Chapter 5
Celine eased back onto the incredibly plush cushions of the low-lying white couch and inhaled the sweet aroma of jasmine.
Polished white granite floors with veins of gold streaking throughout were dotted with huge columns that ran up to domed hand-painted ceilings.
Priceless vases filled with bright colorful flowers.
Plush, different expensive rugs and a gigantic bed adorned with silk throws and pillows.
The entire room was out of an Arabian fantasy.
While stark desert lay as far as she could see beyond the walls, the palace itself bordered on a tropical oasis with potted palm trees and bright green and pink flowers filling the surrounding courtyard, trapped much like herself in a world she didn't belong.
Her servant, A’idah, dressed her in a hijab; a long tunic that fitted about the waist with a matching long sleeved skin-tight type of slip to wear underneath.
She'd also insisted Celine wear the matching head scarf, but Celine put her foot down.
She had no intention of being here long enough to worry about adopting the Muslim dress code.
What she wouldn't give right now for her tiny apartment and cramped bedroom littered with clothing and shoes strewn across the floor.
Her friends always laughed at the fact that her home looked more like a nuclear bomb site, and Celine laughed right along with them.
She'd never been one of those people who needed everything clean and in order; in fact, this place was so spotless she was afraid to walk on the carpets.
She’d made it about five minutes in the ride from their captivity before passing out and waking in this seeming paradise.
She’d had no further contact since she’d woken with anyone but A’idah.
She’d questioned the girl, who proclaimed to be her servant, relentlessly about Caro to no avail.
A’idah was tight lipped and seemingly only concerned with Celine – that reality even more disconcerting.
She’d never had anyone worry about her. Ever.
Having a complete stranger seem to devote her entire existence to Celine threw her off completely.
“Miss, may I offer you some fruit?” A’idah picked the silver tray up off a hand-carved table nearby and held out her offering.
“No, thank you. When is Mr. Mankel coming by? How is Caroline? When can I see her?”
“I'm sure he will be by soon to answer your questions. Perhaps you would prefer a soothing tea?” A’idah replaced the tray and stood before her, the perfect picture of modesty, everything but her face covered in a traditional hijab of bright blue and yellow.
“Could you take me to see my friend?”
A’idah ducked her head, avoiding Celine's gaze, and an anxious sort of dread moved through her.
Celine had been here a day and a half and hadn't been able to see Caroline.
This morning when she'd insisted to see her, she'd been refused.
And still now, with the deep orange and gold of sunset painting the room like a masterpiece, she couldn't get a straight answer.
“A’idah, I demand to see Caroline.”
A’idah edged backwards to the door. “I'm sorry, miss, but you must wait on Mr. Mankel to escort you. It is not safe for you to roam the halls unprotected.”
“Is that why my door is locked?” Celine spit out. She'd discovered her gilded cage only today, when she'd tried to go exploring.
“Yes, miss. Your protection. I will inform Mr. Mankel of your wish. Please, try and eat. I worry about your health.”
“I am fine, really, you worry too much.” Although Celine silently enjoyed A’idah’s company, she didn’t completely trust her. How could she?
“You have been very kind to me and I seek to return the favor.” A’idah sighed, “But I’ve come to recognize your stubborn streak and know you will not eat.
I will leave you to rest now. I placed the bell next to your bed if you have problems with sleep again.
Ring if you need company.” A’idah ducked out of the room.
Celine heard the lock snick into place and sighed.
Could she hope she only had a little while longer and she'd be stateside and could put this whole nightmare behind her?
She limped over through the large open archway and out onto her second story balcony, the short walk leaving her breathless.
Her chest and face throbbed from the attack.
But worse than that was the nightmares. The horror movie of her captor ripping away her shirt while she lay helpless beneath him plagued her nights.
A chill worked down her spine despite the heat.
The horrors of the past two weeks wouldn't be shaken in a day, she knew that, but her newfound weakness was a pitiful pill to swallow.
A doctor had conducted a complete exam of her physical wellbeing the day before.
She’d shuddered when he did the pelvic exam, but gritted her teeth and endured.
