by Liz Lovelock
Dear Captor
Copyright © 2017 Liz Lovelock
www.lizlovelockauthor.com
Cover Design by Cover Me Darling
Edited by Swish Design and Editing and Lauren Clark Editing
Formatted by Integrity Formatting
All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.
Dedication
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
With Love - Letters in Blood Book Two
Also by Liz Lovelook
About Liz Lovelock
Acknowledgements
For all the fighters—keep fighting.
“You gain strength, courage and confidence
by every experience in which you stop to look
fear in the face. You are able to say to yourself
‘I have lived through this horror. I can take the next
thing that comes along.’
You must do the thing you think you cannot do.”
~ Eleanor Roosevelt
What’s in a name?
Usually, parents name their children with a special kind of love in their hearts. Not mine though. They didn’t want me, or at least, that’s what they kept telling me. They only ever wanted to inflict pain. I was nobody until the woman next door gave me the lovely name Elenore. She cared for me when my own parents didn’t or wouldn’t.
Every single day I wished to be taken away from what I endured. Anywhere would have been good. I would have sold my soul to the devil himself back then, and I’d willingly do it now. Give my living essence to breathe, to live on. My entire childhood was a survival story, and now I have another.
So much blood. Everywhere I look, there are dark pools of solidified blood stuck to the walls, the floor—my entire cell is covered. The girls who came before me are no more. Their stories are over. It was gruesome, the stuff of your nightmares.
Not me, though—he kept me.
One letter changed my destiny of certain death. It was never in me to give up easily. I’ve always been a fighter. He never saw me coming, and he never knew my strength. He was not what I expected either.
His strength.
His calmness.
Or his kindness.
He was my captor…
Her screams echo through the night, piercing me right in my chest. My pulse accelerates with excitement. It’s like a whisper to my heart. The crisp air wraps around me. Her dirty scent hits my nostrils, and my nose wrinkles in disgust. My eyes hold their gaze on the back of her head, staring at her, but not actually seeing her. I watch her hand tremble while she writes her farewell letter—the signature to my killings.
“P-p-p-please let me go.” She hiccups as she begs.
I shine my flashlight right in her face, her hands immediately come up, covering her eyes from its brightness. Her grimy, red, tear-stained face looks up at mine, and I see the hope she holds in her big brown eyes. She’s got no idea she won’t be going anywhere. Here you are, and here you’ll die. She’s weak and pathetic. Didn’t have much fight from the start—nothing but crying and begging. That only makes me want to kill her quicker, but I can’t stray from the normal plan, the one I was taught.
Laughter erupts from my throat. “Have you finished?” I ask deadpan whilst her bottom lip tremors. My upper body swells with happiness. Her matted hair falls around her face as her head drops. Once I’m rid of this toy, I’ll be glad to search for another.
Will I ever get enough of the pleasure this gives me?
Their screams are my songs of the night. Their tears are the rain through the day, which makes the green field brighter. Their begging eyes cause my heart to beat faster, but in the best way.
The girl with shaking hands holds up a piece of crumpled paper, and I shine the flashlight on it to read. Their goodbye letters are all the same. It showcases their weaknesses. I love it. I thrive on it.
Dear Mom and Dad,
I’m sorry. Sorry for all the stupid things I did and for not listening to you. I don’t know if I’ll ever see you again. He won’t let me go. I’m so scared. I love you both.
Love, Rebecca
The black ink smudges on the page from her blubbering tears, smudging the shaky handwriting, most of which is now almost unrecognizable. My lips twist in an evil grin.
She has never seen my face, only my eyes and mouth, thanks to the ski mask protecting my identity. Holding the flashlight firmly under my arm, I fold the paper up and place it in an envelope, tucking it away in my jacket pocket for later, all the while she continues to sob uncontrollably. I can’t take it anymore. Frustration bubbles within me.
Without warning, I shout, “Run!”
She jumps back in fright. She won’t make it very far, especially with the open cuts on the soles of her feet.
This game is fun.
She attempts to scurry upright, only making it about ten steps before I pull out the gun I have tucked in the back of my jeans. It’s familiar as my fingers curl around the hilt.
Taking aim… ready… fire.
The trigger pull drops the hammer, and the bullet leaves the barrel on its path, sending the kill shot echoing out into the empty night. I know I haven’t missed when she collapses in an unmoving heap on the ground.
Silence fills the crisp night air and, a deep satisfaction washes over me. Closing my eyes, I can hear faint spluttering from her. The final moments of her life. Slowly I walk toward to her. With my boot, I push her body over. Her eyes beg me to help her. I stand before her, taking pleasure in her pain. Bit by bit I watch the life drain from her body. Finally she takes her last breath and, now it’s too quiet. I need my music of the night.
