11. Blue
11
Blue
W hen I come out of the bathroom, I find waiting for me a glass of orange juice and a suitcase. My stomach growls but first thing I do is check the door, which is still locked. I’m relieved. After what happened earlier, I’m not in a hurry to engage with Zeke.
I walk over to the nightstand and pick up the juice. It’s freshly squeezed, and I drink it down, too thirsty not to. It won’t be drugged. He has no reason to drug me now. My stomach growls, expecting food, but the juice will have to do. I go to the suitcase which sits open on a rack beside the closet and is full of women’s clothes. They smell like they’ve just come from the laundry and a quick glimpse at a few labels tells me they’re about my size.
I do wonder at the amount of clothes. Where did he get them? Are they trophies? Exactly how long is he planning on keeping me? I put the thoughts out of my mind as soon as they come and get to work. I’m still here. Still alive. And the way he was after what happened in the bathroom, when it came to my message to Wren, it gives me some hope. Maybe that’s stupid but it’s all I have.
I rummage through looking for underthings, tearing the suitcase apart, but come up empty. No panties and no bras. Is that by design? I also realize everything in here is either a dress or a skirt with a top. Not a single pair of jeans or pants at all. I’m suspicious as I choose an A-line skirt and a light top in pretty lilac, again, nicer than anything I own or have ever owned, and slip those on. It all fits like it was made for me. I tuck my leash underneath the top but am very aware of it rubbing up against my bare clit beneath the skirt, so I tug it back out and slip it into the pocket of the skirt. No one will see me in here anyway.
The ballet slippers are comfortable although they’re half a size too big, but they’ll work. Once I’m dressed, I look through the suitcase to see if there’s a brush or makeup. I’m very aware of the scar on my face. It’s not for the sake of vanity and it’s not that I care how I look to Zeke, I just hate the scar and usually hide it beneath layers of foundation. But there’s nothing like that in the bag and so I go into the bathroom to finger comb my hair. When I hear the key turn in the bedroom door, my heartbeat picks up and I grip the counter, looking straight ahead at my reflection. I take a deep breath in.
I can do this. I need to do this. I need to get through this so I can get to Wren.
Feeling a chill, I rub my arms before walking out of the bathroom and into the bedroom where I find Zeke holding a backpack.
I stare at that bag. And I want to cry.
Because him having it, it just takes one more option away from Wren and me.
He closes the door behind him.
I step fully into the bedroom.
He looks me over and I find myself tugging my hair down on the left side of my face. Habit. It takes me a minute to meet his eyes and instantly I feel a flush of heat at the memory of what happened earlier today. What he made me do.
But that’s good for me. It forces me to muster my strength, to get it together, because I can’t be embarrassed. I can’t care. He’s the one who should be embarrassed at how he treated me. What he made me do.
“Clothes fit?”
“There’s no underwear.”
“No?” he asks, very clearly not concerned.
Fine. “It’s a lot of clothes. I don’t plan on being here that long.”
He makes some noncommittal sound.
“Where did you get them all anyway? Are they trophies or something?” I ask, trying for casual but failing.
“My brother’s wife’s clothes.”
“She knows I’m here? That you’re keeping me prisoner?”
He sets the backpack on the bed and unzips it. “Is this your go bag?” he asks, ignoring my question.
He begins to unpack it, taking out my laptop. Well, not actually mine but possession is 9/10ths of the law, right? I fold my arms and watch from my place, trying to keep my expression neutral as he empties out the contents, some clothes, shoes, jackets, baseball caps for Wren and me, the envelope of money and our old IDs.
“You got your electric bill,” he says, laying what looks to be my mail on the bed as well. “And… Saved the best for last.” He reaches into the bag again and draws out the Ziploc with the pistol in it.
The backpack was one thing but this? How did he find it? I feel the blood drain from my face at the sight and when the ringing between my ears starts, I reach for the edge of the nearest piece of furniture to stay upright but I find only air.
I stumble, but strong hands close over my arms to steady me.
“Easy, Blue.”
I feel his warmth, the heat of his body. I set my hands on his chest, concentrating on breathing, and try to keep him at arm’s length.
“I’m fine.”
“You’re not fine.”
He’s right, I’m not fine. I shake my head. I just need a minute. I let my fingers rest against his chest, feel the beating of his heart beneath the wall of muscle.
“Look at me.”
“I’m fine.” I feel queasy and if I had anything in my stomach, I’d probably have thrown it up.
“Blue?”
