Chapter 23
23
Samantha
It didn’t feel like I’d slept that long, but the sunlight pried my eyes open. I must have been dreaming, because I did not recognize my surroundings at all. Horror washed over me as I realized I was in the little cottage of my worst nightmares. I hadn’t slept in this bed before, having held vigil in the living room rocking chair the near entirety of my imprisonment, but I’d know the bed anywhere.
I flung the covers off as soon as I heard footsteps, groaning when I saw I was in the same damn blue dress I’d always had on while here. It was unfathomable I’d be stuck here again, even if it was daytime. The possible ramifications of the timing of my return fled my mind when Ramone pushed the bedroom door open.
“Hello, beautiful,” he said quietly, crossing the room to stand in front of me. My heart stopped at the sight of him.
I didn’t move, my brain scrambling for a reasonable explanation as to why he was here, and why I was here. I’d dismissed all this nonsense as a stress response and been thrust right back in. A single tear rolled down my cheek while I held my breath.
Ramone squatted in front of me, wiping the tear with a finger. He squeezed his hand shut, and then opened it, revealing a small navy-blue gemstone. “All your tears belong to me,” he said, slipping the stone into a pocket.
I glanced up at him, and he appeared softer than I’d remembered, deflated of some of his characteristic aggressive energy. His appearance was a bit less formal as well, dressed down to merely slacks and a button-up shirt and vest—no jacket. I noticed his lack of designer shoes, the usual Italian leather replaced by boots.
Remaining unable to speak, I considered my options. He’d either taken me against my will again—if that had ever actually happened, or I was dreaming. The latter option didn’t account for the clarity of mind that indicated I wasn’t sleeping. I’d once heard about a curiosity that affected people occasionally, where they were conscious in their dreams. I had to assume that was the safe, rational explanation plaguing me.
Ramone stood up, holding out his hand. “Come with me.”
“I’ve had nightmares about this place,” I said, my voice hoarse. “I dreamed I was trapped and couldn’t leave. Every night for about a year. I don’t know why I’m back here; but it’s day now. That means I’m healing, right?”
He glanced down before dragging his bright green eyes to mine. “I’m certain it does, and I can heal you.”
“Okay,” I said, ignoring the odd claim of healing ability. “Where are we going?”
I’d never done anything like this before, my whole life having been scripted, planned, regimented, and appointed since Zoey’s death. There had been a specific time for everything, even vacations. The second week of June, July, and August every year, carved out for excursions to the exact same places, no deviations.
May and December contained physical and dental check-ups, with the same family of doctors that had attended to my family for generations. Even with the family move to the north, the appointed times wouldn’t be missed thanks to my uncle’s private jet. Of course, dates with friends and lunches with Mom or Dad were more loosely translated, but an excursion into the wild was beyond anything that would be tolerated, or generally thought of, for that matter.
I was tentatively excited. There was no way for me to guess what my psyche was trying to tell me through my dreams but if I could leave this cottage, then I wasn’t imprisoned again right now, I was free.
It was daytime in this place, which was another comfort. My wobbly brain had projected a muted version of Ramone, his usual implied violence on a back burner or hidden another way, and he’d transformed my tear into a glittering sapphire. It was a fascinating dream.
A pair of shoes sat on the floor near the base of the wall, and I slipped my feet into them. This would be a good experience for me, helping me to assert my independence as well as assuaging the intrusive memories of my previous capture. I would overwrite the bad with something good, bring peace to my soul. Rewrite my delusions until they were forgotten like the dark clouds after a storm.
Ramone’s hypnotic eyes tracked my every step as I moved from the wall and through the doorway. The main room of the cottage was dusty and the tones dingy, unlike what I’d remembered. Previously, the home had been cozy, with a warm fire lit in the hearth. Colorful quilts and blankets were still tossed over the couch and hanging off the back of the chair I’d existed in, the shades dim under a layer of disuse.
My feet brought me closer to the fireplace, and I glanced down at the pile of gray and black ash. The space hadn’t been used for a while. As I wandered, perusing the room, the man never strayed from my side, pacing me like a watchdog. It was easy to forget his image was the one who’d cruelly kidnapped me, the way he now seemed so eager to intervene if a curtain so much as fluttered in my direction.
