by Maggie Mundy
This talk was not making Mitch feel any more comfortable. He still wasn’t sure why Kurt was willing to help unless he thought he could get the pictures back.
Mitch shook his head. “I went to his flat and the neighbor said he left last night and hasn’t been back. I wager if I find him, I’ll find Gemma. She said he’d been obsessed with her for ages. We had a blowup at the restaurant a while back and she thought he’d backed off now she was married.”
Kurt sat back on the couch. “We used to go to a place up in the hills. It was a bit run down, but that meant it didn’t matter if we made a mess. He bought the place for his mother. I never met her or his father, for that matter. I don’t remember the address of the place, but I can take you there.”
Mitch stood up, feeling there might be a ray of hope on the horizon. “Let’s go.”
“What, now?” Kurt said, putting his mug down. He folded his arms across his chest and didn’t look too happy.
“If he has Gemma, I don’t want to wait.”
“Are you going to call the police? If what you think is true about Brandon, he hardly seems stable right now.” Kurt was backing out like the coward he was.
“Let’s get there and make sure it’s not just a derelict dump. If he’s there, we’ll call it in. Otherwise, I’ll have to go back to the drawing board and sort this out.”
Chapter Twenty-Five
Gemma shook her head to try to clear the fuzziness. She’d been drunk in her life a few times but didn’t do drugs. There was a clock on the bedside table and the ticking made her head thump like a hammer was bashing away at her brain.
Think, Gemma. You have to get out of here. She remembered Brandon turning up at her old house and then waking up here. She must have passed out after that.
She was strapped in a chair and her mouth was taped. Glancing down at the clothes she wore, she saw it was a floral nightie like a grandma would wear. The thought that Brandon had changed her clothes made her want to vomit. The room looked like a bedroom she would find in an old farmhouse. The old dressing table and quilt cover, plus the freaky beheaded dolls. The place made her feel sick to the stomach. The only good thing was Brandon wasn’t there right now.
She had this awful feeling she might die in this room. There were so many things she wanted to do with her life. She hoped it was not too late.
There was a window across the room, but it was fake, as if the frame was stuck on the wall and the pink floral curtains added. There was a door which she assumed was locked. The bedroom from the movie had been recreated underground. In the movie, it was so people couldn’t hear the victims’ scream.
Her body started to tremble and tears streamed down her cheeks. She wished so many things right now, but the main one was that she should have told Mitch she loved him. For so many years growing up she struggled with the fact she was never good enough for her mother. Gemma loved her brothers, but always knew they could never do any wrong where Mom was concerned. She had come across the country to prove how brave she was, but all she had done to start with was alienate people. She had finally found friends and love.
Since she had met Mitch, her life had turned around. Through learning to love him, she had started to love herself. She had to believe he would find her. Her tears stopped and she wriggled her hands to try to loosen the knots on the rope. It hurt, but they were getting looser. She didn’t know how much time she had before Brandon came back, but she wasn’t going to waste a second.
Her skin would be raw, but she could almost get her right hand free. She gritted her teeth and pulled as hard as she could. If the tape hadn’t been over her mouth, then she would have screamed. Gemma pulled at the knots until her other hand was free and then grabbed the tape across her mouth and pulled it off. Her face stung, but she gasped and took in air through her mouth.
Her wrists were bleeding where the skin was rubbed raw, but they would stop. Her legs were wobbly from being stuck in one position, but she hobbled to the door. As expected, it was locked. Glancing around the room, Gemma looked for something she could use to try to prize it open or as a weapon against Brandon. She had made a decision. She would go down fighting.
There were pictures of a woman on the dressing table. They looked old, as if from a bygone era. The tall woman wore clothes that were glamorous, but there was harshness about the face and the tight line of her lips. Another picture showed the woman with a little boy of about ten. The little boy’s face was pulled in a grimace of pain, and if she looked closer, she could see the woman was pinching his shoulder. It didn’t matter. She could not afford to feel any sympathy for Brandon if he was the boy in the photograph. The pictures were the only personal effect in the room.
