Twisted Love (Stockholm Syndrome Series Book 1)
Page 5
I knew something wasn’t right just from looking at my father, and I knew somehow I would get the blame for it. I made my way back into the house in search of Jacqueline. I couldn’t find her at first, but then I smelled the familiar, rusty, metallic smell of blood and I knew. I went through every room and eventually found her in his bedroom. I think that one was the worst, the most blood I had ever seen. He had beaten her so much with the lamp she was no longer recognisable.
It had become routine by then. I knew exactly what I had to do, how to hide the body and get rid of the evidence. I knew what to clean, what to burn and what to bury. I was eighteen and my biggest skill was hiding a murder. That would look awesome on a resume in the future. If I ever got the chance to get a job. I’d probably die before then.
I’d set about quickly and quietly cleaning up his mess, and when night fell, I found myself alone in the woods, digging yet another hole.
It turned out that Jacqueline had drugged my father’s dinner so he would sleep longer and deeper. He was smart enough not to keep enough of any drug or chemical around that could be used to kill him, particularly after I’d tried to overdose. He kept everything locked away and rationed us. But still, she tried to kill him. She drugged his meal with whatever painkillers she could find, but they weren’t strong enough to knock him out entirely. He’d woken up when she failed to whack him hard enough with the lamp, and he’d killed her. I paid for her mistake too. Unfortunately for me, he stopped beating me before he killed me. He would never kill his own son; that was just an unthinkable crime although he had no problem hitting me so hard that I couldn’t move for three days or breathe without crying.
“What about Lucy?” I asked Kat, swallowing the lump that had formed in my throat as a sudden feeling of dread washed over me. What if he found the key while I was unconscious? What if he went back down there?
“Still in the room. She’s safe,” Kat said, noticing my concern. “I was going to make her some breakfast. She’s probably starving. You should eat too.” She came around behind me and wrapped her arms around me, helping me to stand. I slumped into one of the dining chairs and watched as Kat shifted around the kitchen preparing breakfast for us.
“Drink this; you need it,” she told me, passing over a glass of juice. I accepted it gratefully and let the bittersweet taste of oranges soothe my dry, aching throat. I felt better almost immediately, the sugar hit working wonders.
“Can I have the key?” Kat turned around with a tray in her hands. She’d made cereal, toast, and juice for Lucy.
“Um.” I wasn’t sure why, but I didn’t want to give the key to Kat. I trusted her, but it didn’t feel right allowing her access to that room yet even though Kat’s room was right beside Lucy’s. “I'll go.”
“Hendrix, don’t be silly. Look at you. You’re about to collapse again.” She tried to reason with me, but I shook my head and slowly pushed myself up out of the seat. Her eyes narrowed, but she knew better than to argue with me.
“Together then?” I limped toward the hall with Kat following me, breakfast tray in hand.
Maybe seeing Kat would provide Lucy with some sort of comfort. I had to lean my body against the wall and take the stairs slowly, one at a time, with Kat beside me in case I fell. I didn’t know what she thought she could do if I slipped. There was no way she’d be able to hold my weight. I’d just drag her down with me and we’d both be hurt. Sliding the key into the lock, I briefly glanced at Kat, who nodded her head telling me it was okay to open the door. I pushed the door open and hovered just outside.
The light from the basement casting a soft glow into Lucy’s room. She was lying on the bed curled into a ball. She lifted herself up and pressed herself into the corner as best she could with her hands still cuffed to the bed. Kat gasped behind me and hesitated.
“Hendrix, is this really necessary?” She came to stand beside me while pointing at the cuffs. The disappointment on her face was enough to make me feel even worse than I already did. I looked from Kat to Lucy. Lucy was trembling, tears silently leaking from her eyes.
“I-I-had… I had to, Kat. She was trying to get out of here. I can’t let her near him,” I stuttered and looked down at my feet. I stepped into the room, not wanting to see the disappointment in her eyes any longer.
