Chapter Thirteen - Elise
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Elise
Yesterday passed in a blur.
Ryder came to get me in the afternoon to spend the day in the garden and, despite the fact that art is not my first choice for a pastime, I spent hours sketching the exotic flowers there.
The sun was just beginning to set by the time Ryder took me back to my room for the night, where my dinner was already waiting for me.
Once again, my sleep was tainted with nightmares, and it feels like forever since I got through a night without them.
As I get ready, I wonder if Joshua will be here today. I haven’t seen him since he dropped me off at the kitchen on Monday, and I could have sworn he told me that he’d be back yesterday. Though, I suppose, he could have returned and just hasn’t come to see me, which would be a good thing.
Right?
Breakfast comes, and I eat it while I read the last chapters of Pride and Prejudice, which has turned out to be a surprisingly great book, even though I usually exclusively enjoy modern romance.
By the time eleven rolls around, there’s a knock at the door, and I call for whoever it is to enter. I half-hope, half-expect Joshua to walk in, but it’s Ryder.
He’s dressed like he always is—black jeans and a T-shirt, which seems to be the go-to casual wear around here. In fact, I rarely see the men here in suits like Joshua was the other day, which is different from the endless slacks and blazers that roam the halls of my father’s base.
We make our way to the kitchen, and as soon as I arrive, Tripp has me preparing a giant pot of potato soup.
I lose myself in my work, turning on autopilot and shutting out the world around me. I generally stick to the recipe he provided me, but I add a few spices here and there that I know will enhance the taste.
I’m chopping up celery to toss into the bowl when my mind wanders to my father, trying to picture what he’s doing right now. I wonder if he’s trying to save me, if he has a plan, if he-
The knife slips from my grasp, slicing my finger open.
I hiss, and Ryder appears at my side. I show him the cut as blood flows into my palm at a sickening rate. Ryder leaves, and I assume he’s finding bandages and gauze.
My finger throbs, and I can’t take my eyes off the blood. My stomach churns, and my vision blurs around the edges. I didn’t think I was the squeamish type, but the nausea growing in my stomach says otherwise.
“Elise, this is Jay,” Ryder says, and his smooth tenor pulls my eyes from the blood. He stands beside a heavy-set man with graying hair, dull green eyes, and countless laugh lines.
He reminds me of what my father would look like if he were a normal person.
I’ve seen Jay around before, and though no one has outright told me, I’ve figured out that he’s the head chef. He spends more time teaching people how to do their jobs than he does actually cooking, but it never seems to bother him. Unlike Tripp and Ryder, Jay doesn’t have a rough exterior.
But I’ve been fooled by a kind smile before, so I take a step back.
Jay doesn’t let my hesitation bother him. Instead, he gestures to the injury. “May I take a look?”
For reasons beyond my understanding, I look to Ryder for some sort of assurance. He gives me a small smile, and it’s the first time I’ve seen any emotion touch his face. His normally stony features soften. That alone eases a significant amount of my apprehension.
“Jay is ex-military. He used to be a combat medic. He can bandage it for you,” Ryder explains.
“It’s a shallow cut. It’s not a big deal,” I insist.
Jay tilts his head and lifts his brow. It’s the kind of exasperated look a mother gives her child after they’ve misbehaved.
Somehow, it works.
I hold out the injured finger, blood splashing against the white tile floor as I do. The sight brings my nausea to the forefront of my mind, and bile crawls up my throat. I force myself to watch Ryder as he wipes the blood from the ground, focusing on his movements more than the task.
“You must have a high threshold for pain,” Jay says absently.
I’m not used to conversing with anyone aside from Joshua, so I’m inclined to ignore him, but the statement holds too much irony.
“I’ve been through worse this week.”
There’s no awkward silence or tension like I’d expected. Jay surprises me by laughing lightly. “I suppose that’s true.”
When I drag my eyes to his work, my finger is securely bandaged.
“Thank you,” I murmur, holding my hand to my chest.
