Twisted Love (Stockholm Syndrome Series Book 1)

by R. Linda

  “I’ve told you everything. You need to go and get Hendrix out before he kills him.”

  “And you say, this man Ray, has murdered more than twenty women over the years?”

  “Yes!” I groaned and smacked my head against the table once more. Why weren’t they listening? Surely Kat was telling the same story. But the detective looked at me as though she didn’t believe a word I was saying. Didn’t she know who I was? It made the paper for goodness sake. In fact, why hadn’t I heard anything about my parents? Were they even notified that I was safe? Did they even care?

  And you only had to take one look at Kat and I to see we’d been through hell and back. We’d stumbled through the glass doors of the police station with our dresses dirty, our feet bloody, red lipstick smeared across our cheeks and black mascara running down our faces from crying so hard.

  “And you think he’ll kill this Hendrix person. The man that abducted you?”

  “Yes.”

  “Why?”

  “Because he’s crazy and Hendrix helped us escape.”

  “Well, see that’s what I don’t get. Why would Hendrix go to the trouble of kidnapping you and keeping you captive for months and then suddenly let you go free?”

  “Because…” I groaned into my hands. I couldn’t even cry anymore. “He was kind. And not at all like his father.” Because he loved me.

  “But, he stalked you for weeks, cut the lines to your car battery, staged a fake break-in at your apartment and kept you locked in his basement for months. Why would he do that? Doesn’t sound like a kind person at all to me.”

  “Like I’ve told you fifty fucking times already. He was forced to do it by Ray. He was just as much a victim of his father’s abuse as we were. I was meant to be the solution. The perfect one to end all the pain and suffering. That is all Hendrix ever wanted. To stop the suffering and death. But he didn’t want me to endure Ray’s psychotic ideas.”

  “Like having a baby?”

  I wasn’t crazy. Everything I was telling them was true. But, they didn’t seem to believe me.

  “Yes. Hendrix doesn’t have a bad bone in his body. He would never force a person to do something they didn’t want to do. He would never bring a child into that house knowing how volatile his father could be. He said it a thousand times, he’d never have kids because he didn’t want them growing up with Ray as a role model.”

  “So, he helped you and Kat escape?”

  I stared at her blankly. I couldn’t even answer again. I didn’t know how many more times I had to explain the story to her, or to anyone else before they would believe it and get off their fat, lazy arses and go save my husband.

  After a few minutes of us staring blankly at each other, me not wanting to waste my time in answering her and her waiting impatiently for my response, she gathered her paperwork in her manila folder, and walked out of the room. Not a further word was spoken. She must’ve realised I was done talking. All I wanted was for them to let me leave so I could get back home to Hendrix.

  I knew Ray would have most likely woken by now if he wasn’t dead. Maybe if I returned to the house he would take it easier on Hendrix. Maybe he wouldn’t kill him.

  I couldn’t bear the thought that Hendrix would end up dead because he chose to save me. I knew he did it because he loved me. He felt as strongly for me as I felt for him. There was no other explanation for the risk he took. I was special. I was important. I mattered. And that made him so much more special to me, so much more important. He mattered. And I had to save him.

  I couldn’t leave him there, trapped in that hell. If he survived, it would be incredibly painful. I knew that much. Kat and I had gone, and Hendrix would get the blame. He would be punished for letting us leave. It all just depended on Ray’s state of mind as to how severe Hendrix’s punishment would be. I’d like to think that Ray loved and cared for his son enough to not kill him, but he came close that day that Hendrix didn’t beat me for breaking the plate. And now he’d gone and helped us escape.

  It’s such a strange thing to explain, the connection I felt to Hendrix. To the man who stole me from my home. The man who ripped my life away from me. I never understood how people cared for their captors until now. I remember reading newspaper articles and watching current affairs programs about women, men, and children being abducted from their lives and their families to be held captive in dark, damp basements. They’d been tortured, abused, raped, starved, forced to go to the toilet in a bucket, refused other personal hygiene amenities like showers and yet, once they were found, they couldn’t leave their captors. It was sick. And messed up. How anyone could feel anything other than hatred for the arsehole who did that to them was beyond me.