Time to find my next plaything.
“Elenore!”
I cringe at the booming voice echoing through the door of my boss’s office. Quickly, I scurry off my chair, grabbing my notebook to take down what tasks she needs done today. My job of assistant to the editor isn’t for the faint-hearted.
I step into her large spacious office, probably the size of my living room and kitchen together, with my pen at the ready. “Yes, Ms. Vi.” She prefers everyone call her Ms. Vi, short for Violet. Her name matches the color of her hair. Violet’s a funky hipster type who manages a magazine for teenagers. Forever You touches on all the subjects girls want to read about, like how to achieve your first orgasm, or how to break up with the boy who really isn’t right for you. Although, right now,
I’m sure I know what she’s about to ask me… about Rebecca. I haven’t heard from her. I don’t have the answers for her.
Ms. Vi stands in front of a rack of clothing, if that was what you could call those outfits. There’s more material on me than there is dangling on the entire rack, and I definitely don’t dress like a grandma. Today I’m wearing a fire engine red pencil skirt, which sits slightly above the knee, with a cream button-up close-fitting blouse.
“Where are those pictures from the shoot yesterday? And where is Rebecca? It’s been a week! She needs to be here. I rely on her for these photo shoots, especially this close to publishing the next issue.” Her fingers snap while she’s throwing questions my way, peering over the top of her rectangular-shaped glasses, as she does on a daily basis.
“I placed the photos on your desk before I left last night. I’ve been trying to reach Rebecca daily for the last week. I’ve even rang her parents and they haven’t spoken to her either.” Worry consumes me when it comes to Rebecca, because I don’t know where she might be. She’s been a loyal friend since I started here. I certainly hope she’s all right. I even went to her apartment last night and nothing.
Peering over at Violet’s desk, I spy the red envelope with the photographs enclosed inside it. Her OCD tendency has made the office basically a color-coded nightmare. Red is urgent. Yellow is important, and she has a day to get the job done. Green is routine, and she has a week to complete. Orange is employee payroll, and blue is all messages taken and phone calls she has received and needs to return.
“Well, she won’t have a job when she returns. Now, bring those photos to me.” Acid soaks her words as she continues to scroll through the clothes on the rack, appearing not to pay any interest toward Rebecca.
Violet has a way of making people feel belittled, and after the upbringing I’ve had, I’m accustomed to being spoken down to. It’s become second nature to me. Throughout the past few years, I’ve learned to stand up for myself. It’s taken some time to be able to do it, but we all grow eventually.
Confidently, I move to her large white desk and take the bright colored envelope, holding it up. “Right here, like I said.” She turns, looking at me with distaste in her stare. It’s a look that’s all too familiar.
“Oh… thank you. I’ll get to those shortly. Could you book Charles for another shoot? Go grab me one of those vegan rolls from the café down the street and a coffee. Thank you, Elle.”
Sometimes I catch the smallest twinge on her lips when I show her up on something I’ve already done. In those moments, my head blows up a little bigger and pride beats its way through me. Right now, I can see one of those lip twinges.
“Sure, not a problem.” I smile, and as quickly as I scurried into the room, I leave. Violet doesn’t take very well to time wasters.
The two girls who came before me were “lazy, and a waste of space,” to use her exact words. They didn’t listen to her instructions and always messed things up. Needless to say, they left in tears, and the last one pre-warned me that I most likely wouldn’t last longer than a week. One thing she didn’t know about me was I’m very good at taking instructions and getting what needs to be done, done. You don’t grow up in the home I did and not build upon those attributes, or I would have ended up sore from yet another flogging from my parents.
I glance out the office window where it’s pouring rain and droplets slid down the glass. Trust Violet to pick today for a vegan roll. I swear she purposely waits until there’s a raging storm with thunder, lightning, rain, and unleashed wind determined to render me helpless under whatever pitiful shelter I can seek on my way to the store. I slip off my simple black high heels and put on the flip-flops I carry around in my handbag for days like this. It was sunny and warm when I walked out of my apartment door—but in New York, you have to be prepared for any kind of weather.
While walking and clutching the umbrella with one hand, I pull out my company cell with the other. When I started working at the magazine, I paid out my previous phone, because I got this one for free. Plus, it’s not as though I have a massive social life. Actually, my social life reminds me of high school—the kids never liked me. Now, I only have a few friends, but I do think it’s for different reasons. My job, for one—I’m always busy and drop everything to take a call from Violet. I’m a pleaser, and it’s how I’ve always been, though it doesn’t help out in the friends department.
My finger hits Suzie’s name, and after a few seconds, it begins to ring. I hug the umbrella close and hold it low, trying to save my skirt from getting too wet. It’s one of my favorites.