She hadn’t been raped. He’d given something of an excuse after seeing the bruises and then he’d prescribed her a strict diet of light meals, supplements and lots of water, he’d declared her battered and dehydrated, but otherwise healthy.
She would make a full recovery. At least, her body would.
Her mind was a whole other matter. And her heart…
let’s just say, she was feeling ever more removed from the man she expected to come to her rescue now that she was in safe arms and he still hadn’t surfaced.
After continuously probing the doctor throughout the exam about Caroline, he’d finally caved and informed her that her friend wasn’t quite as resilient. He’d put Caroline on IV fluids and medications to help combat an infection she’d contracted.
They could've been killed, or ransomed or raped, or both, and no one would've known. No one would've been able to save them.
The hair on the back of her neck stood up and Celine spun around, gripping the thick balcony behind her for support when she spied a woman dressed in a blue burka standing in the middle of her room.
The woman didn't move, merely stood there, staring at her through the blue screen over her eyes.
Celine felt the fear taking control - her heart sped up, her throat closed off - and she was helpless to stop it.
“Solana, what’re you doing in here?” Mr. Mankel came into the room and Celine’s knees wobbled in relief.
The woman said something to him that Celine couldn't hear and abruptly left the room. Mr. Mankel shook his head and came out onto the balcony to join Celine.
“I'm sorry, I'm afraid my daughter is very curious about our American guests.”
“You make your daughter wear that...that cage?”
“Only when we have company coming. I'm afraid local Muslims are very strict, and I cannot risk offense as this is my home.” He stepped up to the balustrade, leaned on his elbows and stared out onto the horizon.
“Why can’t I leave? Where is Caroline? Who are you?”
Mr. Mankel chuckled. “So full of questions.”
Celine opened her mouth to question him again, but he held up his hand and turned to her.
“You can’t leave because I have a full staff of locals in the palace.
I don’t want any of them to see or know about you just in case they have any ties to any part of your kidnapping.
Caroline is down the hall being guarded full time by my personal bodyguards, as are you.
I work in many ways for the U.S. government and it’s a role that is classified.
You’ll have to take my word that I am working diligently to get you out of this country as soon as possible. ”
His long, detailed answer took some of the wind out of her sails and left her grasping. “You live here full-time?”
“Unfortunately, yes, at least for now.”
Celine didn't have to imagine the regret in his voice. This place was wild and exotic, but at the same time backwards and deadly. “I can't imagine. What I wouldn't give for a pair of jeans and tennis shoes.”
Mankel's gaze raked her, a small smile in place. “You shunned the scarf I see.”
“No way am I ever wearing one of those. I respect the local custom, but don’t embrace it for myself.” Celine gave a polite shudder.
“It is that or death for them. I think you might feel differently if you lived here.” Mr. Mankel's response was as measured as his tailored suit.
“Don't you ever wear anything besides suits?”
The fine lines around his dark eyes crinkled with laughter. “That's one thing I miss about America, the bluntness. People aren't afraid to say what they think.”
Celine blushed, realizing she overstepped the boundaries.
“Don't be embarrassed, it's refreshing. I can only take so many servants bowing to me and catering to my every wish without getting sick to my stomach, you know? Besides, I know the local styles must be a shock, that’s why I had my servant purchase suitable western clothing for your trip home, I hope you like them.”
Mankel snapped his fingers and A’idah rushed in, eyes bowed, a golden foil-wrapped gift outstretched. Mankel took the box and the servant melted away. He then handed it to Celine.
She took it, gingerly at first. “For me?”
“Yes, of course. Go on, open it.”
She ripped into the wrapping with the enthusiasm of a toddler with her first Christmas present.
Inside lay a pair of jeans, a loose flowing blouse made of exquisitely woven material and a deep blue silk nightgown.
She blushed instantly, holding the intimate garment in front of Mr. Mankel, but clutched the clothes to her chest like a gem.
“I hope it’s suitable?” He asked hesitantly.
“Yes, it’s perfect.” She would slip into the gown as soon as he left. Her current attire already seemed to tighten and constrict.
“Perfect, my manservant will be pleased. Has A’idah said or done anything to offend you?” Mankel kept his voice soft and gentle, a strange sort of scary monotone.