Chapter 31
CHAPTER
THIRTY-ONE
Thick cobwebs envelop my brain, peeling back one layer at a time until my eyes finally open. The bright sunny room makes me blink. I jerk upright as the memories of the night before slip in. The room spins violently, and I close my eyes with a groan, trying not to throw up.
I sit there, waiting for the world to stop tilting back and forth.
It’s hard to think or try to assess my situation.
Separate cuffs restrain each wrist. I can move my hands a little but not enough to bring them together to undo the buckles.
My ankles are tied as well. All I can really do is sit up and lie down.
Alex’s voice comes through the wall from the locked room, low enough that I can’t catch any words. I knew he was keeping someone in there. Are they so restrained that they couldn’t shout or make a noise when I asked? Or were they too afraid?
My bladder aches. I really have to pee and I’m not going to be able to wait long. Another minute later, I hear him shut and lock the door.
He walks in and a smile bursts across his face. “Good morning! Are you hungry? I made pancakes.” He sounds like he’s greeting a friend instead of a captive. This guy is deeply disturbed. Right now, I need something from him, so the plan is to play along.
“I’m not hungry, but I really need the bathroom.” I hold up my arms. “Can you let me loose? I don’t want to wet your bed.” I do my best to talk in a lighthearted way, as if I’m not at all scared or angry that I’m being held prisoner. Again.
Without hesitation, he nods and starts unfastening the buckles.
After my hands are free, he moves down to release my feet while I pull back the covers.
I’m no longer wearing the clothes I ran away in.
After I passed out, he changed me into pajamas.
He undressed me. The thought makes me nauseous.
What else did he do to me that I can’t remember?
If there was any thought of running, it disappears when I slide out of bed.
Another wave of dizziness strikes me, and I clamp my hands on the mattress, holding on tight.
My limbs feel like they don’t want to cooperate, and my body is heavy and sluggish.
Whatever he gave me has one hell of a half-life.
Without a word, he takes my arm and leads me to the bathroom. “The power is still out. Leave the door open a bit so you’ll have some light.”
“I’m okay. You can let go,” I say once I’m inside.
He releases me and stands outside the bathroom door, leaving it ajar. “I’ll be right here.”
I’m not sure if that’s meant to be reassuring or a threat.
The way he acts like all of this is normal makes it more terrifying.
He’s so matter of fact about it. I’m used to violent men.
Men who get in my face and make it crystal clear that I’ll be punished if I cross them.
Alex hasn’t been violent or threatening, or even aggressive until he put me against that tree last night.
He’s worse. He’s sneaky about it and unpredictable.
When I finish and try to wash my hands at the small sink, I have to pause to hold onto the counter.
There’s no option but to let him escort me back to bed.
Despite everything I’ve suffered in the past, I’ve never been too weak or disoriented to walk, not even when they starved me or tied me outside all night. I’ve never felt this defeated.
He cuffs my ankles again, then piles some pillows behind me so I lie propped up. As he fastens my wrists, I ask. “How am I supposed to eat like this?”
“I’ll let your hands go while we eat, don’t worry.”
So many words sit on the tip of my tongue.
I want to ask why he’s doing this and how long he plans to keep me.
I want to scream at him and call him every name I can think of.
None of it will do any good. Instead, I remind him about something he may have forgotten.
“I called a friend when I first got here. I told him where I was, gave him your name and address. He’ll come looking for me. ”
“Well, maybe we’ll have your car fixed by then and they can follow you home,” he says brightly, walking out of the room.
So, we’re going back to that premise, that he plans to fix my car. Am I also supposed to forget that the bridge is perfectly fine? Arguing with him won’t help. He’s either genuinely delusional enough to think I believe that, or he’s just screwing with me.
Maybe he suspects what I know, that no rescue is coming. If I want to live, I have to save myself.
His demeanor remains the same when he returns.
He frees my wrists and places a tray over my thighs, then sits nearby in a small recliner with a plate in his lap.
I’m hungry, and the food looks good, but I don’t want to be drugged again.
When he notices that I haven’t touched it, he leans over to take a big bite from my plate and a drink from my juice.
Neither of us speak, but I pick up my fork and start eating. If he wants to drug me, all he has to do is force it in my mouth again anyway. I need to stay strong in case I ever have another chance to escape. He tries to make small talk with me, but I don’t reply until he mentions the goats.