“I know. Can you give me a minute alone with Lucy, please?” Kat pleaded, placing the breakfast tray on the end of the bed. I bit my lip and pulled my eyebrows together in a frown. Did I want to leave them alone? Why would Kat want to be alone with her?
“Please, Hendrix. Just a minute.” I looked at Lucy, whose eyes were darting from me to Kat. She was still crying silently and I could see her hands pressed so tightly into fists I was sure her nails would be drawing blood if she held them any tighter.
“Okay,” I sighed, turning around and closing the door quietly behind me.
I didn’t know why Kat wanted to be alone with Lucy, but I trusted her not to do anything stupid. She knew how things would end for all of us if she did.
I was exhausted. My eyes were so heavy I kept having to force them open. I really needed to sleep, so I heaved myself back upstairs and padded quietly down the hall to my room where I collapsed on the bed.
Lucy
MY FISTS POUNDED against the wall. Tears streamed down my cheeks. I’d ripped my throat to shreds as I tried screaming for help. But it was no use. The cuffs bit into my skin, blood trailed down my arms from trying to pull my wrists free.
I was trapped. Imprisoned against my will with no clue who they were or what they wanted from me.
Hendrix.
The sweet, kind, devilishly good-looking guy who had been visiting me at the bar for weeks, who I thought was interested in me, turned out to be a psycho. He played me for a fool. He switched on the charm, made me fall for him and trust him enough that I believed him when he said someone had tampered with my car and broke into my apartment. Trusted him enough to blindly go home with him. Believed him when he said we’d deal with it in the morning.
I was so stupid.
He did it all. He was cold, calculating and planned every last detail. I walked straight into his trap, willingly.
So freaking stupid.
What could they want with me? I had nothing to give. If they were doing it for ransom, they were kidding themselves. I barely spoke to my parents. It’d be months before they’d check on me, and probably longer before they realised I was actually missing and not just avoiding their calls.
The unmistakable click of a key in the lock had my nerves shaking. I pressed further into the wall, squeezed my eyes shut and prayed to anyone who’d listen to not let it be that man. The man from earlier. The one with stale cigarette on his breath, and stringy, ratty blond hair. I could still feel the roughness of his palm on my thigh, the heat from his body as he hovered over me.
My stomach dropped at the memory. I rolled to the side of the bed and heaved, the urge to throw up unstoppable, but nothing came out. My stomach was empty.
“Are you okay?” The woman asked after Hendrix had left the room.
I scuttled back on the bed, hoping the walls would open and swallow me whole.
“I’m going to turn the light on. I brought you something to eat.” Whoever she was, her voice was kind, which made me even more cautious of her.
No person in their right mind could sit by and pretend any of this was okay. That keeping a girl chained to a bed in a dark room was normal. It wasn’t.
The light was jarring, blinding me momentarily after being in the dark for so long. Shielding my eyes from the harsh glare, I peered toward the door and watched the woman—no, girl—she can’t have been older than me, teetering on her ridiculously sky-high red pumps. She smiled softly, and approached the bed slowly, holding a tray out in front of her.
I cowered behind my hands, and her smile faltered. “I won’t hurt you, Lucy.” Her voice was kind, but there was an edge to it, barely noticeable, but it made me believe her. She perched on the edge of the
bed and placed the tray down in the middle, making no move to come any closer. Her movements were slow and calculated. She was treating me like a wounded animal that would lash out at any time.
“I’m going to unlock you, okay? You can’t eat chained up.”
I stared at her through the small gap between my fingers. Was she that stupid? She couldn’t honestly think that was smart. I wasn’t going to sit quietly and eat my breakfast, I was going to run the second those cuffs were off. And there wasn’t anything she could do about it. Not like she could chase after me in those shoes. Besides, I had an advantage. I was a runner. It was second nature. I ran from my problems all the time, and this was the biggest problem I’d ever faced.
