Survival Games

by J. E. Taylor

  She nodded and followed the wave of his hand toward the back of the house. Eric looked up from the table, closing his math book and tucking it away in his backpack.

  “Eric this is, um, Mrs, Miss Sheehan?” He looked at her for help.

  She smiled. “Ms. But you can call me LeAnn,” she said to Eric and sat down. “Do you mind if I talk with you for a while?”

  “Sure,” Eric said.

  Daniel just stood there.

  “I’d like to talk with Eric alone for a bit. You said you also have a daughter?”

  Daniel nodded.

  “I’ll sit down with her after Eric and I talk a while.” She smiled and tilted her head for him to leave.

  “Oh,” Daniel said, getting the hint. He left the room.

  * * * *

  LeAnn looked at Eric. “Tell me about your mom?”

  Eric looked up at her with his sweet brown eyes inherited from his mother. “She’s sleeping now,” he said. “The bad man was watching her again today.”

  “Where is she?”

  Eric studied the tabletop for a minute and his brow furrowed trying to best describe the concrete prison that held his mother. “I’m not sure but it looks like the basement before Dad made rooms down there.”

  LeAnn nodded. “What does the bad man do?”

  “He likes to hurt people.” Tears blurred his vision. “He wants to hurt my mom.” His brow creased and he got a hint of LeAnn’s thoughts.

  Jesus, this is a little more detailed than any other denial fantasy I’ve encountered. How do I handle this? LeAnn put her arm around his shoulder. “It will be okay, Eric.”

  He raised his eyebrows, looking at her as if she had two heads. “No it won’t.”

  Not unless I can get her to open that door. However, he wasn’t about to tell a stranger about the door deep inside his mother. Somehow, her capture triggered his abilities. His ability to hear other’s thoughts had been supercharged the minute she was grabbed in the parking lot. Now he didn’t need to concentrate to hear what people were thinking, it was constant background noise in his head and he could open the door in his mind at will, like he had with his mother’s hands the other night. His door didn’t scare him the way hers did. She possessed both the power to heal and a much darker more dangerous power.

  He lowered his eyes and studied his knuckles.

  LeAnn took a deep breath. “Eric.” She tilted his chin so he was looking at her. “Your mom is in heaven now and I know this is very hard for you to understand, but sooner or later, you will need to accept it.” She touched his face. “This fantasy that you have concocted in your mind may seem real, but it isn’t, honey.”

  “I don’t want to talk with you anymore.” He got up to leave the room.

  “Eric?”

  He turned. “What?”

  “I’m here anytime you need to talk.”

  He nodded and walked out of the room.

  * * * *

  LeAnn drew a deep breath. Eric was only seven yet he seemed to hold the world on his shoulders, and when reality set in, it would be very tough on the little guy. Her heart went out to him.

  Daniel walked in with Emily.

  “Emily, this is LeAnn. She’s a grief counselor and I thought it would be good if you and Eric talked to her.” He pulled out the chair for his daughter and pushed it in to the table after she sat. Daniel nodded and left the room.

  Emily sat with her arms crossed, her lips pressed together in annoyance.

  “Tell me about your mother.”

  “She’s dead.” Emily glared at LeAnn.

  “I know, but tell me the things you remember about her.”

  Emily’s eyes softened a little. “She used to laugh a lot. She was a lot more fun than Dad.” Her chin started to quiver. “I miss her.” The tears came.

  LeAnn covered Emily’s hand with her own.

  “When will it stop hurting?”

  LeAnn closed her eyes. “Honey, it never does completely stop, it just gets easier with each day that passes. And as it gets easier, you can begin to cherish the time you had with her more and more.”

  “Dad finally packed her things yesterday.” She looked down at her hands. “I used to go into the closet and run my hands over her clothes, it made me feel better. Now there is nothing left of hers to do that with.”

  “Did you talk to your father about that?”

  “I can’t talk to him about anything,” she said, her eyes held her pain.

  “You can talk to me anytime you need to.” LeAnn smiled and handed Emily her card.

