Black Sunshine

by Halle, Karina

  “Lenore,” he says, staring deep into my eyes, and my name sounds like silk on his lips, and I hate that it makes me feel that way. I hate this man, hate what he’s going to do to me, hate that he’s going to take me away from everything I know and love, hate that he’s going to ruin me first before he deprives me of life.

  He’s frowning again, eyes rapidly searching mine. He doesn’t ever seem to blink. “Curious girl, aren’t you? You hate me. I know that much.”

  Good, I think. I’m glad he can feel it.

  His grip on the back of my neck tightens, making my body stiffen. I feel like he could crush my vertebrae with a simple twitch of his hands.

  He leans in closer, his eyes inches away until they’re all I see, and I see myself reflected in them, so helpless and small. “And yet, I don’t know how you do. You should love me, Lenore. So many people do. Stupid, weak-minded people, but still. Your body has given up, but your mind hasn’t. Your soul hasn’t. That’s some resolve. That’s…rare.”

  Then he gives me another half-smile, pulling back a few inches, looking me over, gaze pausing at my chest. He reaches out and takes hold of the necklaces in his palm. “These don’t help.”

  Swiftly, he yanks at the necklaces until they all snap, even the thickest chains. I watch in horror as he tosses them, including my black skull, to the floor of the car.

  All girls need protection, Lenore.

  Then he grabs my hands, pulling my rings off my fingers, wincing as he does so, as if the rings are causing him pain more than me, and throws them on the floor as well.

  “There,” he says, peering at me intently. “How about now? Do you still hate me?”

  I’ll hate you until my last breath, I tell him in my head.

  His lip curls up and he looks over his shoulder and out of the car at Ezra. “She’s…a little more than we bargained for.”

  That surprises me. I haven’t done anything, just sat here like a fucking puppet as he’s positioned me, ripped my beloved jewelry from me.

  “What about her tattoos?” Ezra asks.

  OH MY GOD.

  Please don’t tell me he’s going to cut them out of me.

  “We’ll see what happens,” the stalker says. He looks back to me, reading the expression of horror on my face. “I’d tell you not to worry, but we both know that would be a lie.”

  He comes back in the car, prowling toward me, and whatever mild amusement I saw in his eyes earlier has now been replaced by something dark and dangerous. Hunter and the prey.

  All the small talk is over.

  I close my eyes, trying to find strength.

  I wish I could borrow it from the moon, hidden somewhere above the fog.

  I wish I could be above the fog, rise right through this car, float through the mist, going up and up and up, leaving all the terror and horror and fear behind until I find peace. I can almost see it like it’s happening, like I’m really up there, staring down at the treetops piercing the blanket of mist, the way it stretches all the way across the water, the tips of the Bay Bridge and the Transamerica Pyramid poking through.

  I raise my head back to that sky, to those stars, to that moon, a nearly full moon, and I feel my blood singing to it, the moonlight singing back.

  Then I’m dropping, fast, falling through the air, down, down, down, until I’m back in the car.

  Back in my reality.

  I open my eyes and look at the man who wants to kill me.

  He flinches when he meets my gaze, like he’s not even seeing me anymore.

  Words of surprise dance on his pretty lips but I give him no time to say them.

  Without thinking, I lean back, able to move again, and get just enough momentum to kick out.

  I smash my boot right into his face, feeling his nose crunch underneath my sole, and then he’s crying out, stumbling backward, blood spilling.

  And then I’m scrambling out of the car, Ezra lunging for me, and I dodge him at the last minute and then I’m running, running, running.

  I’m free.

  I head straight into the forest, a downward slope, hoping the momentum will carry me as I jump over logs and break through the underbrush, branches ripping at my skirt, tearing at my skin, but I feel no pain. I feel nothing but the wind in my hair, see nothing but the mist as it flows past my eyes, kissing my skin.