  However, now that I was on the other side I understood. Perhaps the people who made it to prime-time television slots had captors who were as kind as Hendrix. Maybe they weren’t always cruel to their prisoners. Maybe they cared for them in some way. I highly doubted it was like mine and Hendrix’s relationship because we were special to each other, but maybe the others connected on some level. Or they could have just been so screwed up and traumatised by the whole ordeal they believed they felt something for their warden.

  I sat for the longest time staring at the metal clock bolted to the wall above the door. Clearly, they had trust issues in this department if they resorted to bolting the clock to the wall. Glancing down out of curiosity, I noticed that the legs of the table were also secured to the polished concrete floor.

  Huh, I wonder if they keep it concrete because it’s easier to wash the blood stains out?

  The tick of the second hand seemed to get louder and louder with each minute movement. Time was wasting. Every second they spent going over my statement and questioning me was another second that Hendrix lost. There was no way Ray would let him off easily. I just wished these cops would hurry up and bring him home to me.

  Everything would be okay as long as we were together.

  I drummed my fingers on the table top in time to the second hand on the clock and waited.

  Then I stood up and paced the room.

  After that I sat in the corner on the floor.

  I climbed onto the table and laid down because I was so tired.

  I checked my appearance in the two-way mirror. I looked dead.

  And still no one came.

  No food.

  No water.

  No toilet break.

  No phone call.

  There was nothing but me and my thoughts. And I didn’t want to be alone with my thoughts. They weren’t very pleasant. And each thought brought more pain. More misery. Each thought was of Hendrix. I just prayed he was alive and okay.

  I must have dozed off because the door slammed and jolted me awake. Another officer, who looked like he must’ve just graduated the academy, stood there staring at me this time. The female detective was nowhere in sight. He stared at me intently and didn’t speak. Well, I wasn’t going to speak first either. I was done talking. All I wanted to know was if they were going to help Hendrix.

  The officer sighed and ran a hand over his face before giving me a small expectant smile. Like hell I was going to smile back. I had been treated worse in this room than at Ray’s. At least Ray fed me and let me shower. Unlike these jerks. I thought they were the good guys.

  “I’m Officer Knowles. Just thought I’d check in to see how you’re doing?”

  “I’m terrible actually. I’m tired. I’m hungry. I’m thirsty. I need to pee. I need to shower. What’s going on? No one has told me anything. Have you spoken to Kat? Are you going to get Hendrix out of that house? Are you arresting Ray?” Maybe I wasn’t done talking. I rapid fired all these questions at the poor kid.

  “I know and I’m sorry. They’re speaking with Kat right now. Just corroborating your stories.”

  “Stories? You think I’m making this up?” I screeched at him. How on earth could they come to that conclusion? I’d have to be seriously disturbed to make up something like this.


  “No, not all. Standard procedure, Miss. That’s all.” He shrugged and pulled out the metal chair across from me. A loud scraping sound echoed around the room as he took a seat. He stared at me. I stared back.

  “Is Kat okay?” I asked after a while. I hadn’t seen her since we first walked in. They took us to separate rooms and haven’t mentioned her since.

  “Yes, she’s fine. She’s being very co-operative.” He nodded.

  And I wasn’t? Was that what he was saying? Or implying? I had been nothing but co-operative, but I was hungry dammit, and I got cranky when I didn’t eat. And I was worried about Hendrix. So worried. Anything could have happened to him by now and it would have all been my fault. I couldn’t live with myself if something happened to him. After all he did to keep me safe, to help me escape.

  “Can I see her?”