  Emily nodded taking the card. “Thank you,” she whispered. “Can I go now?”

  LeAnn nodded. “Send your father in, please.”

  Daniel walked into the kitchen. She motioned for him to sit and he ignored the invitation. “Would you like a cup of coffee?” he asked instead, heading over to the coffee pot and pouring himself a cup.

  “Sure.”

  “How do you take it?”

  “Cream and sugar,” she said.

  “Do you mind flavored creamer?” He asked, pulling the vanilla creamer from the refrigerator showing it to her.

  “My favorite.”

  Daniel mixed the coffee. “Jess didn’t drink coffee,” he said and put her cup in front of her, taking the seat across the table. “I live on the stuff.”

  “Me too,” LeAnn said and took a sip. “Tell me about her.”

  Daniel leaned back in his chair and looked out the back door. “Jess and I, we could talk to each other about anything and she certainly knew how to make me laugh.” He paused and allowed a smile to form. “I can’t imagine never seeing her again.” He looked back at LeAnn and his smile faded away. “I miss her.”

  LeAnn nodded. “I understand completely. I lost my husband almost two years ago and I still feel the things you’re talking about. It does get easier with time, but...” she trailed off.

  Daniel laughed bitterly. “Aren’t you supposed to tell me that I will get over it? I will live again and love again? Isn’t that your job? ”

  “Not really,” LeAnn said. “I’m here to help you accept her death so you can move forward with your life.”

  Daniel stared into his coffee, then back up at her, and nodded. “How are the kids doing?”

  “Emily is doing amazingly well. Sure, she’s angry, but that’s healthy and understandably, she misses her mom. She was very upset with you for cleaning out your wife’s things. They were a comfort for her,” LeAnn said.

  Daniel closed his eyes and lowered his head. “I thought that would make it easier.”

  “It was the right thing to do.” LeAnn took another sip of her coffee, her pink lipstick staining the side of the cup.

  Daniel stared at the lipstick mark and something stirred inside him. He pushed the inappropriate thoughts out of his mind and looked back into her green eyes.

  “But Eric is another story. While it is normal for younger children to make up fantasies when in denial, I’m just a little worried at the vividness of his fantasy. He seems to think a bad man has your wife and is going to hurt her. That is a tough fantasy to stomach, especially since he already knows how it ends.”

  Silence blanketed the kitchen. Daniel’s coffee cup stalled halfway to his mouth as the reality of her words set in. He slowly lowered the cup, staring at her; the horror of the accident would be nothing in comparison to his son’s final fantasy.

  “Jesus.”

  LeAnn inhaled. “I’d like to come by a couple times a week to talk to them for the next month or so and then we can assess how often you need me after that. Does that work with your schedule?”

  Daniel thought it would be good for his children to have someone to talk to and he nodded consent.

  Chapter 8

  Jessica moaned, her stiff muscles protested reminding her she over exerted yesterday. She rolled off the mattress onto the concrete floor, crawling to the bathroom. With gargantuan effort, she hauled herself onto the toilet and then stumbled into the
shower. Jessica dialed the water to the scalding point with the hopes it would loosen her muscles. Water pulsed on her shoulders and drizzled down her back and legs. After close to an hour, she stepped out, her muscles a little looser, enough so that each step wasn’t drawing a wince. She wrapped a towel around herself and brushed her teeth before looking around for clothing. No clothes anywhere and her heart leaped into her throat.

  She tightened the towel and limped back into the room. He was leaning against the wall waiting for her holding a slinky black dress. His blue eyes scanned her in a way that made her heart palpitate.

  Bedroom eyes.

  The words pinged through her brain trying to locate the source of the déjà vu.

  “Put this on,” he said and tossed her the dress.

  Jessica caught the garment and looked from him to the black fabric and back. All the hussies in the videos he showed her wore garbs like this. “I don’t think so.” She tossed it back.

  He grabbed the dress out of the air and stormed to where she stood. “Put it on,” he bellowed and towered over her.

  “No,” Jessica growled up at him doing her best to keep the thread of fear from her voice.

