Count to Three

by T. R. Ragan

  The memories came rushing back in a flood of images and pieces of conversation. Matthew had complained about traffic and crowds while he packed, wishing it had been a coastal event so that they, his family, could take a much-needed vacation. She remembered suggesting he tell his boss to have someone else go in his place, but Matthew insisted it was important he be there to represent RAYTEX.

  Matthew had lied to her. There was no question in her mind that he’d been having an affair. She had used every database she had to find Rebecca Carr. Was that even the woman’s real name?

  Dani was itching to call Matthew, tell him she knew about his week in Bodega Bay, but then decided she’d rather wait until they were face-to-face so she could see his reaction. Instead she picked up the phone and called Mimi’s cell.

  Mimi answered the phone on the fifth or sixth ring. “I’ve been asked by Matthew not to take your calls,” she said, her voice low.

  “He’s not at your house, is he?” Dani asked since Mimi was whispering.

  “No. Of course not. But my husband knows what’s going on. He’s been out of work for a while now, and we can’t afford for me to lose my job too.”

  “The rumors were true. Matthew was having an affair,” Dani said. “I’ve spent the morning analyzing old credit card statements, and it appears he took her to Bodega Bay for a week of sunshine and fine dining. But that’s not why I’m calling.”

  “I really should go.”

  “Please hear me out. If you can’t help me, I’ll have to accept it and find another way. I have a niggling feeling that Rebecca Carr isn’t the woman’s real name, but I can’t know for sure without a social security number, which I’m assuming she must have provided RAYTEX with when she filled out paperwork.”

  Silence.

  “There must be a phone number or address in her file, right?” Dani asked.

  “What would you do if you found her?” Mimi wanted to know.

  “I would ask her about Tinsley,” Dani said. “I would ask her if she was the one who picked her up from school the day she went missing.”

  “Oh, Dani.”

  “Please,” Dani said. She had to think fast, find a way to get Mimi to help her. “I’ll be at McKinley Park Monday at noon. Near the tennis courts. I only want to talk to the woman. That’s all. Matthew doesn’t ever need to know.”

  A heavy sigh and then: “I’ll see what I can do.”

  The call was disconnected.

  All sorts of theories about the mystery woman swirled through her mind. Tinsley would never have simply walked off with someone unless she had met the person before and felt comfortable with them. Like every other piece of information Dani had gleaned over the years, it was a long shot, but she would never have another good night’s sleep if she didn’t follow up.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  Ali heard padded footsteps on the floor outside the door and then the key being inserted in the lock. She’d been sitting up in bed, waiting, wondering when he was going to bring her food. She’d hardly seen him yesterday, which left her with only a few snacks. It had been a while since she’d had a full meal, and she was hungry.

  Carlin burst through the door with a Cheshire cat grin on his face. He clapped his hands. “I’ve got a surprise for you!”

  She managed a tight smile. Being nice to a bona fide psycho was easier said than done.

  His eyes narrowed. “I’d appreciate a little more enthusiasm. I’m going to turn around and walk out that door. Then I’m going to count to three and we’re going to try it again.” His dark-blue eyes pierced her own. “Words,” he said in the same way someone might tell their dog to sit.

  “I’m sorry. I’ll do better.”

  “We’ll see.” He walked out the door and closed it. She wanted to cry out, scream at the top of her lungs and let out all the pent-up anger and frustration inside her. Her life with Mom and Gracie flashed before her eyes. All those arguments with her mom, the constant drama . . . such a waste. What was the point? She’d put so much energy into being angry with her mom for expecting her to watch Gracie. Dad was the one who had left them, but Mom was the person she took it all out on.

  “One. Two. Three,” came Carlin’s voice.

  She hated when he counted to three, the way his voice gradually increased in volume, loud and high-pitched. It made her cringe every time.

  The door opened.

  Ali widened her eyes and forced the biggest smile possible. “Good morning!”

  “Good morning, Ali.” He clapped his hands just as he had done the first time he entered the room. “Guess what?”

  She sat up a little taller in bed. “You look excited about something,” she said. “What is it? I’m dying to know.” It was exhausting, trying to please him.

  “I’ve decided it’s time to bring you downstairs. I have the guest room set up, and I have a few surprises in store for my beautiful Ali. I think you’ll be pleased with all the effort I’ve put into making you happy.”