The last photo was of a frail old lady sitting in a chair with her head flopped to one side and a vacant stare. She could have been dead for all Gemma knew.
Turning away from the dressing table, she unplugged the bedside lamp. It was heavy and made of brass and glass. She would crack his skull with it, if she could. Gemma placed it by the door. She peered at the curtains. The window was fake but the curtains weren’t. There were metal hooks holding them in place. She unhooked one and started to jiggle it in the lock. No one had ever taught her how to pick a lock, but she would try. The lock clicked and made noises, but still remained stuck. Next time she did research for a film, she would concentrate more. She would be positive and believe she could get out of here and back to her old life again. Her hand shook as she heard steps on the staircase on the other side.
Gemma grabbed the lamp and stood by the door. Her whole body shook and bile entered her throat. She would not vomit, she told herself as she gasped air as fear took over. The handle moved and Brandon entered the room. He was staring straight ahead at the empty chair as she brought the lamp down. The damn thing was so heavy it missed his head but hit his shoulder. He rounded on her and lashed out with his hand. The force of the slap against her face sending her across the room so her head connected with the end of the bed.
Suddenly, the world seemed blurry as if it had a red tinge to it. Gemma lifted her hand to rub her eyes. The effort exhausted her. Her eyes were wet, but she wasn’t crying. The pain reverberated through her head as though her brain was mush. She squinted at her hand in the light of the room and could see a red smear across the back of it. She needed to get up, but the action was beyond her at this moment. Her legs wouldn’t do what they were told. She would black out again, and she couldn’t afford to do that. God knew what Brandon might do when she couldn’t protest.
He kneeled before her and used a handkerchief to wipe away the blood. The pain slashed through her head like a knife when he touched the open wound.
“I knew you’d fight me, but it doesn’t matter. We both know this is the way it’s meant to be. I have waited this long and I can wait a little longer.”
Brandon picked her up and Gemma lashed out with her hands, but the effort took its toll as dizziness rolled over her and bile rose in her throat. He placed her on the bed, grabbed her left hand, and proceeded to tie it to the bed post. Gemma poked at his eyes and scratched his face, and received another slap for her efforts. He stood up and stared down at her. His anger showed as he pursed his lips and wiped the scratches with the handkerchief. He tied her other arm to the bed post as well.
“You’re distressed and hungry. I’ve been remiss as a host and will bring you some food.”
Gemma wriggled as best she could, but this time he had made sure she was well secured. She struggled to keep her head upright and wondered if she had concussion. The bleeding seemed to have stopped for now and the wound stung like hell. Brandon returned with a tray and a bowl of soup. It was like a scene where he thought he was looking after some sick relative.
“You won’t get away with this. People will know I’ve gone missing and be looking for me.”
“If you mean that poor excuse for a husband of yours, that is exactly what I want. When he comes, I’ll kill him and then he won’t bother you anymor
e. You might have fooled others, but I don’t believe there is any love lost between you two.” He scooped a mouthful of the soup up and offered it to her. Gemma turned her head away, but he gripped her chin and made her eat. It dribbled down her chin and he forced her mouth open.
She swallowed the chicken soup and hoped it wasn’t poisoned.
“The police will be looking for me. You won’t get away with this. They’ll lock you up for good.”
“I have already spoken to them. It seems I’m in the clear. On the other hand, they have more doubts about Mitch with his criminal past. I was so angry when I found out you had married him. I thought I’d made it quite clear you were mine. I always get what I want in the end.” Brandon gripped her chin. “In L.A., everything is possible with money. You can fantasize about anything and make it real.” He fed her more and Gemma didn’t fight it. She might need the sustenance when she escaped. As long as she could breathe, there was hope. She had to believe someone would come.
“Why me, Brandon?”