Jay smiles so wide that I feel my lip tug upward by the contagious expression. “Of course, Miss Consoli.”
He returns to work, and Ryder appears beside me with a wet rag.
I use it to erase the last traces of evidence of my injury at my station since Ryder has already cleaned the blood off the floor.
Tripp barges into the room the second I hand Ryder the rag, and I’m grateful for the miracle of his absence during the accident.
I’m positive he would’ve made things more difficult had he been here.
By the time my lunch break rolls around, I still feel nauseous. I don’t want Ryder to see just how sick I’m feeling because I don’t want to go back to my room. So, I make the two of us lunch and force myself to scarf down as much of it as I can.
“Aren’t you going to eat?” Ryder asks from beside me.
I stare at my plate, which is mostly full. “I’m not hungry right now.”
“Want to save it for dinner?”
“That would be great. Thank you,” I reply.
Ryder isn’t nearly as bad as I expected. His quiet nature is intimidating at times but also strangely comforting. I’m glad Joshua has him with me all day instead of someone like Tripp.
I find myself, once again, wondering where Joshua is, and I almost ask Ryder that very question, but I stop myself. It shouldn’t matter. If anything, life is significantly easier without him around.
By six, I’m ready to go back to my room. The nausea from earlier never fully subsided, and I need to lie down.
Ryder is at the door waiting for me, and I follow him out of the kitchen and down the hall.
We’re halfway to my room when I remember my dinner is still in a to-go box in the fridge. “Wait! We forgot my food.”
He deliberates for a moment and checks his watch. “I need to make a quick call. Come right back here when you’re done.” The words are said in the same measured tone as always, but his eyes send the real message: don’t run.
I nod and make my way back to the kitchen. When I walk in, everyone is gone, but there’s rustling in the break room.
I remember hearing that all the soldiers take a break after the dinner rush before closing up the kitchen, so I’m not surprised. I go right to the fridge but freeze when I hear them.
“I’m surprised the brat is still alive, not to mention working in here,” one of them says, but I don’t recognize any of their voices enough to place who it is.
There’s a round of mumbled agreements.
“I couldn’t believe it when she talked back to me the other day,” Tripp says. “If Boss hadn’t been there, I would’ve smacked her for it.”
A few of the men laugh.
My palms get sweaty, and my head starts to spin, but I can’t seem to make myself walk away.
“I almost lost it when she called him ‘Joshua,’” Tripp mocks, mimicking a girlish voice.
“What did he do?” one of them asks.
Tripp scoffs. “Nothing, that’s what. He whispered something in her ear, but then he took her side. I’ve seen this man kill in cold blood more times than I can count.”
“I once watched him skin someone alive,” one says.
“I saw him gouge a man’s eye out,” adds another.
“He burned his name on an enemy soldier’s chest.”
The list goes on, but my ears are ringing too loud to make out the words. I have to hold the counter to stop myself from falling over.
“See?” Tripp says. “This brat is just another prisoner, so why is she living in a capo suite instead of a cell? Then she comes in here to cook as if she isn’t on death row,” he huffs. “If I were him, I would’ve raped the brat the second she got here. That ought to put her in her place.”
My stomach lurches, and I run to the door, leaving the laughs of the soldier behind me. As I throw myself into the hall, I see Ryder approaching, no doubt wondering what’s taking so long.
I dart past him to the bathroom, not bothering to lock or even close the door behind me.
I get to the toilet and throw up everything I’ve eaten in the past twenty-four hours.
When I’ve emptied my stomach, the room is spinning, and I lie back on the cold floor.
Ryder’s low voice fills the small space, but I can’t hear what he’s saying. I try to make out his words, then realize he’s on the phone. I close my eyes in a feeble attempt to ease my pounding headache.
Suddenly, I’m not on the floor anymore. Strong arms hold me, and as I’m carried away, I can’t stop replaying the words I overheard in the kitchen. The awful things the soldiers said play on a loop inside my brain until unconsciousness mercifully takes over.