“Do you want me to help with them?” He always did before, and if we’re going to pretend everything’s fine, let’s see how far I can take it.
He swallows his last bite of food. “I don’t think that’s a good idea. Maybe tomorrow when you’re steadier on your feet.”
At least he intends to keep me alive for another day.
After he takes the tray away and cuffs me again, he places a plastic water bottle with a flip top lid beside me on the bed. My restraint will allow me to lift it to my mouth with my right hand, if I turn my head in that direction.
“I won’t be long. I just have to take care of the goats and fill the generators.”
Nodding, I lie back on the pillow. Clover jumps onto the bed and cuddles up next to me.
At the sound of the front door closing, I sit up and look closely at the restraints.
My hands can’t reach each other and neither can my feet.
It’s clear why. They aren’t like the metal cuffs the cult used.
They’re leather, thick and strong, but they buckle instead of lock.
It doesn’t matter. I can’t get them off.
The silence of the house is broken by a sob, and I freeze. It’s coming from the wall. A second later I hear it again, a low heartbreaking kind of crying I’m far too familiar with.
“Hey,” I call out. “I can hear you. He’s outside. What’s your name?”
The weeping continues but there’s no answer. “Please. He has me tied to his bed. I know you’re his prisoner too. Can you say something?”
The cries start to lessen, and I’m desperate to get them to respond. Maybe if we talk, we can work together to get away. “Is your name Jane?” I ask, remembering that I heard him say it before. “How long have you been here?”
The only reply I get is a few sniffles. I’m sure she’s terrified or deeply conditioned not to speak.
I’ve seen and read enough to know how conditioning and brainwashing work.
Instead of more questions, I talk, telling her about my car breaking down and the snowstorm, just letting her hear a voice that isn’t his.
I’m not sure whether she’s listening to a word I’ve said, but it distracts me enough that I don’t hear Alex come back inside.
“Who are you talking to?” he asks, and my body jerks so hard that Clover whines.
How long was he out there listening? No wonder she won’t talk. Sneaky creepy bastard. Anger speeds up my heart. I didn’t say anything he doesn’t already know but he must suspect who I was talking to. I hope I haven’t gotten her in trouble too.
He’s waiting for an answer, and I give him the same ridiculous one he gave me. “The dog. I was talking to Clover.” The smart assed edge to my voice isn’t intentional, but it’s there.
The corners of his mouth twitch up. His amusement only pisses me off more. He’s having the time of his life while two women are desperately trying not to lose theirs.
He leans over and scratches Clover behind her ears. “She’s good company.”
For a moment, I think he’s going to let it go, until he pulls a small glass vial out of his nightstand. “I think you need some sleep.”
“No!” I shout, tugging at the restraints. “No, I don’t. I wasn’t doing anything. I was just talking to the dog.”
He sits beside me on the bed. “It’s okay.”
“No it’s not, you psycho son of a bitch! My friends will come looking for me. You aren’t going to get away with this. Get away from me!”
My rage is useless. He fills a small plastic dropper with fluid from the vial, then grips my face, holding it still.
I clench my teeth and press my lips together, determined not to let him get my jaw open.
Unfortunately, he doesn’t have to. He pushes the dropper into the corner of my mouth and through my lips.
The medicine is deposited in the pouch of my cheek.
He keeps his hand over my mouth until it runs down the back of my throat.
Now I know the punishment for trying to talk to her.
Sobs shake my body, and Clover crawls up to lay her head on my chest. I bury my hand in her fur, holding her close. Whatever he gave me this time isn’t as strong as the dissolving pill. For a good fifteen minutes, I let myself cry.
Alex leaves and returns with a tape player. “It won’t play CD’s,” he says, as if I asked. “But it’ll play tapes and I have plenty of batteries. What do you want to hear?”
“You choking to death on your blood.” My words come out with a slight slur as the drug kicks in. It’s the same dreamy, disconnected feeling that I got when he dosed my hot chocolate.
He doesn’t have anything to say to that.
I close my eyes, blocking him out, blocking everything out.
The sedative does its work, dragging me down, and I try to imagine that I never ran from Hearth and Vine.
I put myself back there. Instead of the soft mattress under me, I’m lying on the thin mat, with the faint smell of weed on my hands from packaging all day.
Oasis plays, leaking into my fantasy. I’m here, Troy.
I’m here on the other side of the wall. I’ll never leave you again.