  I keep my legs pumping, my feet hitting the ground in a satisfying rhythm, and I have the craziest feeling that I might be able to run forever like this, fueled by pure adrenaline and the desire to live. I’ll keep running and running and eventually I’ll hit a house and find safety. I have to.

  And I don’t hear anything behind me, I don’t hear them crashing through the forest, or any hurrying footfalls or shouts. It’s like they aren’t even bothering. All I hear is the blood in my head, my breath as it works overtime, in and out of my lungs. All I know is to just let my body work and to not think and just keep going, no matter what.

  I’ll make it.

  I’ll make it, I’ll make it.

  There’s a large fallen log ahead and I jump up on it, leaping off without a second thought, until I’m falling and falling, the drop so much steeper than I thought it would be.

  But I land on my feet and I keep going, trying to make sense of how I could have jumped down the length of a two-story building and have it not even break my stride. Something tells me I’ll be sore tomorrow.

  As long as I’m alive, I don’t fucking care how I feel.

  And then up ahead I see a light through the trees, maybe a house, maybe a road, but it’s something and my heart is singing. I’m grinning like an idiot, feeling like the girl at the end of the Texas Chainsaw Massacre when she gets picked up by the truck, pure relief that I’m going to make it after all.

  “Lenore.”

  My name.

  Coming from in front of me.

  I scream, coming to a halt, dirt flying around me and then he appears, stepping out from behind the trees, his silhouette backlit by the far-off light.

  How can it be him? How can he be here so fast?

  “You have no idea, do you?” he asks me, that voice so smooth and low that I feel it coil around my heart like a snake. “But you will.”

  Then he reaches for me, and before I can feel his touch, I crumple to my knees and the whole world goes black.

  Chapter Five

  A full moon rising over the ocean.

  Rustling branches.

  A dark forest of cedar and fir.

  I’m safe inside a house, a fire burning on the hearth.

  Sitting on the floor, on a woolen rug.

  I hear hushed voices, panicked voices.

  A woman crouches down to my level. A beautiful woman, porcelain skinned, with a sweet smile, eyes filled with tears.

  “My baby,” she says to me, her smile shaking. “Remember what we practiced? I need you to hide now.”

  I stare at her, not wanting to hide, not wanting her to cry.

  I love this woman like I love my own mother.

  I try to grab onto her, to hug her, but then she disappears through my fingers like blackened sand.

  The last thing I see are flames, a growing fire that consumes me alive.

  I open my eyes, awake.

  It takes me a minute to realize what I’m looking at.

  A ceiling of dark wood, edged with gold filigree, the paint flaking.

  I stare up at it, trying to gather my thoughts, but they’re scattering about in my mind like leaves in the wind. I don’t know where I am, all I know is that I’m alive.

  And not alone.

  I know that without even having to look.

  I can feel him.

  I close my eyes, taking in a deep breath before turning my head to the side.

  The room comes into focus.

  I’m lying on my back on a thin mattress on a floor made of splintering wood. The room has no windows and is empty except for a wooden chair beside me, and a red velvet armchair by the door.

&n
bsp; In the armchair, leaning back, ankle casually resting on his knee, is my stalker, who is now officially my kidnapper.

  Dressed in a tuxedo.

  Reading an old paperback of Watership Down, the cover ripped in half.

  The fuck?

  He’s not even looking at me, eyes on the page. Actually reading.

  I take a moment, trying to make sense of it all, trying to learn as much about my surroundings as possible. But there’s not much to learn. He’s by a door. There’s another door on the other wall, a small crate beside it.

  And cold air at my back.

  I slowly, carefully, sit up, my head swimming, my vision blurry. Look behind me.

  What I assumed was a solid wall is actually a row of wooden slats, darkness behind them. There’s a single door leading into it, a lock on it. There’s something about the darkness that makes me want to run to the other side of the room.

  But that’s where he is.

  And he’s the real danger here.

  I lick my lips, my mouth painfully dry. “Where am I?”

  What I really want to ask for is water.

