“Tell me what you know, son.”
“About five hundred feet away from Alexa’s gravesite is a cabin. That’s where he’s hiding her.”
He raises his brow at me. “How do you know that?”
I shake my head. “Dad, I can’t explain that to you right now, but you’ll just have to trust me. Please.”
He stares at me for a second. “Do you know how to get there?”
I remember the road that leads to that cabin without doing our grueling hike. “Yeah, I do.”
He leaves and heads over to his team. He barks orders to follow me. Meanwhile, my mom protests to my dad, but he calmly responds, “He’s the best we got to finding Josephine. He has to come.”
After some deliberating, she sighs and consents to letting me go. Meanwhile, Brandon and his gang of misfits gather behind me.
“Ok, we’re ready. I say we take Jordan’s truck,” he said. “It can handle rough terrain.”
The group looks pretty determined, and I can’t waste anymore time arguing with them. “Fine. Let’s go.”
We follow Dad’s team and fall in line behind them as we enter the elevator. I take a deep breath and close my eyes as soon as the doors slide close. I just hope Jo’s ok, and we’re not too late.
Chapter 66
Josephine
“Jules, if a genie grants you one wish, what would it be?”
“Aren’t genies supposed to grant me three wishes?”
“Not necessarily. My genie is very stingy with his wishes.”
“Then, I’d wish for superpowers.”
“Why?”
“So, I can always protect you.”
“From what?”
“From wild animals.”
“In Wakefield?”
“You won’t always be in Wakefield, Jo.”
“Fair enough. What else?”
“From your parents.”
“Yeah, that’s a good one.”
“And from all sorts of bad people.”
“Why would you want to protect me?”
“Because I don’t want to lose you.”
***
Voices echo in my head as I float in the darkness, astral projecting through my sleep/wake cycles. At one point, I see the ten-year-old versions of me and Julian, lying side by side on his bed. He has one hand behind his head and the other hovering between our shoulders. As we chat, he plays with a strand of my hair, winding and unwinding it around his finger. Meanwhile, I’m staring at the ceiling with my hands clasped above my belly, waiting for him to share his one wish. I remember this moment, and a sudden twinge of envy overcomes me at the innocence and peacefulness of this scene. I belong with them, and I want Julian to make good on his superpowers to protect me.
The sound of a girl sobbing reaches my ears. My lashes flutter, and I open my eyes in search of the owner of this voice until I realize that the wailing is from me. Even in my hazy state, I’m fully aware of where I am—in a dirty, windowless room, handcuffed to a heavy ornate wardrobe with my legs bound at the ankles. As I lay on this dusty mattress on the floor, the swell of self-pity engulfs me. While I try to fight the wave, my resolve weakens as my spirit drowns.
I don’t know how long I’ve been here. I don’t even know the time. All I know is, I woke up to Mr. Cunningham carrying me into this dingy room. My memory is fuzzy, and I can only remember the blurry images of trees. I’ve been in and out of sleep as my body fights this drugged state.
But the footsteps above me bring me to assess my surroundings. It’s dark with one source of light coming from a hanging light bulb in the middle of the room. There’s an old beat up table, an old rickety chair and empty beer cans. They piled a broken sink and rusty pipes up against the wall, and I see a Formica countertop and a sink to my left.
I sneeze. Everything here is dusty, and I wish I can scratch my nose. Suddenly, I hear something creak to my right, making me turn my head in that direction. A sliver of light shines down, revealing an old staircase. I crease my forehead. Am I in a basement somewhere?
Long legs in dark denim appear as they descend the steps. Then it pauses, and I hear a door slam. Mr. Cunningham emerges soon after in the same outfit he wore in the hospital. He carries a duffle bag and a brown parcel. Brows furrowed in concentration, he walks across the room and ignores me. As he sets them on the table, he mutters as if he’s reciting something under his breath. His broad shoulders block my view, and I can’t see what he’s placing inside the big black bag.
I bite my lip because I’m nervous. But I have to relax to survive. I need to think rationally, and I need to know his plans before he kills me. A grim thought. But I have to accept that. I take a deep breath and acknowledge his presence.
“What’s going on, Brian?” I call him by his first name as all formalities leave the window. I owe no such respect to my abductor. Meanwhile, I tug at my one arm to see how tightly I’m handcuffed.
“I wouldn’t do that if I were you.” He doesn’t look at me and continues to transfer items to the duffle bag. “That wardrobe is heavy, but if you pull hard enough, it might topple over you and you’ll be dead. Wouldn’t that be a horrible death?”