Why had I conjured him to accompany me on my sleeping excursion? Common sense told me I was transmuting my fear into something manageable, attempting to rewrite history in a way I could live with. It may have been a lie to convince myself the events of the past were something other than what they were, but the human brain was nothing if not self-protective.
I was wildly attracted to Ramone. With every breath I took, here and at home when he was close, I was hyperaware of his nearness. While in his company, or while traversing the same location as him, my gaze was naturally drawn. It was all I could do to control my feet and my thoughts, both ached for disobedience against rational, acceptable behavior. My heart wanted him, and it wanted him badly, as nonsensical as that was.
He trapped you here. Wake up.
A breath hiccupped in my throat as my blood pressure skyrocketed. I wrapped my shaking arms around my waist, hugging myself while I shoved the intrusive thoughts down. Ramone pulled me back against his chest, and massaged my shoulders, trying to comfort me. “You’re safe, Samantha. No harm will come to you.”
I wanted to glance up at him but couldn’t, needing another moment to collect myself. “Am I?”
“If not, your next piece of jewelry will be fashioned from the bones of your enemies,” Ramone said, leaning down and brushing the side of my head with his cheek.
Gasping, I realized. The necklace. Immediately, I dismissed the thought. Now was not the time, and being the harsh taskmaster that it was, I was likely running out of it. I didn’t want to wake up before getting to see what was outside my old prison cell.
He slid an arm down and gripped me against his middle. “Did you not like my gift?” he asked.
“I did; it was beautiful,” I answered, playing along. I’d considered either Timothy or the man who was holding me so snugly against his chest as being the bearer of the jewelry. Secretly, I’d hoped it’d been Ramone. My dream was reflecting that wish.
Wiggling, I gave myself some space to turn and looked up at him. “Can we go now?”
He wet his lip with his tongue before speaking. “As you wish.”
The front door had been partially open, and Ramone gripped the edge, making room for us to pass through. Navigating the narrow stone steps, I followed him down and stopped to examine our surroundings. It appeared we were in a small village of some sort, indicated by dwellings of varying sizes and other small buildings. A dirt road divided the space between the clusters of homes bordered by low stone walls.
Everything was quiet and the area reminded me of a ghost town, the atmosphere seeming similar to that after a disaster where the inhabitants had gotten up and left quickly. A light breeze stirred the dusty roads and a layer of grime blanketed what must have once been a picturesque, fairytale style community.
Gardens were wilted and browning, lawns overgrown, and some sections of the stone walls had crumbled, resulting in short piles of tumbled rocks. A trio of crows cried out, cawing, beating their wings as they lifted from a tree in the near distance, disturbed by our intrusion. The trees appeared wilted as well, I noticed with interest, as if they’d been dehydrated under the radiation of an overactive sun. The more I skimmed the view in front of us, the more haunting it became.
It hadn’t been overlooked by Ramone either. I heard his short intake of breath and felt the tension radiating through his body, although he wasn’t touching me. He pulled a cellphone from his pocket, cursed, and then shoved it back. The gesture struck me as odd, until I remembered that I was supposed to just go along with whatever happened, let my psyche guide me. I couldn’t remember if I’d ever seen or used a cellphone in a dream before but him having one felt too much like waking life.
“This looks like it was once a lovely town,” I offered, hoping to divert my thoughts.
He held his hand out and I quickly accepted the clasp of his hand. “It was, once upon a time.”
“What is this place?”
“I have a couple homes here.”
He seemed distracted, his gaze constantly scanning the trees, peering at the homes. Something clearly wasn’t right, but I didn’t want to ask and instigate any trouble, I just wanted to look around. I’d wake up before any injury occurred, I was sure. “Where will we go?”
Ramone paused for several seconds. “Where do you want to go?” he replied.
We’d stopped walking and were almost outside of the town in a space between the tree line and some fields. It didn’t matter to me where we ended up, I just wanted to see what there was to see. “I don’t know. Show me something.”
Letting go of my hand, he stretched his fingers before running them through his hair. He turned in place, seemingly listening for something. There was no noise I could hear, other than the distant cawing of the crows. “I’ll take you to a castle; it's not far from here.”