  The man flips a page of the book, meeting my eyes for a moment, holding me steady in his gaze. For that moment I can’t breathe. His eyes are so blue, so cold.

  Then he looks back down at the book. “You’re in my basement,” he says idly.

  I look around again, my head still heavy. There’s nothing here to defend myself with, but at least I’m not restrained. I’m free to move.

  I look down at my clothes. My jean jacket is gone, as are my socks and boots. I’m just in the body suit and the skirt.

  My stomach turns.

  “Where are my socks and shoes?” I ask, my voice coming out in a hush. Then I run my hands back over my hair, realizing now it’s pulled back into a braid.

  A fucking braid.

  I never wear my hair in a braid.

  “Hmm?” the man asks, flipping the page.

  “My hair,” I gasp. “Who … who braided my hair?”

  “I did,” he says simply, closing the book and fixing his eyes on me. “You don’t remember?”

  My gut continues to twist and turn, my breath hitching in my lungs. “I don’t remember. I don’t…”

  I try to think. I remember running. Running through the forest. That’s why there are so many scratches on my chest and arms and legs.

  And yet they don’t seem as fresh as they should.

  “How long have I been down here?” I ask, though I’m terrified of the answer.

  “A couple of days,” he says.

  “A couple of days!?” I shriek. How is this possible?

  “You really don’t remember?” he asks, placing the book down on the floor beside him, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. His tuxedo looks damn expensive. Why the hell is he in a tux, keeping me in a basement?

  Don’t even let your mind go there…

  “No, I…” I think. It hurts. I remember the Uber, I remember the guy…what was his name? Ezra? He hit me. Then this asshole showed up. I managed to kick him in the face and then I ran through the forest, faster than I’ve ever run, all downhill, it was like I was flying and then…

  I ran right back into him.

  And that’s the last thing I remember.

  “Hmmm,” he says, after watching me for a moment, looking down at his cufflinks as he adjusts them, gleaming in the dim overhead light. “Seems you don’t remember much. Perhaps that’s for the best.”

  “Tell me what happened,” I tell him. “Please.”

  Did he touch me? Hurt me? Rape me?

  I gingerly run my hands over my arms, over my thighs, feeling sick and dirty, shaking from the fear slowly building inside me.

  With a tired sigh, he gets to his feet and slowly walks over to me, hands casually in his pockets. He stops a meter away, cocks his head as he peers down at me curiously. “I brought you to my house. I brought you down here, where no one can find you. Does that answer your question?”

  I shake my head, my heart shattering over his words.

  Where no one can find you.

  No one will find me.

  “What am I not remembering? Did you…” I break off, unable to say the words.

  He frowns, looking annoyed. “I see. You want a play-by-play, Ms. Warwick? I brought you down here, then I had my friend bring you into the washroom, run you a bath, and you got in it, willingly, I might add. We gave you privacy, that is until you attempted to drown yourself in the tub. We brought you out. Brought you fresh clothes. You insisted on wearing your own. You got changed.” He pauses. “If you think we turned our backs like gentlemen, you’re only half right.”

  I try to swallow the brick in my throat. “Then you braided my hair.”

  “You asked me to,” he says with a sniff. “Just be glad I didn’t chop it all off. Would have been much easier that way.”

  It doesn’t make any sense. Why would I ask him to braid my hair? My subconscious attempt at trying to appeal to his weak side, his good side?

  I glance up at him. He’s staring down at me with those intensely cold eyes, that permanent line between his dark brows. I’m not sure this man has a good side.

  “Then,” he goes on, “you went to sleep. You’ve been doing nothing but sleeping ever since. We’ve brought in food, water, but you didn’t want it. You did attempt to stab me in the eye with a fork though. That would have hurt, had you not been so terribly stupid and slow.”

  I think about that for a moment. I’m proud that I attempted to fight back and escape, but it saddens me to the core to know how easily I failed, and how I’ll fail again. How the fuck do I get out of this situation?