I huff. “Either way, I’ll be dead anyway, right? It won’t be long before you kill me, too.”
He turns around and smiles. This time, a pleasant one which discomforts me. How he’s able to switch from one personality to another disturbs me.
“You wouldn’t suffer the same fate, Josephine, if you behave yourself and allow me to take care of you.” Then he walks over to me and kneels. My heart beats wildly at the sheer fear of what he’s about to do to me.
But I lift my chin and pretend that I’m not about to pee on myself from the terror of being next to Alexa’s killer. “Care to tell me why you drugged me with Rohypnol and abducted me?”
He smiles. “You’ve always been the smart one. And I love that sass about you.” He lifts a finger and caresses my cheek. I flinch. “Don’t fight me, Josephine. You’ll see that I’m capable of making you happy.”
“By drugging me and taking me against my will? Do you see the problem with that?”
He narrows his eyes. “Would you have left with me otherwise?”
I look at him in disbelief. “Do you realize how crazy that sounds?”
He gives me a slow grin. “Sweetheart, you’re the schizophrenic. I’m afraid I’m not the crazy one here.”
I glare at him. “Whatever happened to shifting the paradigm, huh? And yet, here you exploit that bit of information to serve your purpose.”
He squeezes my cheek. “Again, so smart. You’ve always been my favorite.”
I close my mouth. I’m going around in circles with this guy. Then there’s that nagging question that’s been plaguing me. “Why me?”
He traces his finger down my neck and all the way to my arm. I stop breathing and bile comes up my throat. I wish I can move away from his touch, but my imprisonment leaves me no choice but to endure his unwanted caress.
“You have a certain something that appeals to me.” He gazes at my skin, hungrily. “The moment you stepped foot in my classroom, I notice that air of mystery about you. But there’s also something else. It’s that sadness in those beautiful brown eyes. It made me want to protect you.”
My breath hitches as I try to make sense of this confession. But he continues. “And then, this misfortune that surrounds you.” He pauses and shakes his head. “You, doubled over in the hallway when Brandon saw you. Bianca’s unfortunate expose of you. Landing in the hospital. Falling into the river? I need to take over and protect you, Josephine.”
I gasp as another realization hits me. “That was you in the forest…” I whisper. “The person watching us between the trees.”
“Sweetheart,” he grins. “It was always me.”
I stop breathing as the heaviness of this confirmation hits me like a bullet train. He leans down to me and hovers his lips over my ear. “Whenever you felt that shiver and those moments when you f
elt you weren’t alone, I was there.”
Goosebumps cover my body as I remember those moments of uneasiness—in the old building while looking at the old photographs, biking home, that evening outside my house and at nights in the ICU.
It was always me.
My breathing becomes ragged as the terror of being stalked by the person I had grown to trust struck me to my core. “How long have you been following me?”
“Since the time you introduced yourself to me, I have loved you since then.”
I gasp. Then, with shaky breath, I release my panic. “Let me go. This isn’t love. This is an obsession.”
He scowls at me. “You should let go of your boyfriend. He was an asshole when you first arrived. He’s the reason Bianca shamed you in front of everybody. He failed to protect you—not when you fell into that river and certainly, not now.”
He grabs my jaw, and I cry out in pain. He leans down to my scrunched-up face, his grip tighter. “I know he was the one who convinced you to snoop around. He should’ve left well enough alone and left you alone, instead of endangering you with his amateur sleuthing.” He pauses and lets his eyes roam over my face. Then he sneers. “He’s not coming for you.” He releases me with enough force to hit my head on the hard cabinet. My face contorts in pain. Suddenly, he softens and massages the area that was banged against the hard surface. “I’m so sorry. Now behave, and I won’t hurt you again.”
My eyes widen at the polarity of his behaviors. It’s making me confused. Then, as he prepares to stand. I close my eyes and ask another question I had feared to ask. “Brian, did you rape me?”
I feel his heat near me again, and his lips land on my forehead to kiss it. “I did not. When we make love, I want you to bear witness. I want you to feel me enter you.”
Disgust fills me at his delusion. “How many young girls did you force to be in a relationship with you?”
He smirks. “Athena and Alexa were willing participants, my love.”
My blood runs cold, and I can feel my heart beating against my chest. “You were the one who stuffed her dead body in that wall.”
His eyes flash for a moment, and he looks at me curiously. Then, he smiles. “Surprise.”
“You’re a fucking monster!”