He smiled and cupped her cheek with his hand. She wanted to spit at him but would likely get another slap if she did. If she could keep him talking, he might not hurt her.
“I was surprised as anyone that it was you. I needed a replacement. I bought this place years ago for someone. Under another name, of course, so people could not track me. My mother was sick with dementia when I was in my early twenties. I brought her here and looked after her. She is buried out in the garden. I’ve been digging another grave for Mitch. No one will ever find him.”
Did he think she was going to be some weird sort of mother replacement? Looking after an ailing parent wasn’t a sin, so why was she here? This still didn’t make sense. Then again, he was insane. She needed to play it carefully.
“I’m sorry for your loss.” Maybe if she agreed with him he might untie her.
“Don’t put on a performance for me, Gemma. I know you’re not sincere. My mother was an awful woman. Dad left when I was young. She blamed me and said he never wanted children. She drank heavily and beat me with a belt. When I was older, the violence was the only way I could get any sexual satisfaction.” Brandon laughed, but it was almost more of a cackle.
“Don’t look so worried, Gemma. I’m not going to beat you. I’ll take care of you and worship you. When I’m not here, I’ll make sure you have everything you need in this room.”
“I’m sorry for what happened to you, but you have to let me go. This isn’t right, Brandon, and you know it.”
Brandon banged the spoon down on the tray. “I can’t do that. I’ve tried to fit in with the world. My mother’s money helped, but I need this place and you. I always knew something was missing after Mother died. Then I saw you in the movie Game Changer. It made sense. You could be my replacement and live here. I could work and then come back to you each day.”
“That wasn’t real.” Gemma didn’t want to remind him that all the captured girls died in the basement. Her character escaped by killing her abductor. Could she kill someone? She would certainly try if it was him or her.
Brandon’s left eye started to twitch. She had rattled him.
“I’m not stupid, Gemma. You think you care for Mitch, but we will have something stronger. Now I need to go so the police don’t get suspicious. I’ll be back soon.”
“What if I need to pee?” It seemed a silly question, but she needed to find out more information about what existed beyond this room.
“I’ll carry you to the bathroom. I can even bathe you when I get back. You’re a big girl. You can hold on for a while.” Brandon picked up the tray and put it on the dresser. He came back over and kissed her lips roughly. She thought for a second about biting him but stopped herself. Gemma could cope with this by thinking it was a scene from a show and the take would hopefully be over soon.
While he was gone, she had to find a way out of here. Her life and sanity depended on it.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Mitch didn’t do scared, but he was terrified what might be happening to Gemma. The hours were ticking past and there was still no news from the police. He was anxious of what he and Kurt would find at the house in the hills, but at least it was a lead. He would not accept that the next time he saw her could be in a morgue.
The drive up to the hills seemed to take forever and Mitch kept clenching and unclenching his fists. He had not felt out of control like this for so long. Back when he was running with the gang, he had felt powerless and had to do what the leader said. It had gotten him in a whole heap of trouble. Today, he felt powerless, too.
He followed the instructions Kurt gave him as they made their way up the windy road. He could not believe the person who was helping him had been the one he had wanted to send to jail months ago. As time went on, he got further and further away from any signs of humanity. He needed to ask Kurt something.
“Why are you helping? Is it because you think you‘ll get the pictures back?”
Kurt laughed and shook his head. “I won’t lie, the thought entered my head for a minute. I know you don’t have a very high opinion of me.”
Mitch laughed and shook his head. “I don’t and with good reason.”
“I play the field and have dabbled in drugs a bit. This is going to sound unbelievable.” Kurt took a deep breath. “Since that night with Gemma, I haven’t touched any drugs. I’m not going all good on you, but my life is turning around. To start with, it was the threat of the pictures, but now I like my new life. Gemma gave me a second chance, and I want to do something to make up for what I did that night. I’m not a complete asshole, you know.”
Mitch wasn’t convinced of Kurt turning over a new leaf, but he was the only lead he had for now.