  “What do you plan on doing with me?” I ask softly, trying to bury the fear. “You let me bathe, you let me sleep, you brought me food, water. Why are you doing this to me? Why are you keeping me alive?”

  He scoffs, his mouth crooking up into a half-smile. “You’re worth nothing if you’re dead. You do realize that, don’t you?”

  I give my head a shake, my brain exploding with stars. I press my fingers into my cheek. It’s swollen and sore. I stare into nothing, feeling nothing but pain.

  “Can I ask you something?” he says after a moment, and I’m so surprised by the polite, tentative tone of his voice that I glance up at him sharply. “It’s about your parents.”

  My heart seizes. “What about them?” I whisper. “Please, please don’t do anything to them.”

  He lifts a single brow. “I wasn’t planning on it. Your parents are Elaine and James Warwick, are they not?”

  I feel like I should lie but what would be the point?

  “Yes.”

  “And where were you born?”

  “Here. Well, in Daly City.”

  His eyes narrow as he studies me for a long moment. I can almost feel his gaze penetrating my brain, as if he’s able to look inside me and sift around.

  “Are you sure about that?” he asks quietly.

  Now I’m confused. “Of course I’m sure.”

  “Why, because you have a birth certificate?”

  I blink. “Yeah…and that’s what I’ve been told. It says so on my birth certificate, on my passport. What are you implying?” I pause, realization dawning on me. “Wait. You’re with him, aren’t you?”

  “With him?”

  “Atlas Poe.”

  His brows go up in surprise. “Atlas Poe?” he repeats harshly.

  Not the reaction I was expecting.

  He comes closer, stares me down, his cold eyes turning fiery. “What do you know of Atlas Poe?”

  “Nothing…” I say, wishing I had some clever lie but all I have is the truth. “He was…he was outside my house one night. Late. Wanting to talk to my parents. Said he was an associate of theirs, a member of some guild.”

  “And then what did you do?” He’s staring at me so intently I feel my skin burn.

  “I told him to call, send an email. He walked off. I never saw him again.�
� I hesitate, not sure how much I should tell this man. “I asked my mom about him, but she pretended she never knew him. But I could tell she did. She was lying to me.”

  Oh god, why am I telling him that? What the fuck is making me talk?

  He keeps staring at me, slowly running his hand over his strong jaw, the scratchy sound of his facial hair loud in the room. “You really have no idea…” he muses.

  “Idea about what?”

  He crouches down so he’s at my level, a foot away, wrists draped over each other. “The world. Your world, that is.”

  I stare at him, at his perfectly put-together face. The man looks like an angel and a devil combined, the best of both worlds. I recall kicking him right in the nose, wishing I had my boots on so I could do it again.

  But he doesn’t look like he’s been kicked in the face.

  I remember blood.

  He should be black and blue.

  He doesn’t have a scratch on him.

  “I hurt you,” I say hoarsely. “I broke your nose.”

  “You did,” he says with a tired sigh. “But my nose has been broken countless times. Try not to feel too proud.”

  I stare back at him, feeling all the anger seething through me, hot and rabid.

  “Ah,” he says quickly, eyeing me. “There she is again. Do you know what you’re doing, Lenore?” I clench my teeth together, breathing hard, that anger building. “You’re becoming something you wouldn’t believe. In fact, I don’t know if I quite believe it myself. You’re full of surprises.”

  “You don’t fucking know me enough to be surprised,” I sneer at him.

  And before I can stop myself, I’m bringing saliva up into my mouth and I spit on him.

  My spit lands right on his cheek.

  He flinches, nostrils flaring, but his eyes don’t leave mine. He calmly reaches up and wipes the spit off with his long forefinger.

  Then he sticks his finger in front of his mouth, lips parting, pink tongue sliding out, licking it off. His teeth show in a snarl, the sharpest canines I’ve ever seen.

  What the fuck is wrong with him?

  “You’re right,” he says. “But I will. Maybe it will be too late, but I will.”

  He exhales, wiping his finger against his tailored pants.