  “Wonderful,” she said, her voice strained.

  “Come on,” he said, walking closer to the bed and flipping off the covers. She slid her legs to the side of the mattress, but before her good foot touched the floor, he scooped her up with a grunt and carried her out the door and to the top of the stairs. He smelled as if he’d soaked in a bath filled with fruity cologne. She wanted to gag.

  “I’m going to walk down the stairs in front of you. I want you to use me and the railing as support. Okay. Here we go.”

  She knew if she didn’t put a hand on his shoulder, he would most likely stop the entire process and start over. With her right hand on the railing and her left on his shoulder, they made their way to the bottom landing in less than a minute. Although she couldn’t put any weight on her foot, it was no longer throbbing, which she took as a good sign.

  He turned around, smiling when he found himself face-to-face with her, their noses nearly touching. For a heartbeat she thought he might kiss her. If he did, she was afraid she wouldn’t be able to keep the act going. Instinct would set in, and she would either knee him in the groin or bite his lip. The way he was looking at her worried her—his eyes changing from overly bright to hard and cold in an instant. In the next breath, he scooped her into his arms again, talking about how busy he was yesterday as he made his way down the familiar hallway to the bedroom where she had broken a window. Iron security bars had been installed outside the large-pane window, just as he’d said.

  He finally set her down in the bathroom. “Here you go! Surprise number one.” He gestured toward the shower as if he were Vanna White on a game show. “I want you to take a long, hot shower and get all the stench off you. On the countertop you’ll find a towel, a hairbrush, some nice-smelling lotion, and a billowy dress that will be easy for you to get in and out of. After you’re cleaned up, just ring that bell sitting next to the sink. I’m going to serve you your favorite breakfast with a side of melon and blueberries.”

  “Thank you, Carlin.” She swallowed the lump lodged in her throat and then offered a watery smile. “You’ve thought of everything.”

  He stared at her for much too long. Then, after what felt like an eternity, he walked toward the shower and got the water going. He stopped at the door leading to the bedroom and said, “Leave the door open. There’s no lock and I want to be able to hear the bell if you ring me.”

  She nodded, practically crying with happiness when he finally walked away, and then hobbled over to the bathroom counter. The first thing she did was open the new toothbrush and toothpaste and spend the next five minutes brushing her teeth and the roof of her mouth. The image reflecting back from the mirror was unrecognizable. Her skin looked pale gray, her hair a bird’s nest, her eyes blank and hollow as if someone else now resided inside her. She’d lost a lot of weight. Too much weight.

  Having seen enough, she unfolded the clean towel and put it on the floor so that she wouldn’t slip on her way to the shower. She stepped out of her dirty clothes, leaving them in a he
ap on the floor, then took hold of the bar inside the shower, using it to keep her balance. As the water drenched the top of her head and poured down her face and neck and the rest of her body, she allowed herself to cry, great gulping sobs of anguish. The water was turning cold by the time she finished. After drying off, she returned the towel to the floor and hobbled back to the sink area. As she combed the tangles from her hair, she caught a movement out of the corner of her eye.

  He was watching her.

  She could see his shadow standing in the bedroom where he thought he wouldn’t be seen. She looked around for the dress. It was gone.

  “Hey,” he said, stepping into the bathroom, his gaze roaming over her, his eyes filled with lust. “I found another dress that I thought might fit you better.”

  She reached out for the dress, but he wasn’t ready to hand it over. His gaze met hers. “Feel better after such a nice long shower?”

  Maintaining eye contact, she said, “It was nice. Thank you.”

  “Happy, then?”

  “Yes. I’ve never been happier.”

  “Good. That’s what I like to hear.” He let go of the fabric, and she pulled it her way and held it close to her chest. Instead of leaving, he went to collect the pile of dirty clothes from the tile floor. In the mirror she watched him look over his shoulder at her, his eyes unblinking as he took in every bit of her.

  Goose bumps covered her flesh.

  “Are you cold?”

  She quickly raised the dress over her head, slipped her arms through the short-capped sleeves, and then yanked the fabric down toward her knees. “I’m fine,” she said when she found him still staring.

  More than anything in the world, she wished she could harm him in some way. Hit him with something, stab his other eye with the toothbrush, make him pay for what he was doing to her. Instead she turned back to the mirror and began brushing her hair.