“So, you don’t want them back? The photos are Gemma’s, anyway, so it will be her decision.”
“No. I’d liked to make it up to Gemma someday, but I’d understand if she wants to tell me to go to hell.”
“When we find her, you can tell her yourself.” Mitch reckoned Gemma would slap Kurt across the face and maybe then let him off.
Kurt pointed. “Turn down that dirt track to the left. It goes up to the house, but we can park and go in on foot. If he’s there, we’ll need to creep up on him and take him by surprise.”
Mitch hid in the bushes opposite the house. Kurt wasn’t wrong when he said the place had seen better days. It would have been grand once, but now all the white wooden slats appeared as if rot had set in. The roof bowed and the windows seemed like they hadn’t been opened in a long time. There was a front porch with a rocking chair in one corner. Maybe long ago it had been a fun place for a growing family. Today the house seemed desolate and eerie.
“Come on. Let’s check some of the windows and see if we can find a way in.” Mitch motioned for Kurt to follow him as he made his way to the side of the house. Mitch tried the windows, but they were all jammed solid. The back door was locked as well. He could see some windows below ground level and reckoned there was a cellar under the house. He peered into the dark interior but couldn’t see anything. Kurt moved ahead of him around the other side of the house as Mitch stood up.
Mitch considered he would have to risk it and go in through the front door. He stopped as something sharp was pushed into his back. The point went through his shirt and he could feel the warmth of his blood flowing down his side.
“You found me quicker than I thought you would, Mitch. I didn’t think you were that smart,” Brandon whispered in his ear.
“People have been known to underestimate me in the past. You won’t get away with this.”
“Oh, but I already have. My darling Gemma is waiting downstairs for us. I promised her so many things. Let’s go inside. I know you can’t wait to see her. Put your hands behind your back or I push the blade deeper.”
Brandon tied Mitch’s wrists together and pushed him toward the front of the house and up the steps. Mitch saw the bushes move where he and Kurt had hidden. He could only hope the police would be on t
heir way soon. Before, he thought Brandon a pain in the ass. Now, he considered him totally insane. He needed to play this slowly and carefully if he and Gemma were to stay alive.
As soon as he entered the house, the smells assaulted his nostrils. Rot, mold, and blood. He had held a good friend after a shootout years ago. He had pressed down on the wound and believed he would not lose his friend. It didn’t happen. He watched Carlos get zipped up in a bag and carted away. He had gone to Carlos’s mother and cried with her.
He swore to himself that night he would never do that again. It had changed everything and he knew he had to make adjustments to his life or he would end up the same way.
He had held his hands covered with blood before him back then. He inhaled the scent of the blood. Its strange metallic taste sat on his tongue. He had to hold the memory close so he would never experience it again. He would believe the past was helping him. Being Hispanic in America was enough, but this was different. He always thought it was just his and Lili’s issue. Being married to Gemma changed things.
The point of the blade pierced Mitch’s skin and he drew in a deep breath as he coped with the searing pain in his side. The two of them walked through a lounge room that had old furnishing. The kitchen was beyond. The table was covered with old food scraps and the sink was filled with dirty dishes. The cooker had a saucepan on it and the smell of chicken soup filled the air. Mitch considered he might get food poisoning if he ate it.
There was a door on one side of the kitchen and Brandon opened it and pushed him toward it.
“Go on down. Gemma is waiting for you.”
Mitch made his way down the stairs into the dark. With his hands behind his back, he felt as if he would topple forward. The door was open to the room before him. It was illuminated with candles. It took a moment for his eyes to adjust to the darkness.
“You bastard.” The words were out of Mitch’s mouth when he saw Gemma tied to the bed. There was a gash on her forehead and blood trickled down one side of her face. Her arms were spread and her hands tied to the bed. She was wearing an old lady’s nightgown stained with blood. Her head was flopped to one side, but she was still breathing.
