Chapter 38
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Cyrus
Nine days. It has been nine days since we last saw her and nine days since we touched her.
We know she is alive, though. We are sometimes getting flickers of her emotions from her, only fleeting and only every now and then when whatever he is giving her is wearing off between doses.
Sam is either not monitoring when he is giving it to her, or she has been convincing him she doesn’t need it, because we have managed to pick up faint traces of her whereabouts.
Yet everywhere we searched, we would lose the pull to her before getting an exact location, always pulled to the outskirts of the city before we would lose her again.
Hopping out of the car, Eli is talking to the helicopter pilot.
Pete climbs into the helicopter, putting on some head gear as they get ready to do an aerial search.
We watch the helicopter rotors spin before it lifts off the ground.
We are next to a forest. Hunters are scouring the dense surroundings; for some reason, every time we manage to feel her, we are pulled in this direction, but the weather has been too terrible to get the helicopter in the air to search from above.
We have been scouring all around the forest’s edge for the past two days but now we are desperate, her fear growing stronger as the days pass.
A hunter walks over, showing Eli a map. I listen as they talk about which areas to search first. The hunter nods in agreement before walking off to tell the others, and I watch as they start walking into the tree line, guns holstered and backpacks on their backs.
Eli walks over to me, and I stand up, taking his clothes from him as he hands them to me. He strips completely naked, and I put his clothes on the passenger seat before shutting the door.
“We will find her. We won’t stop till we do,” he says before grabbing the back of my neck and crushing his lips against mine.
Eli then shifts, his magnificent black beast staring back at me before he starts sniffing the air, looking for traces of her scent though there aren’t any.
He walks toward the tree line, and we step in, my eyes adjusting to the change in lighting, the forest so dark from the canopying trees despite it being the middle of the day.
We start trekking through the forest in the opposite direction the hunter has gone.
I follow Eli, remaining alert for her but also other predators, though I know Eli will take any down if they cross our path; his beast is the size of a bear and stands over half my height, packed full of hard muscle.
Killing is easy for him; there is nothing in this forest he can’t handle.
We have spent most of the morning walking and scouring and aren’t even a quarter of the way through this part of the forest; it appears to be never-ending, only trees and shrubs.
The thick smell of the damp earth filling my nose makes it crinkle in disgust. I love nature, but under the trees and so far in, the ground smells pungent and too sweet, the earth decaying under our feet from not getting sunlight.
The radio in my back pocket makes a noise. The static is terrible, and Eli stops, looking at me as I pull it out. I turn the dials on top, trying to pick up a better frequency and hear what Pete is saying from above.
“Smoke,” I just make out, and Eli’s wolf comes closer, listening.
He sniffs the air, but it is pointless. The only thing I can smell is the damp earth and the sap off the trees.
“Smoke among the trees appears to be coming from a small cottage,” I manage to hear before the signal drops.
I try strengthening the signal but lose it. I want to know what direction to head in, but all I get is radio silence.
Eli growls and continues walking, picking up his pace as he tries to pick up any scent to indicate we are going in the right direction.
Moving deeper and deeper into the forest, I stop looking among the trees, which appear to be thinning slightly, before noticing something.
Something with coloring feels off—too bright for this dark forest.
“Eli!” I call, and he looks up and comes over to me.
“You see that?” I ask, pointing in the direction, wondering if my mind is playing tricks on me.
He nods, sniffing the air before growling loudly and moving to it.
I walk closer just as he approaches. What I thought at first were shrubs is actually a camouflage net.
Eli grabs it with his teeth before walking backward.
The net comes off, and the branches fall away to reveal a little white Daihatsu Charade.
I pull on the handle, but it is locked. Using my elbow, I smash the window.
Her scent instantly hits me though it is faint.
I look around before walking to the back of the car and pushing through the trees.
I find a dirt road, and where the car is stopped is a dead end, but I can’t see any cottage, only trees and dirt.
* * *
Adeline
I watch as he places the needle on the nightstand beside the bed.
My arms and legs tingle as I slowly get some sensation back.
The last couple of days have been a thing of nightmares, but I have managed to convince him to trust me.
He only drugs me before he puts me to bed, letting me move around during the day as long as he is beside me.
I just hope it is enough. Enough to get out of this situation though I know I am still pretty much helpless.
I am weak from the constant torment he’s subjected me to.
My body is littered with bruises, and my skin is more purple than beige.
My eye slowly heal from where he’s punched me.
The bruise’s turned yellow as it covers half my face, but I can now open my eye.
Sam rummages through the drawer, looking for something. The needle next to him is a constant reminder of who holds the control here; he always has one ready in case I become difficult. He pulls out some pajama bottoms and a singlet along with some socks.
“Put these on. It’s a little chilly this morning. I will go start the fire,” he says, walking out of the room and taking the syringe with him.
I chuck the clothes on, anything to cover my bare body from his filthy lingering gaze. I hate everything about him, hate what he is subjecting me to. Though I also hate myself for being so weak and helpless against him.
I place the socks on my freezing feet before testing my legs.
I always feel terrible first thing in the morning, my muscles heavy and aching from being frozen in the same position, unable to move once he is done with me.
I hear him curse softly while staggering to the bedroom door and looking into the living room.
He is crouched by the fire, trying to light it.
“Pass me some paper,” he says, pointing to the newspaper on the coffee table next to me.
I pick it up, my back cracking as I hand it to him.
Goosebumps cover his skin from the chilly bite in the air.
He only has shorts on, his chest bare, and I can see my scratch marks on his back from the few times I’ve tried to fight him off before giving up.
It’s been futile. He would either beat me, leaving me black and blue, unable to fight back, or drug me.
I have no choice but to take what he dishes out no matter how much he repulses me.
At least I can move freely instead of being paralyzed in one position.
My belly growling loudly makes him look over at me.
He didn’t let me eat for the past two days after I refused to drink the vile stuff that blocked them from being able to trace me.
Spitting it out when I went to the bathroom, I didn’t realize he was watching as I tried to sneakily remove the taste from my tongue under the bathroom-sink basin.
“You must be hungry. Are you going to behave?” he asks, looking up at where I stand behind him.
I look away and nod. He sighs, placing a log in before standing up.
“Come on then,” he says, gripping my wrist and tugging me toward the kitchen.
He pulls a chair out, and I sit in it. He grabs a small plastic cup for kids, fills it up with water, and places it in front of me.
I snatch it thirstily, the cold liquid soothing my throat and dry mouth.
I scull the water in the plastic cup, but it still doesn’t satiate my thirst. I am so dehydrated, my urine has turned dark-brown; he barely gives me anything.
He uses my hunger and thirst against me like weapons to get what he wants, or he would take it away as punishment leaving me weak and hungry or excessively thirsty.
Two days without water and food have been hell.
He pops some bread in the toaster, and I get up, hoping he would allow me some more water. I walk over to him, going to the sink, when he spins around.
“What are you doing?” he asks, and I look at the cup in my hand.
“Can I have some more, please?” I ask softly, my voice shaking along with my hands clutching the cup.
My skin itches with fear of just being this close to him.
And I fight the urge to scratch my neck to stop it.
My stomach drops when he steps closer and suddenly steps aside, allowing me to go to the sink.
I move quickly and hit the sink with my hip painfully, probably causing another bruise as I fill the cup, drinking greedily from it.
When I am about to fill it again, he takes the small cup from me, and I freeze when I feel his chest press into my back.
His breath is on the back of my neck as he presses his crotch against my lower back.
I can feel his erection pressing against me, and I swallow down the bile that raises in my throat, threatening to make me throw up the water I have just consumed.