by Kitty Thomas
“Shut up, Ralph.” He should have kept that goddamned bird at the office.
Lindsay searched the bedroom, the bathroom, the balcony, even the closets. No Shannon. His emotions warred between anger and fear. He'd told her to go to his room. What if he'd miscalculated her willingness to try again... or her ability? What if she had a second stash of pills hidden away?
He raced down the stairs, not sure where she'd go. Maybe the pool? Would she fling herself into the pool? No, that seemed unlikely. It was an awful way to die.
The spa was the last place he'd discovered her, so it was the first place he looked. He let out a sigh of relief when he found her there, alive and well and not looking particularly suicidal—at least for the moment. The relief turned quickly to anger.
“I thought I told you to go to my room,” he said, not caring about the cold ice that seeped into his voice. Did she not take him seriously? Somehow the desire not to damage her further and the guilt over her current state came in a distant second to the urge to make sure she never underestimated him again.
“I didn't think you'd want the flowers lying out overnight,” she said, carefully avoiding his gaze.
He'd forgotten about the flowers. Shannon stood near the desk arranging the second bouquet in one of the large vases. The other one she'd already done while he'd been in the kitchen. She was right. They would have been wilted by morning.
“You didn't know there were fresh flowers. You were unconscious. So why did you come down here instead of going up to my room like I told you?”
She shrugged. “I just... didn't.”
That wasn't going to work for him. Lindsay sat in one of the large red chairs in the waiting area and folded his arms over his chest.
“I'll wait while you finish. Then you have a punishment coming.”
She looked up, startled. The first real, solid fear on her face since she'd regained consciousness.
“You wouldn't... not after tonight...”
“Why not after tonight? I should punish you for that, too. Especially that.”
She just stared at him. “How is it even possible that you're a doctor? You think punishing somebody for trying to kill themselves is the way to go?”
“I'm open to trying new experimental therapies,” Lindsay said. In truth, he did sort of want to beat her back into living. As wrong as that thought was, he felt something dramatic must be done or she might somehow just float away. She barely even seemed real now. Wispy. Like a shadow or a ghost, barely tethered to this reality by the thinnest of strings.
And either way, he wasn't acting as a doctor. He was acting as a person. And he was certain that when somebody you cared for tried to off themselves, it was quite normal to want to shake them or smack it out of them. He wasn't sure that would work, but he wasn't sure it wouldn't, either. It wasn't as if it was on the list of approved therapies.
And it wasn't as if this was the first time he'd gone off script. Bringing your patients to a slave training house wasn't exactly on the approved therapies list either.
Shannon seemed to be dragging her feet now, making the flower arranging take far longer than it should. Even he wasn't this fussy.
“Had you intended to come upstairs to my room after you finished with the flowers?”
She focused intently on a brightly colored day lily with a flush of deep orange in the center of the bloom. “Yes, Sir.”
“Don't lie to me.”
She looked at him for several long seconds, then looked away again. “I-I don't know.”
“Hmmm. And what did you expect to happen if you disobeyed me?”
She shrugged. “I don't know why you're doing this.”
“Doing what?”
“Training me.”
Was that what he was doing?
Yes. It was exactly what he was doing. And even as he did it, he knew it couldn't make up for the fact that he hadn't done it eight years ago when she'd first come to the house—before Brian had gotten his hands on her.
“Did you put the flower food in?”
“Yes, Sir.” She finished putting the flowers in the vase and started to clean up the mess of broken stems and leaves and paper and plastic wrapping. “Why are you bothering? Is it some sort of consolation prize? Do you think if you give me the echo of what I could have had that I won't try to hurt myself again? We both know it's not real. You and me.”
She turned and put the trash in the bin next to the desk.
“Have you ever stopped to consider that maybe I just want you?”
She laughed out loud. It was an eerie chilling sound in the middle-of-the-night silence of the house. “Sure you do. You've never touched me. You've never looked at me... that way. But just all of a sudden tonight, you want me. Please. I'm not your pity fuck.”
Lindsay stood. “Come with me.”
Shannon eyed him warily. “Where are we going?”
“You know where we're going. We're going downstairs.”
It took mere moments for her entire demeanor to change. A terrified prey stillness fell over her. Then all at once, she started to cry. Her shoulders began to shake. If he let himself, he could allow the guilt to stop him. He could go back to the same weakness he'd lived perpetually in where she was concerned.
“Please, not down there. I can't go down there.” It had taken so very little time for her please to turn from derisive to desperate.
“You haven't been down there since that day, have you?”
She shook her head. “I-I can't go down there.”
Of course once it had been decided that she couldn't be sold, there would be no need to punish her. She'd been down in the dungeons only that one time. Shannon didn't get punishments because what would be the point? She was part of the staff now, and none of the rest of the staff got punished. Though Phyllis had a few close calls in the early days.
Shannon didn't move toward the door, so Lindsay moved into her space instead. He stood mere inches from her. “Look at me.”
She looked up. “I'm sorry. Please. W-why would you do this to me? Y-you can't. Please you can't.” The last part came out on a whisper.