  “Afraid not.” He continued to stare and it was making me uncomfortable. Was he really even a police officer, or something else? The way he looked at me, like he was studying me, staring deep inside me as if trying to figure something out made me think he wasn’t an ordinary officer. Maybe he was a quack. A shrink. A psychologist. Someone trying to work out whether I was in fact insane or just in need of a good meal and sleep, and to see her husband again.

  I fidgeted in my seat, suddenly finding great interest in my fingernails which were filthy. Just like the rest of me.

  “You seem anxious, Lucy.”

  “Nope,” I answered a little too quickly. Officer Knowles’ eyes narrowed at me, his lips pinched together.

  “What are you worried about? You’re safe now. You know that, right?”

  “Yes.”

  “So tell me. What has you so wound up? What worries you?”

  “Nothing,” I lied. Could he be any more daft? How many times did I have to explain myself? I wouldn’t be happy. I wouldn’t relax. I wouldn’t feel anything but anxious until I knew my husband was safe.

  “Hendrix,” he stated. There was no expression on his face. He was impassive, but he knew. He knew I was worried about Hendrix.

  I nodded my head slowly, swallowing the lump that had suddenly found its way into my throat again.

  “You care for him.” Again, not a question, just stating a fact. “And you’re concerned about his safety.”

  I nodded again and closed my eyes to stop the tears that were threatening to spill over.

  “Understandable in your situation.” He leaned forward and clasped his hands together on the table in front of him.

  “My situation?”

  “Yes.”

  “And what situation is that? The one where I was held prisoner by a psychotic piece of shit and forced into a relationship with someone who abducted me from my home. Or the one where I seem to be held prisoner in this goddamn room by the exact people who are supposed to be looking after me?”

  His eyebrows rose, and his mouth dropped open briefly, but he recovered from his shock quickly. He knew nothing about my situation.

  “So you admit that you were forced into a relationship with Hendrix, the man who orchestrated your entire abduction?”

  “What? Yes, I’ve explained myself so many times already.”

  “And you understand that your relationship isn’t real? It was all fake to keep Ray happy.”

  “Yes…No. I mean, it was fake but it changed. We got married, had a honeymoon and everything.” I tried to explain how things had shifted but it seemed as though everyone in this station had a preconceived idea of what actually went on.

  “Lucy, you’re not really married. Not legally. And your relationship with Hendrix wasn’t real.”

  “How can you say that? You’ve spoken to me for all of two minutes. You have no clue what went on in that house. What our relationship was really like. You know nothing.”

  “I know a lot more than you think. I’ve seen this a thousand times before. It’s a classic case, but I’m here to help you.”

  I scoffed at his words. A thousand times before? The kid is barely eighteen. He knows nothing about anything. He can’t help me. No one can.

  “And do tell me, oh wise one. What is this classic case you speak of? What do you think you can help me with?”

  Officer Knowles stood up and smiled sadly. “Stockholm Syndrome, Lucy. You are suffering from Stockholm Syndrome.”

  Hendrix

  TWO STRONG HANDS grabbed me by the shoulders and flipped me onto my stomach. I must have fallen asleep or passed out, because I had no idea how I ended up lying on the floor. Everything was fuzzy, my vision was hazy, and I couldn’t process what was going on except for the pressure in my back.

  It felt like a knee.

  A deep voice rumbled above me, but I could only make out a few words, something about arrest and rights, before my hands were secured behind my back with handcuffs and I was pulled to my feet.

  I was being arrested.

  For killing Ray no doubt, since his cold lifeless body was still on the floor with a rope around his neck. The officer or detective, whoever, pushed me out of the room and up the stairs.

  “I’m innocent,” I said over and over again as we made our way outside. I wasn’t innocent. I killed Ray, but it was self defence. Self-preservation. Protecting humanity. My one good deed. I couldn’t be charged for ridding the world of a monster.

  Police cars lined the street, and I was forced into the back of the closest one. The ride to the police station was short and quiet. I tried protesting and claiming my innocence but was only told that it was out of their hands now.