I lowered my hands from my face and sat a little straighter, hoping I was giving her the impression that I wasn’t a threat. It was laughable. I was the one chained to a bed. Her lips tilted in a half smile again and she shifted on the bed until she was able to reach for my wrists.
Yes.
She produced a key from her apron pocket.
I was free in…
Her fingers wrapped around my wrist gently, brushing the torn skin. “I’m sorry this is happening to you.” Her eyebrows pulled together in a frown and I almost believed her.
Three.
The key slid into the lock on one cuff.
Two.
Click.
One.
The sting in my wrist eased immediately as she released the cuff.
Yes!
And attached it to the bed post.
No…
I yanked on the cuff, crying out in pain when it tore at the skin on my wrist again.
“Come on!” I cried, using my free hand to try and push the cuff off my wrist, but it was futile.
Chest heaving, tears sliding down my cheeks, I gave up and slumped against the cold iron head board.
“I’m sorry, but I can’t release you entirely. You understand.”
“Why are you doing this?” I choked back a sob.
“I wish I could give you an answer, Lucy. But, I can’t. I’m sorry.”
“How can you sit by and pretend that this is okay? That them,” I glared at the ceiling, assuming I was in the basement because where else would psychos hide a girl? “Keeping me chained up down here is normal? Or are you just as fucked up as they are? Is this some sick game to you?” I croaked and eyed the water on the breakfast tray. I was parched. My throat was dry and sore from all that screaming but I didn’t want to accept water or anything from her.
She straightened her shoulders, ran her hand through her perfect pin curls and smoothed out her polka dot dress.
“I’m not like them. Him.” Her voice was soft, but the resentment was there. The pain, the defeat, it all echoed in the way she spoke. I studied her perfect appearance, from the flawless make-up to the fifties-looking dress, and her full red lips, she looked like she’d just stepped out of the fifties. But it was the bags under her eyes, her dull skin, and emaciated appearance that gave it away.
“They took you too,” I whispered. It wasn’t a question, but she gave me a sad smile in confirmation.
“Not they. Ray. Ray took me. Hendrix had nothing to do with it. He’s a good man, Hendrix.”
I raised an eyebrow at her in disbelief. “He tampered with my car, broke into my house and chained me to this bed. He’s not a good man,” I spat, and thought of all the ways I could hurt Hendrix if I was ever released from this bed.
The woman sighed. “Everything isn’t always black and white. And believe me when I tell you, if Hendrix had any other choice, he would never have done this to you.”
“Yeah, right? I must have missed when that greasy, old, sick fucker held a gun to Hendrix’s head and threatened his life if he didn’t kidnap me.”
“There’s more going on than you know. But, Hendrix would die before he let anything happen to you. He’s just as much a victim as we are.”
“You’re delusional if you truly believe that. How long have you been here?”
She pressed her lips together and shook her head.
“Long enough to be brainwashed by them.”
“Long enough to see the truth. Ray is the danger. Hendrix is…Well, he’s a sweetheart and hates what his father is doing.”
“Then why does he stand by and let it happen? Why doesn’t he tell anyone? Get help.”
She stood up and smoothed the invisible wrinkles in her dress. “I’ve said more than I should,” she said and turned toward the door, leaving the tray on the bed.
“Wait!”
She stopped.
“What’s your name?” I didn’t know why I asked that, or what I thought I could accomplish by stopping her from leaving but I knew I didn’t want her to leave. I didn’t want to be left alone in this dank and mouldy room.
“Kat.” She didn’t turn back and look at me like I expected her to. Instead, she reached for the door and pulled it open.
“Hang on!”
“I must go, Lucy. I’ve got things to do.”
“How come you’re allowed to leave your room?”
“Because I’ve earned Ray’s trust. And you’d be best to do the same if you wish to survive this house.” Her voice dropped to a barely audible whisper, and the pleading look she gave me over her shoulder sent chills down my spine.
What happened in this house?
