Stay (10 page)

“Good, she’s awake.” Nate’s voice was smooth. “Unchain her,” he said. Jackson shuffled his feet as he hesitantly walked over. The entire left side of his face was spotted with dark purple bruises, and there were five fresh, clean cuts fresh on his right forearm. All were the same length and equally spaced from each other, but each got deeper as they went up his arm.
 

His movements were stiff, leaving me to believe there was more damage done to his body than I could see. His dark eyes flashed to mine for a millisecond, but that was all the time I needed to see his terror and pity. He stuck a key in the locks that held back my arms. He pocketed the padlocks and gently unwrapped the heavy links from my wrists. His eyes met mine again, though this time they pleaded for me to shut up and stay still. Next, he got up and walked around the bed, releasing the metal from around my ankles.
 

“Sit up,” Nate ordered. He sat on the cot next to mine and smiled as he eyed me up and down. He had a yellow folder next to him, and he drummed his neatly manicured nails on it. Zane stood behind him with his arms crossed. Even he had a fist sized bruise under his right eye.
 

“I’m impressed,” Nate started. “I’m very impressed with your efforts, but this has to stop.”

I clenched my jaw and dug my nails into the mattress. Inside, I was shaking with fear. But I’d be damned to let Nate know that. I narrowed my eyes to keep from crying.

“You don’t want to become more trouble than you’re worth,” Nate continued. He dramatically sighed and opened the folder, withdrawing several photographs and handing them to me. The ink hadn’t completely dried; it felt sticky under my fingers.
 

My breath caught in my chest, and a whimper escaped my lips when I stared down at the pages. The smiling face of my little sister looked up at me. In a horrified trance, I flipped through the pictures. The next photo was of Lynn, then my parents, then Ari again with the dogs. The last image was printed straight from Google Earth, and my house was circled in red ink.

“Try anything again and I cannot promise their safety,” Nate spoke calmly. He stood and yanked the photos from my clammy fingers, smearing the ink. I was too weighted down with fear to react. “Leave her. No food or water until tomorrow. If she tries to escape, put her back in the closet.”

Lily, who was pressed against a wall next to Phoebe, tried to step forward. Phoebe took a hold of her wrist and pulled her back, quickly shaking her head. Rochelle crossed her arms and glared at me for another few seconds before getting up and limping over to Zane. She gently touched the bruise on his face. He snarled at her and pushed her away. Not having her normal balance, Rochelle stumbled and fell, her knees smacking against the concrete floor.
 

Crying out in pain, she spun herself around and crawled after Zane. With one hand outstretched, she called to him.
 

“Wait!”
 

Nate had already ascended the stairs. Jackson stood at the base of the stairs with his arms tightly crossed, looking like he might get sick. Zane turned, cold eyes flashing at Rochelle.
 

“Later,” he said with no emotion. “I’ll come back later.”

Her whole body relaxed and a wide smile took over her face. “I’ll be waiting,” she cooed and used a chair to pull herself to her feet.
 

Zane turned, snapped his fingers at Jackson to follow, and stomped up the stairs. I heard the multiple locks click into place.

I let out a shaky breath and lowered my head. The adrenaline and terror were slowly leaving my body, letting the full extent of the agony my body was in register in my brain. Wincing, I moved so that my back was resting against the thin pillow. I closed my eyes, and hot tears rolled down my cheeks. It stung. I carefully reached up and felt several tiny tears in my skin, no doubt acquired from running through the darkened forest.
 

I turned my hands over and saw that my palms and been completely torn from the asphalt, as were my knees and my right side and hip. My head throbbed, and I was uncomfortably hot, making me wonder what would happen if my wounds became infected.
 

I heard the metallic squeak of the shower turning on. Phoebe moved around near it but didn’t get in. And then it shut off. She came over to the cot, carrying several wet rags and a bottle of rubbing alcohol.

“Me help.” She knelt down next to the cot. “This hurt,” she warned. I closed my eyes and gobbled the old quilt into my fists. Phoebe gingerly ran the wet washcloth over my face. I whimpered but remained still. She worked her way down, cleaning the dried blood and mud from my skin. Then she blotted every scratch with alcohol. I turned my head to the side and bit the inside of my cheek in an attempt to distract myself from the pain of cleaning my wounds.