  As soon as we arrived, I was escorted into an interrogation room.

  “Where’s Lucy? Is she okay?” That’s all I wanted to know, that she was okay.

  “Lucy is none of your concern,” The officer, a guy named Knowles replied. “Now, I have some questions for you, and the more you cooperate the better,” he said, coming around behind me to unlock my cuffs. I flexed my wrists and rubbed the skin where the cold metal had chafed.

  “Please just tell me if she’s okay. I’ll answer anything you want,” I pleaded. Hell, I’d plead guilty if that’s what it took to find out she was okay, safe.

  “Lucy is fine,” Knowles grunted, curling his lip up, while I breathed a sigh of relief. We did it. We fucking did it. Lucy was out, safe. That’s all I ever wanted. “Now do you know why you’re here?”

  “Because I killed my father.”

  “So you admit it?”

  “Sort of?”

  “Care to explain?”

  “He’s not my real father. He’s a monster.”

  “A monster?” Knowles looked at me sceptically.

  I was thirsty and hungry, but I spent the next fuck knows how many hours explaining everything. How I believed Ray abducted me first, then more than twenty women over the years, each of whom he raped, abused and killed all in the quest for the perfect wife to replace his dead love. I gave Knowles the names of every woman that ever walked down Ray’s hall in six-inch heels. I told him where he could find each and every body. Marked each location on a map to make it easier for their search.

  “You seem to know a lot about these murders and where all the bodies are hidden.”

  “No shit. I watched him kill all of them. And then he took me and the body into the woods or to the lake, making me dispose of them, So yes. I know everything about these murders. I lived them.”

  I explained in detail Kat’s life as Ray’s latest wife—the only one to survive.

  “What was so special about Kat? Why did she survive longer than the others?”

  “She was smart. She knew she’d end up dead if she didn’t, and she was optimistic that one day she’d be free.”

  I filled him in on everything about Lucy. How I stalked her and lured her to Ray’s home. How I convinced her to play along because it would keep her safe and alive until we could find a way to escape. How we got married for Ray’s benefit and were expected to give him a grandchild to complete his perfect family.

  “Now, tell
me one thing. You say you stalked Lucy for weeks. Why didn’t you leave, run, escape when he let you out of the house?” Knowles challenged. He was looking for holes in my story. He wasn’t going to find them, though, my story was all true.

  “Let me ask you something first? You’ve had women go missing for twenty years and never found them. Why?”

  “That has nothing to do with why you didn’t escape when you had the chance.”

  “It has everything to do with it. I didn’t escape because he was fucking smart. He out-smarted you guys for twenty years. You think he was gonna risk me running off and bringing the police down on him? Hell no. He knew what he was doing. He tracked my car. He followed me. He stalked me too. Besides, I couldn’t escape even if I wanted to. I couldn’t leave him alone to continue killing. I had to find a way to stop it. And that way was meant to be Lucy.”

  “How so?”

  “I figured if I could find someone as willing as Kat to submit to Ray’s will, to do what he said, to keep quiet and make him happy then he’d not have a reason to kill anyone anymore. Lucy was supposed to end the suffering. She was the solution.”

  Knowles was quiet for a moment, processing what I’d just said before wanting to know more about last night. The escape. The events leading up to it. And how I came to kill Ray.

  As much as I didn’t want to relive those few moments when I saw Ray trying to rape Lucy, I did. I told him that Ray had a stupid moment. In his eagerness to get to Lucy he’d left me alone in the workshop with the doors and everything still unlocked. All he could think about was fucking my wife.

  “Wife?”

  “Yes. We got married.”

  “But it wasn’t real.”

  “Not by law, but she’s my wife. And there was no way in hell I was going to let him rape her. So, I beat him until he was unconscious and then led the girls out the front door, telling them to run.”

  “Why didn’t you run with them? The door was open. You were free. Your wife was free.”