Yesterday's Lindsay couldn't. And look what a mess of things he'd made. Today's Lindsay could and would. Every time he showed weakness, she got hurt.
If he'd taken her from the beginning Brian never would have touched her. If he had taken her at any point beyond that, she wouldn't have swallowed a bottle of pills. From now on, he was going against all his instincts—or maybe listening to them for the first time. Because everything inside him had screamed to take her. And that voice had gotten louder every time he'd been in her presence trying to shove his desires deep into his subconscious.
Maybe it hadn't just been the guilt, but the fear that he would lose control... and just take what he wanted. And how could he do that to her on top of everything else?
Now it seemed all bets were off. She'd already tried to take her own life. How much worse could it get? Was he risking she'd get more hopeless or depressed? If anything, maybe a little pain would do her some good—distract her from her self-pity... give her something new and more all-encompassing to focus on.
Like his exacting demands.
“The lines I'm now willing to cross with you, kitten, just moved so far away, they disappear behind the horizon.”
“W-why? Why now?”
“Life is short. If not now, when?”
“You're scaring me.” She'd put the desk between them. As if furniture could stop him now.
“Good. Maybe it means you want to live. Do you want to live, Shannon?”
“Y-yes. Please. Please, I don't know what I did...”
“Yes you do. You disobeyed me.”
“I'm sorry. I-I won't do it again.”
“Probably not.” He held out a hand to her. She shrank back. For a moment he was torn between hurt and offense. “I'm not Brian. Let's go.”
60
Shannon didn't know what else to do but go with him. She didn't have
the energy to run. She was making a good show of it, but after her near brush with death she felt so ambivalent that the mere act of existence, let alone fleeing to save herself, seemed foreign.
For years now, the house's attitude toward her had been almost entirely one of expedience—whatever made her easiest to deal with. Up until now, this meant placating her, throwing her some small bone of attention now and then like a neglected dog. So when Lindsay had threatened to take her to the dungeon, she'd been convinced it was all talk—something to scare her, something to make her compliant and easy to deal with.
But when he'd said it in the spa, the look in his eyes... shit he was serious. That was the moment Lindsay had gone from being weak and nonthreatening to the most frightening presence in her world. She still didn't know how that gulf had been bridged in such a short time. Or how she'd gone from sullen sarcasm to the abject terror that made her blood run like ice through her veins.
The most fucked-up part was how her body was suddenly reacting to him. She hadn't had this reaction since she'd been his patient in the city. Didn't she hate him? How could her body be betraying her like this? His hand was so large and warm and solid wrapped around hers. And all she wanted was for that hand to grab hold of other parts of her. She wanted to feel that warm solid hand between her legs or wrapped around her throat holding her in place against the wall as he fucked her.
Shannon tried to stop the thoughts, but it only made them darker and more persistent. She couldn't stop staring at the sleek muscles of his back, or the way the pajama pants he wore rode so low on his hips.
She still didn't understand what all of this was about. Was this just for tonight?
“Please, Sir, let's go upstairs. I-I'll do whatever you want.” Great, Shannon. Frame it like you're trying to save yourself. It might make the pill go down easier.
Because she absolutely could not let herself be attracted to him. If she didn't frame this like a sacrifice and convince herself completely... No. She just wouldn't go there. She was officially shutting down that part of her mind.
Don't forget he brought you here. He stole your life. He knew all about Brian. He didn't warn you. It's his fault. He took everything from you.
None of that seemed to matter now that her mind had reopened the possibility of him inside her. All the old fantasies began spinning through her mind again no matter how hard she tried to shut it down.
“I told you, I wasn't fucking you tonight.” the calm in his voice felt like a lie hiding a terrifying intensity beneath the surface.
Why did not fucking her suddenly sound like the threat?
“I hate you,” she said. She needed to hear it out loud. She needed to believe it was still true because this... this shift... had happened too quickly for her to keep up.
“You'll get over it soon enough,” he said, as he continued to guide her to her fate.
Suddenly he took your life, kept bumping up against he saved you... twice. What if she didn't want to be saved?
But what if she did?
When they reached the stairs that led down to the dungeons, all the memories started crowding into her mind. She could practically feel Brian's hot breath in her ear as he whispered the awful things he would do to her to... fix her. As if she'd been broken before he'd gotten his hands on her.
Shannon tugged back to free herself from Lindsay's grasp. She dug her heels in as if this could stop him. “Please!” It was a panicked shriek this time.
In response, the doctor scooped her up and carried her down the rest of the stairs.
“N-not Cell A. Please. Not Cell A.” Like it made any difference which room he took her to. They were all marked by Brian's violent energy.
Lindsay opened Cell C, stepped inside, and set her down on her feet. He retrieved a key from his pocket and locked them in together.
She backed away until she reached the stone wall. It felt solid against her back, so much more solid than she felt right now. “I-I think I'm having a panic attack,” she gasped. The room kept seeming to shrink and grow and change shape. The one bare bulb in the room at once seemed both two bright and too dim.