“There.” Phoebe stood. “You want pain pill?”

“Sure.” Why not? Why should I suffer any more than I already was?
 

Phoebe went to the dresser and returned with an orange pill bottle. She dumped the contents out in the cot. It was full of different types of pills varying in size, shape, and color. She pursed her lips as she thought, sorting through the medication.

“I think this right one.” She picked out a large white pill. “Lily, get water.”

I took the pill from Phoebe. “Thank you,” I told her.

“You so close.” She squeezed her eyes shut for a moment. “So close to freedom.”

“I’m sorry.”
 

“No.” Her head whipped back and forth. “No apologize. So close to freedom is hope. We do it again.”
 

“Yeah. Uh … next time. Next time we’ll have a plan.”

“Yes. We come up with good plan, and we get out.” Her head tipped up and to the side as she spoke. She didn’t believe a word she was saying. And at that moment, neither did I.

CHAPTER TWELVE

ECHOING BOOMS WOKE me up. My eyes flitted across the dark basement to one of the small, rectangular windows. It was too dark to actually see it, but I knew the general location. Another boom rattled the house. Thunder. The loud noises had to be thunder.
 

I let my shoulders relax, and then I heard it again. My body went rigid. Bombs, it sounded like bombs. And then a faint, colorful glow illuminated the window.

"Oh," I said out loud. "Fireworks." Without warning, emotion bubbled through me and I started crying. There was one main reason for fireworks in the summer, and that meant we were four days into July. Four days into July meant that I had been held captive for over a month.

And I was still locked in the basement. I hadn’t been put to work. In fact, I had been left alone most of this time. I didn’t know where the girls were whisked off too. When they came back, they were only here for a few hours to rest before they went out again. They were constantly working, treated like objects with no traces of human needs or emotions.

I knew it was Nate’s attempt to break my spirit. Being alone in this dark hole was enough to make me go mad. I was constantly scared, and now I was lonely. There were times when I had gone days without seeing the girls but I refused to let it break me. I was alone, but I wasn’t forgotten. I wouldn’t be forgotten. I held onto every ounce of hope I had with no intentions of letting it go.

I always made an effort to get up and move around the basement, keeping my muscles loose and ready to sprint out of here at a moment's notice. Lily and Phoebe helped keep that hope alive. Like me, Phoebe dreamed of running away. Lily hid from the emotions of her painful past by being unusually upbeat and cheerful for someone in our situation. Outside of this hell-hole, I wouldn't have gone out of my way to be friends with either of the girls. But in here, I cared about them. After all, we were all each other had.

More fireworks exploded, masking the sound of the basement door opening. It startled me when Jackson pulled the string, turning on the light.
 

"Sorry," he said quietly.
 

His dark wavy hair was wet and pushed back from his face. I blinked in the harsh light and looked at him, realizing for the first time that his eyes were shaped like almonds and lined with thick, dark lashes. I looked away, not wanting to acknowledge I found his dark eyes captivating.
 

"I brought you food," he told me and slowly approached the cot.
 

My stomach grumbled with hunger as I looked over the tray. It was always some sort of variation of a cheap school lunch. Today it was turkey sandwiches, fruit cups, milk, yogurt, and cereal bars.
 

 
Jackson put the tray on the table and looked at me. He had never tried to so much as touch me, but being alone with him unnerved me. There was nothing stopping him if he ever decided to do, well, anything to me.

"Thanks," I said automatically. "What's going on out there?" I pulled my arms close to me and glanced at the small window.

"Fourth of July party.” He pointed behind him. "The pool is on the other side of the house, so I guess you can't hear the music."

"Oh, right." I looked at the turkey sandwich and then back at Jackson.
The pool, right.
No wonder his hair was wet. He had been swimming and partying and watching fireworks. I wanted to be angry with him. I wanted to throw the tray across the room and tell him what an awful person he was. Then I caught his gaze again, and he hit me with a pitying stare.
 

No.
 