The first thing I hear is an incessant beeping that acts as a jackhammer to my throbbing head. The second is the mumbling of two voices. I can’t hear what they’re saying, but they don’t sound happy.
A jolt of terror runs through my veins as I remember the last time I woke up like this. My eyelids blink rapidly, and I look for the exposed brick of the basement, but there’s only tasteful wallpaper lining the room.
I lay in a king-sized bed, surrounded by the softest pillows I’ve ever felt, and a thick comforter pulled up to my shoulders.
The room is roughly the size of my entire apartment.
A few feet beyond the bed is a sitting area complete with three black leather couches that look brand new.
They face a flatscreen television hung on the wall across from them, above a gas-powered fireplace that’s lit despite the fact that it’s May.
A door beyond the couches is open, showing off the walk-in closet that looks to be the size of a bedroom. Double doors beside the closet lead to a bathroom that I can only partially see, but from what I can tell, it’s as pristine as the rest.
My eyes stop on the men who have paused to watch as I absorb my surroundings, and my chest tightens.
It’s Joshua and a man I’ve never seen before who is wearing a white lab coat.
Seeing Joshua brings it all back.
I know Joshua is a bad man—I’ve always known that—but hearing each cruel thing he’s done…
I didn’t realize just how vile he is.
But now it’s all I see when I look at him.
Though we’re easily fifteen feet apart, I back away from him as best I can on the lush bed, but something tugs on my arm, keeping me in place.
An IV.
I think I’m going to throw up again.
“Get this thing out of my arm.” My voice is hoarse as I force the words out.
“Elise,” Joshua says, but I’m flinching away from his voice before he can continue.
“Get this out of me now,” I snap, and look at the man I assume is the base’s doctor.
He looks to Joshua, and my blood boils.
“Don’t look at him, look at me. It’s my body, and I’m telling you to take it out now!” My shaky voice raises to a yell by the last word.
“Sir, I believe she’s having a panic attack. I could give her a sedative if you’d like.”
“No!”
Joshua’s expression is a mix of so many emotions that I can’t pinpoint any particular one.
He shakes his head. “You heard her. Take it out.”
The doctor scurries over to get to work.
Joshua starts to follow, but my head shakes wildly. “Stay back!”
He does, raising his hands in surrender.
Queasiness sweeps through me as the doctor removes the IV. He bandages my arm and steps back, and I shuffle to the far side of the bed until I’ve put as much distance as I can between Joshua and me.
“You can go now,” Joshua tells the man, eyes never leaving mine.
The doctor mutters a “thank you, sir” and quickly exits the room.
Joshua takes a step toward me, hands still raised.
It’s strange to see such a powerful man show any sign of surrender, but it’s not enough to ease my panic.
“Don’t,” I plead, voice strangled.
I shuffle off the bed and back into the corner of the room.
“Elise, tell me what’s wrong.”
Skinning, eye-gouging, murder, torture. It’s all wrong.
One hand holds my chest, the other my throat, and all I can do is shake my head.
Concern is written all over his face, and it’s worse than if he were angry with me. His concern is too confusing. It doesn’t fit the evil image in my mind, and it only makes my head spin more.
I look out the window behind me and stare into the peaceful darkness that stretches for miles.
A full breath of air fills my lungs for the first time all night.
“Would you like to go to the garden?” Joshua asks, his expression as soft as his tone.
I nod spastically, and he holds the door open for me, but I stay where I am.
He reads my apprehension. “I’m not going to touch you. I’m just going to lead you to the garden from here.”
It takes me a moment, but I force myself to put one foot in front of the other until I’m walking toward the door.
As I get closer, Joshua moves from where he holds the door open. “I’m going to step into the hall so you can follow me.”
I feel a rush of relief as he goes.
He understands that I can’t be near him right now, and instead of forcing me like he usually does, he’s being respectful.
He’s trying to help me, and although I’m fully aware that this could backfire, I follow him.