“I have to pee,” I called after her again.
“There’s a bucket under your bed.”
“You’re joking, right?” I swallowed the lump in my throat.
“No.”
“I can’t pee in a bucket.”
“Well, pee on your bed then, it’s your only other choice.”
“But…”
“Want to use the toilet? Wait for Hendrix, though he’d have to watch to make sure you don’t do anything stupid.” She shook her head. “The sooner you realise that things are never going back to normal for you, the better. You won’t get out of here. There is no escape. You can either play nice and do what you need to and make your time bearable or you can fight it every step of the way and rot in your own filth, chained to the bed. Your choice.”
And with that she shut the door behind her and left me alone.
My mind was buzzing. I couldn’t think straight. How long had she been here? What did she mean there was no escape? There had to be a way out. I refused to believe that I was trapped here forever.
Rolling onto my stomach, I lowered my head over the side of the bed, and sure enough, there was a bucket. It was caked with grime and dirt, and who knew what else. My stomach heaved. I couldn’t use that. I’d rather rot in my own filth.
Hendrix
THE HEAVY FOOTSTEPS thudding down the corridor alerted me to his presence before the door even opened. I rolled off my bed, smoothed out my shirt and attempted to do something with what I was sure looked like messy bed-hair. I shouldn’t have fallen asleep. He was going to be furious that I wasn’t waiting by the door for him with Kat, like he expected at the end of the day.
Why didn’t she wake me up? She knew what he was like. I glanced around my room to make sure everything was neat and in its place; not that I had many possessions. Still, it had to be tidy for him. I quickly ran a hand over the faded brown blankets on my bed so it didn’t look as though I had slept all day. He would think that weak—I should toughen up and learn to take a beating like a man.
His footsteps passed straight by my room and continued down the hall. My throat constricted and sweat dripped down the sides of my face as I listened with bated breath to see where his feet carried him. My room was suddenly too small. The rickety little closet in the corner seemed to tower over me as the walls closed in. I needed air, but I didn’t want to go out there and face him. I didn’t know what to do, but I was struggling to breathe. My chest burned.
His footsteps descended, and I knew he’d opened the basement door and had just gone downstairs. I listened to the faint rattle of a doorknob but didn’t hear the door crea
k open. The rattling got louder and faster like he was trying to force a lock.
Lucy.
No!
He was trying to get into her room but it was locked—and I had the key. I needed to stop him. It wouldn’t take much for him to break her door down if he really wanted to. I tried to open my door silently, but the timber creaked and the rusty hinges squeaked. It was loud enough that he heard it from downstairs and immediately made his way back up.
“Where is it?” he growled, blowing a strand of his straw-like hair from his face.
I didn’t answer him. Instead, I stepped back into my room knowing he would come after me. I had nowhere to run and knew better than to try. The sound of his steel toe-capped boot connecting with the door sent chills down my spine. My ribs were already protesting in pain and he hadn’t laid a finger on me, yet.
“Give me the key, boy!” he shouted, his footsteps echoing closer as he stomped toward my room. I backed up a step, patting my pocket to make sure the key was still safely tucked away.
I closed my eyes briefly and nodded my head, relieved that it was still in my jeans. He burst through my door, chest heaving and face bright red. He was angry. I noticed how uncharacteristically dishevelled his appearance seemed to be.
Generally, his hair would be neatly parted to the side and combed across, his clothes impeccable, but he was so worked up that his hair was out of place, flopping messily around his broad forehead. His shirt was untucked and his grey button-up cardigan was unbuttoned in a few places, revealing the crinkles in his shirt. He must’ve had a bad day in the shop, and I was making it worse by not handing over the key to Lucy’s room. There was no way he was getting in there.
He was flustered, losing control and that only made him more dangerous. He didn’t like not having control over every situation. Hiding the key from him, gave me the tiniest piece of control. I was the only thing stopping him from getting in that room. Getting to Lucy. And he couldn’t handle it.