I wasn't going to be like Rochelle, who had a textbook case of Stockholm syndrome. Maybe Jackson really did feel bad for me, but it didn't make him any better than Nate or Zane. A small part of my brain nagged at me, reminding me of the cuts and bruises that frequently decorated Jackson's face. I shook my head, dismissing the issue all together. Whatever happened to Jackson was his business, not mine. Besides, he lived upstairs with Nate and Zane, working with them. He was one of them, and I couldn’t let my guard down, not if I ever wanted to get out.

"Well," he started and pulled on a lose string along the hem of his shirt. "Can I get you anything else?"

Was he serious? I shot Jackson the most incredulous stare I could manage. "Get me the fuck out of here," I said with my mouthful.
 

He recoiled from my words. "S-sorry," he stuttered. "Bad question." His cheeks turned bright red, and he took a small step backwards.

"Jackson!" a male voice boomed from upstairs. "What the hell is taking so long? We're out of beer!" Zane yelled.
 

Jackson's body tensed and he whirled around and scurried up the stairs. I stared at the spot where he had been standing and tried to hang onto the anger. It wouldn't be long before the emotions slipped away and I was left feeling empty again.

I finished my food and paced around the basement, thankful Jackson left the light on. Feeling restless, I dragged a chair over to the small rectangular window and put my hands on the ledge. Dusty spider webs crackled and caught on my fingertips. I jerked back and flicked my hand. The webs were old and void of spiders, but it still grossed me out. I couldn't see anything except the distant glow of lights and the occasional bright explosion of fireworks. When my heels started to painfully scream at me, I hopped down from the chair, shock stinging my ankles. My eyes closed as the pain radiated up into my calves. I bent down and pressed my fingers into the muscle, slowly massaging it out.

I pulled my shoulders back and took a breath. I wanted to scream and throw shit and watch it break. I pressed my hands onto my eyes and screamed in frustration.

Something clattered to the floor above me. I removed my hands and blinked. My vision was cloudy with dark spots from the pressure of my hands. I shook my head, huffed, and sank down on my cot. The air was humid and sticky, yet I shivered. I pulled the quilt over my bare arms, the rough fabric itching my skin. I closed my eyes and prayed for the safety of my family and friends.
 

I couldn't remember the last thing I had said to my mother before I was taken. I had seen her the night before the Pride Parade. I was sitting on the porch, deep into my book. She came home late from teaching a class at the gallery and was startled to see me huddled under a thin blanket, swatting mosquitoes and squinting in the yellow porch light with my book just inches from my face. She told me to come inside and talk with her. I said I would when I reached the end of the chapter I was on. Four chapters later and by the time I was sick of getting eaten alive by flying bloodsuckers, she had already gone to bed. The guilt was like acid in my stomach.
 

I angrily wiped away tears and lay down, curling my legs up to my chest. The grand finale of the firework show boomed and flashed with fury in the night sky. Scarlet hated fireworks, and I hated that I wasn't there to comfort my dog. The tears began to fall faster. I squeezed my eyes shut so tight they hurt, and I cried myself to sleep.

***

Heels clomped down the basement stairs, pulling me from the gray sleep I drifted in and out of all day. Lily and Phoebe trudged over, collapsing on their cots. I pushed myself up and rubbed the sleep out of my eyes, glad the girls were back.

"Are you okay?" I looked at Lily, who was walking as if she was sore.

"Define okay," she grumbled. "I got the shit fucked out of me."

My heart fluttered, and abhorrence flooded my veins. Heat rushed to my cheeks, speckling them with red. “Where were you?"

"Yacht party," Phoebe said.

"Yacht party?" I echoed. "We're in Iowa."
 

"It was just a big houseboat," Lily corrected. "On a lake a few hours from here. Nothing spectacular." She used her feet to push off her yellow heels and lay down. "It was hot, the lake smelled like fish, and the boat's air conditioning stopped working like halfway through our trip."

"So many people," Phoebe complained. "Nonstop work."

Horrified and at a loss for words, I looked at Phoebe. The thought of being stuck on a boat in the middle of a lake with multiple clients made me sick to my stomach. Would I eventually be forced to do the same thing? Phoebe began unclipping hair extensions. I noticed she was wearing false eyelashes as well. "Where is Rochelle?"