Surely a panic attack would bring him back to his senses.
“It won't kill you. If you give into it every single time, it will gain more and more power over you. I made a big mess, Shannon. I'll admit that. The things I've done or failed to do where you're concerned... I don't deserve to be forgiven for it, but that method obviously didn't work. We're trying something else. Call it... exposure therapy.”
She'd never been truly scared of the doctor before. She'd hated him, but she'd never been afraid. She'd never feared anyone in this house but Brian. But now, all that was changing.
He moved to stand beside a St. Andrew's cross and pointed to it.
“Please, n-not that.”
“Was this the equipment Brian used?”
“Yes, Sir.”
“Did he use any other equipment?”
“N-no, Sir.”
“Did he use anything on you besides a knife and a whip?”
“No, Sir.”
“What kind of whip?”
“S-single tail. B-bullwhip.” Could she not stop stuttering? She should remember after Brian that showing weakness was the worst thing she could do. Fear, weakness, screaming, begging, it had all been like a drug to Brian.
She couldn't stop hearing the sickening crack of the whip, or feeling the slice of the knife—somehow a thousand times worse than the whip. All that blood. So much blood. She'd thought she was going to die. Finally it stopped. Somehow she knew she'd been left to die. He was bored with her, and she was beyond fixing. She'd been moving in and out of consciousness when strong arms had wrapped around her and carried her out of the dungeon.
Lindsay.
Her last thought before she'd lost consciousness again had been, you're too late. She wasn't sure how she felt about being wrong in that prediction.
“Shannon, stay with me.”
She looked up, trying to slam the door closed on those memories. They just kept coming back no matter what she did. No matter how she tried to coax them into staying hidden away in the dark corners where they belonged, they always slithered out to meet her.
She'd thought with time they would fade. Time didn't heal wounds. It was a lie. But she'd been sure that with time she wouldn't be so terrified of Brian. That day never came, and the nightmares had only gotten worse. Why was the doctor always just in time? Why couldn't he have been too late?
“I will never use any of those things with you,” Lindsay said.
What did he mean never? Did he plan on bringing her down here again after tonight? She didn't understand any of this. What did this mean? Did he think he was going to somehow make her want to live by pretending he wanted her?
He didn't want her. She knew he didn't. They both knew he didn't. The mangled mess Brian had made of her back, her shoulders... some marks straying around and hugging her hips and waist... nobody could ever want her after that. She'd seen it in the eyes of the trainers at the house. They didn't think she noticed, but she did.
Lindsay was no different. He'd never even pretended with her. He'd never touched her when her skin was perfect and unmarred, why would he want to start now?
Suddenly her legs didn't want to support her anymore. She slid to the ground.
“You can't do this. Y-you'll break me.”
As if he cared. Nobody needed to make money off of her so it hardly mattered if she was a functional human being. They didn't need her for the spa. Not really. They could figure something out. After all, what had their plan been before Brian had done his damage? Surely they'd had some alternate idea for how to keep the spa going. The spa had already been there, set up and ready to go when she'd arrived at the house. It wasn't as though their plans had hinged on her being there.
The doctor stared at her for a long time and sighed. “You're already broken. I tried to look the other way for so long, and I can't anymore.” He paused and look
ed away as if lost in his own haunted thoughts. When he turned back to her, the intensity in his eyes was even stronger than before.
He spoke more softly, “There's no other way out but through, Shannon. I think you know that.”
He was doing that thing again. That thing where he sounded so reasonable and like a doctor. Lindsay somehow managed to make everything he said sound like it was the best possible solution to anything. Even when it was the worst. Even when it was completely insane. Like coming to the house.
With that low soothing gravel-voice and the attentiveness at all the right places... The way he seemed to really listen when you talked. That was some active listening bullshit they taught them at Shrink Camp. Pretend like you give a shit—like you care about helping them. Then cash their check and drive your fancy car. Laugh all the way to the bank. Live your life of comfort and luxury on top of the ruins of the psyches you've broken with all your help.
He had always been there... pretending. Didn't shrinks always do that? Weren't they pretending? You felt like they were your friend. But they weren't. They were being paid to make you feel that way.
“Please don't pretend you care about me. I can't take it,” Shannon said. She hadn't bothered to try to get back up. Too much had happened tonight. She was so exhausted. She wanted to sleep for a hundred years.
“I do care. I stayed away because I thought it would be better for you. Now everything is so broken, I can't possibly make it worse. So I'm doing things my way. To hell with everything. I don't think I even care anymore what the right thing is where you're concerned. I just want what I want. And if you think you're going to slip through my fingers and out of this life before I've had the opportunity to...”
“To what?”
But he didn't finish the thought. She thought she knew what he'd meant to say in that empty space. It was as though the thoughts were so loud that they filled up the room between them, shouting in the stillness. She thought he was going to say he wanted to fuck her. At least he was making a good show of wanting to. She just didn't know what was real anymore. All she knew was... he couldn't really want her, not when there were so many much younger women at the house he could have his pick of.