Grasping my hand again, we continued walking and entered the woods, the branches of the trees above nearly blocking the sky in a thick, twisting arch. The ground was littered with decaying leaves, the scent pungent over the ripe fragrance of moist dirt. The air was crystal clear, and our surroundings etched in sharp relief, almost as if artificial intelligence had crafted an idealistic hiking scene with a layer of decomposition. Trees with festering rot and peeling bark were resting against partially fallen trunks that appeared to be hanging on with thoughts and prayers. Any lower plants’ leaves I saw were curled, shiny and wet with disintegration as if something had rubbed against them repeatedly, shredding them.
“What has happened here?” I asked, gesturing vaguely. “It looks like everything is dying.”
“It is; it’s disappearing it would seem.” Ramone’s voice sounded pained, anger and melancholy tinging his smooth voice.
“How would that happen? Do things normally just disappear?”
His eyes flickered to a deeper shade of green as he pressed his lips together. “They don’t. This isn’t normal. I don’t know what to do about it.”
It struck me that he felt helpless, and such a state of being was foreign to him. His agitation simmered just below the surface. I sensed anger twisting inside him, longing to be set free. I didn’t understand how I was able to get a better read on him here and decided to take advantage of it while I could.
“You feel responsible,” I offered.
“Because I am. It would appear I orchestrated the events that resulted in this.”
Such a thing was impossible. “How would you be? Nature does whatever it wants. Not even we humans could be responsible for this much damage. I hope.”
He let out a low, dark laugh. “You are wrong about that; it does whatever I want.”
I shook my head; I’d forgotten I was dreaming. Playing along once again, I said, “Okay.”
His gaze burnt a hole into the side of my head before the pressure let up. “Do you not believe me?”
Sighing, I answered, “I believe you.” It would be interesting how this conversation went.
His boots scuffed the dirt as he stopped and dragged me next to him, his fingers gripping my wrist. “You don’t.” He searched my face, skimming my edges. “You’re lying to me.”
“No, I believe you.” For the sake of being asleep and dreaming, I did.
Ramone’s other hand traveled up to grip the side of my neck and he stroked the side with a thumb. “What must I do, oh ye of little faith?”
“I am beginning to be a little concerned. Can we just go to this castle?” His mood had changed, devolving back into the angry man I knew in real life, and I wanted the other one back. The one who’d looked at me like the sun rose and set in my presence, as if his very existence were ruled by my own.
Ramone grabbed the nape of my neck, curling an arm around my waist, and kissed the center of my forehead, in the same place he’d touched me to ignite a nightmare. The air caught in my lungs while his lips traveled lower, halting to kiss my cheek, and finally my lips as he pressed his body into mine. My hands clung to his shoulders, desperately reaching for leverage as I was forced backwards.
“I will take you to the castle,” he told me, letting go for a moment, “I'll take you wherever you want other than out of my sight.”
All I could think about was how right this very minute would be an ideal time to wake up. There was no way I’d be able to handle seeing him in real life after this. Squeezing my eyes shut, I tried, and failed, to do just that. Ramone’s deep chuckle pried my lids open. “Did you think you were asleep?” He smirked.
The air rushed from my lungs, and I would’ve doubled over, had he not held me up. “I am sleeping.”
He yanked the front of my dress down, revealing the swell of my breasts before pulling something shiny from his sleeve. I yelped when he cut me, the narrowest of slivers welling red with a thin line. The blood beaded against my skin, and he bent down, dragging his tongue along my flesh. A shiver ran through me at the dual assault of pain and pleasure on my senses. My instinct to fight against the urge to succumb to him was as strong as the necessity to flee.
“Does this feel real?” he asked.
Raising his head to show me his bright, glittering eyes, his lips crashed into mine and took away every protest I’d had. His taste mingled with the coppery flavor of my blood while he plundered my mouth, a deep moan reverberating through his chest. His desire for me was intoxicating and foreign. If he was an addict, I’d gladly be his drug.
I reached up and tugged his hair, the silky strands tangling between my fingers matching his fervor eagerly. His mouth slid from mine to trail my neck, one hand cradling my cheek with reverence while the other bruised my hipbone. The sensation of his lips and warm breath flitting across my skin lit my flesh on fire as I melted into him, leaving myself exposed and at his mercy. It felt like he was a part of me, as if he were inside me, and I was his salvation from sin.
“Samantha,” he whispered, blinking as if regaining consciousness. “I’m supposed to kill you, but you’ll be the death of me.”