by the bed. She could hear their breathing, feel their presence. She had no idea what they wanted, but she wasn’t about to let them know she was awake.
“She’s absolutely perfect,” Evelyn said with a catch in her voice. “Every time I look at her I think she’s more than I could have asked for.”
“That’s not why Eric took her, Evie.”
“I know, I know, but look at her.”
Silence. What were they doing? Just staring? Her back was to them. She didn’t dare move. She tried to make her breathing slow and heavy as if she was asleep. They were buying it.
“You have to decide, Evie. We’re not risking any of this shit for nothing.”
“I already told you I could never live with myself if we hurt her. Never.”
“It’s settled, then, but you know the risks if she tries anything.”
“I know.” Her voice was weighted. A tinge of doubt flecked her words.
“You’ve got to wake up early,” the man said, and they moved away slowly, as if they were still staring. She had the sick feeling this wasn’t the first time they had come into her room to look at her while she slept.
IV
NAOMI TRIED NOT TO THINK ABOUT THE last time she had eaten or the last time she had talked to Evelyn or any of her kidnappers. Evelyn had said she would come back, but never did, unless she counted the creepy night-watching thing. The night had passed, then morning, and now it was evening again. She thought about pounding on the door again, but remembered Evelyn’s warning.
She suffered as quietly as she could, curled on the bed, holding her stomach and groaning. The rancid aroma of old banana peel hung in the air, along with the rotting apple core and pit of an overripe plum. She had buried it all in the bathroom trash can beneath wads of toilet paper and the plastic bags she had emptied the previous day. She even shut the door, collapsed onto the bed, and turned to face the other wall, but she could still smell it.
It was unbearable. Did they want to starve her to death? If not, then they were going to drive her crazy by leaving her alone with nothing to do except exist in her crazy mind filled with other worlds scarier than this one.
She had caught sight of Eric only an hour earlier. He parked the black sedan in the driveway and stepped out with a quick glance at her window. He most likely saw her standing half-hidden behind the folds of the sheer curtain, her eyes red from crying.
He didn’t exhibit any signs of acknowledgment as he ran his gaze across the window, then turned to grab a leather briefcase from the back seat, slammed the door shut, and headed to the front door.
Naomi was surprised to see him, especially dressed in a suit and tie beneath a black, knee-length trench coat, appearing as though his most immediate concern was to relax after a long day of work. He knocked his shoes against the sidewalk to clear off slush and then disappeared beneath the roof over the front porch.
He seemed like a normal, middle-aged man coming home from work, but she knew better. She could still feel his fist against her face like a violent explosion. The bruise still hurt, pressed against the quilt of the bed, tight and stiff and probably uglier than Brad’s ever was. It was probably deep violet, maybe even black, swollen and shiny. She wouldn’t know. She hadn’t looked at herself since the morning Evelyn cut her hair. She hadn’t showered, changed her clothes, or done much of anything but lie on the bed and feel sorry for herself. It was pathetic and exhausting.
The Breakaway Page 3