I force myself to open my eyes and it takes a moment for my pupils to focus, to see him clearly. He’s so close. Why is he so close? Why is he looking at me like he is?
But then his eyes flit to the scar and I turn my face to hide it from him.
“What just happened? It’s the second time I’ve seen you like that.”
I give a shake of my head, extricate myself and put some space between us. “Nothing,” I say, folding my arms across my chest.
“You stumbled. If I didn’t catch you, you would have fallen.”
“Well, aren’t you the gentleman? Oh wait, you’re not. Let me go. I’m fine.”
He raises his eyebrows and I know he won’t release me until I tell him.
“It’s nothing. I just get a little dizzy now and then. It takes a minute, and it passes.”
“What happens when you’re driving, and it happens? Or you’re at the top of the stairs?”
I give him a firmer shove. “I’m just hungry,” I lie. “Low blood sugar.” I pull free and take several steps away. “But it’s touching that you care.” I walk closer to the bed, eyeing the contents.
“Cynthia is preparing some food. We’ll eat soon.”
“Who’s Cynthia?”
“Cook.”
“She knows I’m here?”
He smiles. “She won’t help you. No one will.”
I study him. I know he’s right. “Did Wren text back?”
“Not yet.” He points to the bed. “Sit.”
“Tomorrow’s Sunday and it’s her birthday.”
“Is it?”
“I need to visit her.”
“Do you?”
“She has a routine. She relies on it.”
“I’m sure she does.”
“How long are you going to keep me here?”
He smiles, cocks his head, and folds his arms across his chest. “You’re blackmailing me. What do you think? I’m just going to let you walk away?”
I shiver with a sudden chill and rub my arms. No, he’s not. He’s not going to just let me walk away. Not when I can damage him.
“Let’s focus, Blue. I need you to fill in some blanks for me.” He steps closer, holds his phone out for me and when I look at it, I gasp with surprise. It’s a photo of me. My face. It’s from the night I took Wren to the hospital.
“Where did you get that?”
He scrolls through another of me then one of Wren.
When I see my sister, I look away.
“You took your sister to the hospital. You told them you fell down the stairs. Both of you. Police were called but you managed to convince them it was an accident, which is shocking, actually.”
I keep my gaze averted. How does he know all this? Why does he know it?
“Is your father the staircase you both fell down?”
My gaze shoots up to his. How did he find out?
“Where did you get the two grand cash?”
I keep my mouth shut.
“Oh yeah, two other men you were extorting money from. That’s right. Quite the leap to jump to 100K from me, isn’t it?” He waits a beat and when I don’t answer him, he continues. “No comment? Okay. Let’s see how you do with the next one. Where is your mother, Blue?”
I blink away, pick the baseball cap that I bought for Wren. She used to love baseball. She’d watch all the time. I never got it. This cap is her favorite team’s. Although she doesn’t remember that anymore.
“She got married a bunch of times, didn’t she?” he prods.
I don’t respond.
“Get around a lot, did she?”
At that, I leap up from my seat and slap my hands against his chest to shove him. “You don’t get to say that! You don’t get to say anything about her!”
He catches me easily, gripping my wrists and not letting go.
“I get to say anything I want.” I try to tug free, but he holds tight, looks down at my injured hand. “I told you to take it easy with this.” He walks me backward. “Now sit back down,” he commands and deposits me on the edge of the bed.
“What do you want from me?”
“Truth. Your past. Your present. All of it. I want all of it.”
“Why?” I’m confused, I don’t understand why he cares to know so much. Something slips off the bed and my gaze automatically turns to it. It’s the electric bill. Followed by something else.
A postcard.
My heart drops to my stomach as it floats down, landing face-up. I stare at it. Run Rabbit Run. The word Blue scrawled in barely visible tiny letters between the first Run and Rabbit.
“Are you listening to me?”
I blink, shift my gaze up to Zeke’s. I guess he was talking. Probably still insulting my mother. I’m glad I didn’t hear him.
“Where was this?” I ask, bending to pick it up. I turn it over and the words on the back make my blood run cold. “Happy Birthday, Wren. See you soon.”
He found us.
Shit.
He found us.
No. I stop myself. He hasn’t found her. Just me. He doesn’t know where Wren is. He can’t.
I turn it back over, see how the ink is smudged. I can almost make out the print from the pad of his hand. Where did he get the postcard? How does he get his hands on them? They don’t sell those at the prison commissary, surely. My head spins. Did someone send it to him? He has contacts outside of prison. He always warned me about them.
“The gun. The serial number is filed off. Doesn’t usually mean anything good,” Zeke says.