  He dropped the outfit and grabbed her by the throat, slamming her against the wall.

  The towel began to slip and she kept it in place with one hand despite the fury welling, drowning the fear. She swung her other fist at him and he caught her arm mid-punch, pinning it to the wall.

  His bright angry eyes flashed when they locked with hers and the air between them shifted, heating to the point Jessica broke out in a light sweat. Having him this close was like standing a foot from a raging forest fire.

  Her breath labored against the grip around her throat and he let go. She gasped, inhaling much needed oxygen and he snatched the hand holding the towel, slamming it to the wall by her head, mirroring her other arm in his grasp.

  The towel fell and the smile that spread over his lips made Jessica shiver. He stared her down, before his eyes dropped, appraising her and when they met her defiant glare again a jolt as strong as the electric chair raced through her.

  He pulled her arms over her head and clamped down on her wrists with one hand. She struggled to pull free, but his grip was too strong. He ran his free hand down her arm and over her breasts, desire flared in his eyes.

  “Beg,” he demanded.

  “It’s not like you’re Smallville and I had reason to beg,” she spat at him. “Get your hands off me you twisted freak.”

  His eyes narrowed and his nostrils flared. Enraged, he flung her toward the middle of the room.

  The shock of the hard concrete meeting the curve of her hip ripped a yelp from her chest along with the air from her lungs. She rolled on her back willing her body to move, to breathe, to get the hell away from the determined set of his eyes.

  He swept the dress off the floor and towered over her within seconds, frightening her into action.

  Jessica swung her feet and kicked him squarely in the balls, rolling away before he collapsed to his knees, a low groan emitting from his lips and his eyes filled with tears he blinked back.

  She stood, a nasty plum colored bruise covered her hip.

  “You bitch!”

  Jessica didn’t wait for him to regain his senses—she launched herself in his direction with a roar, her hands clenched in tight fists, swinging.

  He moved quickly, much quicker than she anticipated, parrying to block her punches and spinning her around. His elbow caught the side of her face, dazing her as he swept her feet from under her, bringing her to the ground hard. He pinned her to the floor and glared at her with his lips clamped together into a tight thin line. “Cut the shit.”

  His deep voice as menacing as a hungry lion shredding his prey and Jessica paused but the change in his eyes renewed her efforts. He hauled her to her feet and dragged her toward the chair.

  She clawed and kicked at him but was unable to break his grasp and he slammed both wrists into the shackles on the arms of the chair strapping her in. She kicked, connecting with his shin.

  “Fuck!” Muttering under his breath, he overpowered her and locked her feet in the straps before stepping back to catch his breath.

  Her breasts heaved as she tried to do the same. Screaming in frustration, she struggled to break free. Her guttural cry echoed in the concrete room.

  He glared at her through tousled hair and lowered his gaze to his arms, inspecting the gouges she left behind. Inhaling deeply, he closed his eyes and tilted his head to the ceiling, sighing before he met her angry stare.

  “Why couldn’t you just put the goddamn dress on?”

  “I’m not one of your slutty sex toys!”

  His eyebrows rose and he broke out in a genuine smile, a laugh trickling out, full and musical, the kind of laugh that would catch her attention on the street and produce a smile of her own, but not here. Not now. She gritted her teeth, staring at him.

  His laughter wound down and he reached out to touch her reddening cheek where his elbow had hit.

  She jerked her head away from his hand, flinching. The last thing she wanted was for him to touch her. The good humor in his eyes faded and he paused, his fingers inches from her face. She could feel the heat radiating from them, the electrical current buzzing between his skin and hers. His fingers grazed her cheek and he slowly sank to his knees in front of her. His hand traveled slowly down the line of her neck, his fingers tracing her skin lightly, enough to create a lava flow that ran from his fingertips to between her legs.

  “Get your hands off me, you son of a bitch.” Her voice shook.

  Dimples formed in his cheeks and he pressed his lips together, suppressing what she assumed was the beginning of a smile. Instead of heeding her warning, his hand glided down to her nipples, pausing to run his thumb gently around the tips. Tips that hardened under his touch and he leaned forward, taking her breast in his mouth.