“Here’s a tip for you and if you follow it, you just might make it out alive.” He gets up and walks over to the table. “Athena and Alexa were in love with me, and we talked of running away together somewhere where no one will question our love. Here’s where they made their grave mistake. Pardon the pun.” He pauses to chuckle at his joke. “At the eleventh hour, they changed their minds. Athena started questioning me and said that she could never leave her family behind—the same family who turned a blind eye for five years when her uncle was sexually abusing her. Then Alexa told me she wanted to rekindle his relationship with that ex-boyfriend who cheated on her, naively believing that he was going to change.” He pauses and I watch him grit his teeth and clench his fist. “I loved them too much to release them back to those monsters. So Josephine, I freed them, so they will never suffer again.”
My mouth gapes as I listen to him rationalize murder. “You are out of your mind. Mercy killing is not synonymous to freedom, Brian.”
He raises his brow at me, looking amused. “Oh, is that so? Well, let’s just hope you won’t have to confirm that statement with your own fate then, because I will not release you back to your abusive adoptive parents. I’m here to save you. Don’t make a fuss, come with me and you will live.”
I slam my mouth shut as everything becomes clearer. A man with a savior complex. A sick, sad man who distorted it into a controlling, obsessive pursuit and masking it as a rescue plan.
But Brian is a serial killer, and I will be next. But how do I escape? “Brian, what are you doing with those bags?”
He smiles. “Ah, very observant. We’re leaving.”
I gulp. “Where are we going?”
“Somewhere rugged and beautiful.”
I gasp. “Montana,” I say as the image of the postcard comes into my head.
He snaps his head in my direction and looks at me again, with surprise. Then, it’s gone, and he’s back to his cool composure. “You are definitely different from the rest, Josephine. I’m gonna have a good time getting to know you.”
Then, he zips up his bag and picks it up off the table. “I’ll be right back. Putting this in the car.”
“When exactly are we leaving?” I ask quickly.
“In an hour.” He trudges up the stairs and disappears out the door.
I furrow my brows. Sometime soon, he’ll have to remove these handcuffs and these binds from my feet. I’ll have to act fast, but I worry that I’ve been so weakened from my hospitalization. Will I have the strength to fight? I take a deep breath. I don’t have a choice because once I’m out of the state lines, it will be that much harder to find me—if they ever will at all.
Chapter 67
Josephine
Mr. Cunningham’s back is towards me, and he’s working on something on the table. I hear clicking noises until he brings a metallic object up to the light. I gasp when I see the unmistakable anatomy of a gun in his hand. Shit. Now what?
I take a deep breath and rethink my plan as I can’t go Bruce Lee on him. My body can not compete with a bullet. I’ll have to come up with a sophisticated escape.
He faces me. “Ok, Sweetheart. It’s time. I’m going to release you but don’t even try anything funny because I have no problem shooting you if you do.”
I nod. “Do you have any clothes for me? I can’t keep wearing this forever.”
His gaze softens. “You’ll have to wear my mine for now. We’ll buy you new ones once we’re there.”
“Ok. Will I get the chance to change before we leave?”
He narrows his eyes at me and cocks his handgun. I try not to react and continue to look at him.
“Maybe,” he responds. I watch him place his gun in his holster and walk over to me. He has a hydro flask in his hand and as he kneels down next to me, he unscrews the top. My eyes widen as a sneaking suspicion of what is inside that container enters my mind.
“What the hell is that?”
He looks at me calmly as he places the lid on the floor. “Drink up.”
My heart sinks at the revelation that he’s once again way ahead of me. “The last time you offered me a beverage, I passed out on the concrete. What makes you think I’ll do a repeat?”
“Because I am not giving you a choice. I’m not dumb enough to release you without something to curb that energy of yours.” He laughs. “I’ve seen you in the octagon, my love. This way, even if you try to escape, you’ll be out cold within twenty minutes.”
I narrow my eyes in anger. “Fuck you! You’re not going to roofie me again! I just won’t open my mouth.”
He grabs my face and applies finger pressures between my upper and lower jaws. As soon as they come apart, he floods the liquid inside my mouth, forcing me to swallow or I’ll choke. He pours it too fast, triggering my gag reflex. He releases me and watches me cough violently from the rush of alcohol that was poured down my throat. Wiping my chin with a handkerchief, he ignores my flared nose and red cheeks as I seethe with anger. I bare my teeth when his hand nears my lips, and I clamp on it like a pit bull. I’m biting him now, and I enjoy his screams. Suddenly, a crack resounds through the room and pain sears my skull. My vision goes white from the blunt force—the impact causing my head to throb. When the dots disappear, I realize what happened. He struck me with his revolver.
The Night Orchid Page 43