After two rings, her sweet shaky voice comes through the line, and it’s like a warm hug every time I hear it. It gives me the sense everything in my life is okay, and I’m doing good.
“Hello, Elenore,” she answers joyfully, greeting me like she always does.
“What? How did you know it was me?” Suzie is old school and still has a corded phone.
“Who else is going to call me?” Her laughter brings a smile to my lips.
“It could have been a telemarketer?” I raise my voice, to speak over the noise of the traffic in the street.
She huffs at my suggestion. “No, dear, they wouldn’t be calling me anytime soon. I gave one a bit of a fright the other day when he called. I had him tripping over his words by the end of the chat.”
I giggle, shaking my head. “So what did you say to scare this kid?” I ask, not helping myself. I’m also a little afraid of her response. My foot splashes in another ankle-deep puddle, and again, I’m thankful for my flip-flops, although as the rain comes in on an angle it sprays the bottom half of my outfit. Just great!
“I told him that unless he has something that can help me get to the toilet quicker, so I wouldn’t have to wear a massive diaper, then he should stop calling me, and I told him to take me off the caller’s list. I disconnected after that before I lost all control.”
Laughter bursts between us. Only Suzie would say something so crass.
“Oh my goodness! You actually said that?”
“Yes, I did.” I hear the boastfulness in her tone—she’s so damn proud of herself.
“Good on you, Suzie. You make my days so much better.”
“Always out to put a smile on your face, my little Ellie.” I could hear the happiness in the words she spoke to me.
“Are we still on for dinner tomorrow night?” Every week, I go to her place for dinner and a chat—it’s our thing. Suzie’s like a mother to me. She’s seen me at my worst, and when I was younger, Suzie spoke for me when I had no voice. Days when I was being beaten in my backyard, she’d call out to whichever parent was handing out the punishment. It was as though she didn’t care what they thought of her, or how much they bellowed abusive statements at her. She didn’t quit. Suzie truly saved me.
“Are you there, Elenore?”
It’s then I realize I’m standing in front of the café, gripping the umbrella to my chest.
Clearing my tight throat. “Yeah, I’m here. Sorry, got caught in the past.”
“Forget those times, Ellie. You’re beautiful. So, dinner tomorrow night?” She knows at the mention of my past, it’s mostly not good, but Suzie has her way of always making me feel better, with her kind words.
“Yes. I’ll pick something up on my way home tomorrow.” Stepping under the awning cover of the café, I collapse the umbrella and give it a bit of a shake before I step inside.
“Okay, dear, see you then. Have a good day.” We say our goodbyes. I stow my phone away in my bag.
The café if full, and as always, busy. It’s a rustic kind of environment with wood benches and very unique styling choices. They have a table set screwed to the roof—it truly is amazing, and I love it. The food here is all healthy, which is why Violet mostly likes eating from this place.
Digging through my purse for my wallet, I step forward right into the back of a solidly built man in a navy blue suit.
“Oh, I’m so so
rry,” I quickly apologize for my clumsiness.
He spins around, and his captivating eyes meet mine. His gaze moves up and down my body. I feel very vulnerable to his stare, so much so that my face heats with embarrassment.
“That’s okay. At least I don’t have my coffee yet to have it spilled all over me.” He grins, his tone smooth, yet filled with playful sarcasm. He’s dreamy all right. His suit is tailored to fit his body perfectly. Stop, Elenore.
“I am sorry,” I repeat. “But I’m relieved you don’t have your coffee either because that means I’d have to pay for the cleaning job on that suit, and I’m not sure it’s something I could afford.” I nervously giggle while the insides of my chest feel as though they might explode.
He towers over my short frame of five foot five. I’m not one who typically chats with god-like, sexy-and-tall-as-hell guys. It’s rather daunting standing here before him. I’m highly aware of how self-conscience I’m feeling under his heavy stare.
A flicker of something unrecognizable dances in his pools of green-brown. Glancing up at him, he gifts me another sexy grin. My insides flutter with delight. “Don’t worry. I’m not a monster. I wouldn’t do that.”
Laughing, I respond, “I’m glad.” Opening my mouth to speak, I hear a name called. “Blackwood!”
“Yep!” He raises his hand toward the lady holding out a takeaway coffee cup.
While he collects his order, I use this moment to pull my thoughts together and catch my breath. He stole it the moment our eyes met.
This is such a foreign emotion flowing through me. How does a man I’ve accidently run into cause this reaction? It must be my stupid head playing games with me. It’s good at that, which is why I never listen to it. My heart has always kept me guarded and out of trouble.
“Hey, Elle, you ordering for Violet?”
I twist in the direction my name was called from. I’m greeted with a friendly face—Tara. She’s worked at this café for as long as I can remember.
“Hey, Tara… yeah, just the usual please.”