  Her breath quickened, swears pouring out from between her lips and she stared up at the ceiling, unwilling to respond to the inferno burning inside her. The inferno he created with the touch of his hands and the gentle suckling of his lips and tongue. Her hands balled into tight fists, nails digging into her palms as his mouth traveled lower, pausing to play with her belly button, rolling the tip of his tongue inside the small indentation.

  His blue eyes glanced up at her, sparkling with mischief and he chuckled, sliding his hands up her thighs and pushing them apart. “Wild cat, you are my sex toy.”

  His breath tickled, running through the small nest of pubic hair cut in Brazilian fashion. Then his tongue found her and she clamped her mouth shut on the moan that wanted to escape. His technique exquisitely erotic and her body responded, despite her best efforts to squash the glowing fire in the pit of her stomach. She could not let him win. She couldn’t give him the satisfaction of seeing her climax. That would be as good as a death sentence.

  She leaned forward and threw herself back in the wooden chair, hitting the back of her head hard enough to see stars.

  He looked up with wide blue eyes and his mouth dropped open.

  “Not in a million years,” she said and threw herself back again and this time darkness enveloped her.

  * * * *

  Ty sat back on his haunches, tilting his head staring at her slumped unconscious form in the chair, watching as the blooming color in her cheeks faded.

  She knocked herself out. Instead of cumming for me, she knocked herself out. What the fuck?

  He stood, retrieving the dress off the floor and slipped it over her head, unlocking her wrists and ankles and smoothing the silky fabric over her skin. Picking her up, he carried her limp body into one of the studio rooms setting her on the couch. He left and came back with a brush and went about gently working the knots out of her hair.

  God, she is beautiful. Ty looked at her unconscious face, running his fingers along the line of her jaw. He ran his thumb over her lips and on impulse, kissed her.

  What the
hell am I doing?

  He yanked away from her and shook his head. She is a prisoner here, not your girlfriend, he reminded himself and took a deep breath. Crossing the room, he unlocked the cabinet, scanned the contents and grabbed smelling salts. He walked back and studied her, a twinge of something he couldn’t place nagged at him and he dismissed it, waving the smelling salts under her nose, jolting her back into consciousness.

  Jessica sunk deeper in the couch and looked around, her eyes wide and confused.

  The door opened and his brother and stepbrother walked in. Chris Aris looked like the all-American boy, light brown hair, sharp blue eyes and an enviable bronze tan despite the long New England winter. If it wasn’t for Ty’s scar, he and Chris could pass for twins even though they were five years apart.

  Ty’s stepbrother, Frank, was an entirely different story. When Jessica’s gaze landed on his dark, not quite bordering on handsome Italian face, she squirmed in the seat. Ty glanced at him, seeing Frank’s particular brand of cruelty reflected in his irises.

  Ty dumped the smelling salts into the garbage and pointed her way. “Chris, Frank, this is Jessica.”

  “She looks a little bit knocked around already,” Chris said.

  “She put up a fight.” Ty turned toward them.

  They both winced at the scratches covering his arms.

  “Damn.”

  Ty sighed, glancing between his brothers and his prisoner with mixed emotions he didn’t understand. The bottom line, he didn’t want her there with them and he scoffed, tuning away, heading back toward the locked cabinet. Milling around, he pulled out the syringe, filling it with liquid X, plucking the side of the needle with his middle finger, making sure no air bubbles existed. When he turned back, she was actually green with fright. Her wide eyes glued to the needle in his hand. She wrapped her arms tightly around herself and curled her legs up.

  “You guys might want to hold her.”

  Frank and Chris grabbed her off the couch, peeled her arm from her chest and held it out to Ty.

  She whimpered as he stepped closer and he paused, meeting her frightened gaze. Annoyed at his hesitation, he tightened his jaw in determination and slid the needle into her vein, injecting her. When he pulled the needle out, she struggled from their grip and took an unsteady step back.