I glance at it in its Ziploc, then at the postcard again. The little rabbit hopping. All the happy colors.
Zeke pulls the chair up to sit in front of me, close enough our knees are almost touching. My phone alerts me to a message. Well, the sound comes from his pocket, but I recognize the tone. It’s Wren’s.
He stops, takes it out of his pocket. Hits the button to play the audio.
Beet who ? Wren asks and I can hear how she is enjoying the joke. My once brilliant sister who was going to be a doctor, a pediatrician because she loved kids. Backup plan was veterinarian because she also loved animals. She now finds entertainment in knock-knock jokes.
I want to cry.
“I hear she was accepted to medical school,” he says, and I drag my gaze to his.
“How do you know all this?”
“I’m not like those other two you blackmailed. But I guess you’ve figured that out.”
“Let me answer her.” I hold out my hand.
“Answer me first. Is that gun yours?”
I shake my head.
“Who does it belong to?”
I look at his hand resting on his lap, study the colorful scales of the tattoo on one arm. “What is it?” I ask, not entirely sure why.
“What is what?”
I gesture to the tattoo.
He looks at it, like he forgot it was there. “Dragons.”
“I thought they were snakes.”
“The gun. Who does it belong to?”
I bite my lip, stare at the pistol, a 10mm with two cartridges containing fifteen rounds each.
“Is it your father’s?”
I nod, although it’s not true. I don’t actually know the name of the man it belongs to and nodding is just easier.
“What happened to Wren? To your face?”
My hand instinctively moves to cover my scar. I take a deep breath, trying to keep it together.
“Tell me about that and you can text your sister.”
It doesn’t matter if he knows, does it? It just really doesn’t matter, and I don’t have the energy to fight him, not on this.
“I came home late after school one day. Found Wren unconscious. He was holding her head underwater in the tub. I tried to get him off her and he hit me so hard I smashed the mirror over the sink with my face.” I point to the scar. “He hit me again and I passed out. When I woke up, Wren was still in the tub, still unconscious. The water was freezing cold but at least she was breathing. He hadn’t killed her.”
“Your father?”
I nod. “He was angry about something. Scared maybe. I’d never seen him like that.”
“Where was he when you woke up?”
“Don’t know. Probably at the bar.”
“You took her to the hospital?”
“Not then. I didn’t realize what had happened to her. Two days later I took her. When she wasn’t the same and I couldn’t figure out what was wrong. And then, when I did, I got us out of there.”
I’d been goofing off. I didn’t want to go home, that’s why I was late. I don’t say that part out loud. My part in what happened to my beautiful, smart sister. My mistake that cost her so much.
He holds out the phone.
I take it, play my sister’s message again. She sounds so young. I tell her the last of the joke. “Beets me,” I say and hit send, then hand the phone back to him because the fight has gone out of me.
He takes it, tucks it into his pocket and stands. He grabs the laptop, and the Ziploc then opens the bedroom door. “Come, Blue.”
“Where?”
“Downstairs. You need to eat.”
“Why?”
“So you don’t have one of your dizzy spells at the top of the stairs.”
“Don’t want to clean up a mess?” I ask half-heartedly.
He gives me a weary smile.
“What happens after?”
He raises his eyebrows.
“What are you going to do to me?” I ask bluntly.
“You and I are going to come to an arrangement. For now. Up. You need to eat.”
“What arrangement?”
“You have information that could hurt me, hurt those I care about. And I have something you need.”
“What’s that?”
“Protection.” He must see my confusion. “From your father.”
I blink, not quite understanding. “I need protection from you if anyone.”
He smiles. “Isn’t your father up for parole soon?”
My throat goes dry, and I clutch my stomach. “They won’t let him out.”
“How can you be sure?”
I shake my head. I can’t be sure, but I have a plan if that happens. “Why would you want to help me?”
He shrugs a shoulder. “I guess I have a damsel in distress complex.”
“I don’t need some knight in shining armor to save me. I can save myself.”
“Well, that’s questionable. And the only knight I am is dark.”
“Again, why would you help me?”
He shrugs his shoulder again. “I have selfish motives. You coming? You can stay here and starve, of course. Your choice.”
I weigh my options. It’s a quick decision because I have no options really. If I don’t hear him out, I get locked back in and what? Nothing. Or I go with him, maybe make some deal. Some arrangement. He hasn’t hurt me yet, not really. And if my father manages to get paroled, and he knows where I live, I’m going to need Zeke’s protection. He just doesn’t really know exactly what he’ll be up against.