  With her dirty clothes piled in his arms, he finally left. She began opening drawers, looking for something she might later use as a weapon.

  “What can I get for you?”

  She jumped. “You scared me.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “I’m looking for a blow-dryer.”

  He moved around her, rummaged through one of the cupboards, and held up the blow-dryer. “Here we go!” He plugged it in, and before she could protest, he took the round brush from her and attempted to style her hair. She kept her gaze averted downward, didn’t want him to see the contempt she felt for him. Her insides trembled with hate and fear.

  When he finished, he said, “Come on now. Hold on to my shoulder for support, or would you rather I carry you?”

  Never again, she thought as she placed her hand on his shoulder, taking one-legged hops while doing her best to keep up as they made their way through the bedroom and down the hallway toward the kitchen. He guided her into the same chair she’d sat in when she gouged him with a fork. The table had been set with cloth napkins and plastic silverware. He disappeared for a minute, returning with a platter of golden pancakes and bacon. He went back and forth between the kitchen and the dining room table.

  She sat quietly while he worked. He seemed overjoyed about something, and he kept looking her way, smiling and winking, making her want to throw up.

  “Eat,” he said when he sat down in the chair next to her. “I’ve been slaving away all morning.”

  She took a bite and took her sweet time chewing so as to avoid having to talk to him.

  “You are a hungry hippo,” he said happily when she hardly stopped to sip her water or orange juice.

  She nodded, thinking what an odd man he was, definitely a psychopath. She’d learned about the brain in biology class. The prefrontal cortex was the part that had to do with empathy and guilt. With psychopaths and some people who had suffered a frontal head injury, there lacked a solid connection between the prefrontal cortex and the amygdala, which facilitates fear and anxiety. This man was hanging on to reality by a thread. Had he been born that way, or had his environment steered him into crazy land? Knowing she couldn’t remain silent forever or he’d have to count to three, she decided to strike up a conversation. “Carlin. I was wondering . . . What do you do for a living?”

  His eyes narrowed. “Why? I have plenty of money. Just look around you. The furniture isn’t cheap, and neither is the upkeep of this place.”

  She forced a lighthearted laugh. “I didn’t mean to offend you. I thought you wanted to get to know me and vice versa.”

  He squirmed a bit in his seat, then gave his head a small shake. “Yes. You’re right.” He shoved an entire piece of bacon into his mouth and talked while he ate. “Let’s just say I provide a much-needed service for the community. I own my own business. We’ll leave it at that.”

  She let it go, figuring he didn’t want her to know what he did for a living because he didn’t trust her. She forced a smile and changed the subject. “Who taught you to cook?”

  “My mother.”

  “I am excited to meet her,” she said, only because she hoped the woman would help her escape.

  “She’ll love you almost as much as I do.” He stood and took their plates to the kitchen sink.

  She glanced at the door. Her chest tightened when she noticed that there was now a heavy-duty padlock around the handle.

  When he returned to the table, his eyes were as bright as ever, and his hands were behind his back. “And now for the surprise. My gift to you.”

  The greatest gift would be if he would fall dead at this very moment.

  He showed her his gift, his eyes beaming with pleasure.

  It was a metal collar lined with some sort of padding, possibly a thin layer of felt. She prayed it wasn’t meant for her. He walked past her, but he stopped once he was directly behind her, his breath moving the hairs on the top of her head. “Lift your hair for me.”

  She looked over her shoulder at him. “Please don’t put that on me. I won’t run. I promise.”

  “Sorry. You’ll have to earn my trust. Now turn around and lift your hair. I’ll count to three—”

  She threaded her hands behind her neck and lifted her hair to the top of her head before he could say “one.”

  “Very good.”

  His fingers lingered at her throat, his thumb brushing over the nape of her neck. It seemed like forever before she heard a click.

  “There,” he said happily. “Ready to go.” Grasping her forearm, he forced her to stand on her one good foot before placing his hands on her face, tilting her chin upward so she had no choice but to meet his gaze. “It’s a locked collar, so no use trying to pry it off. As you’ll soon discover, I have set up an invisible fence like you would for a beloved pet. The fence, which is simply wires, transmits energy. Your collar is the receiver.”

  The excitement in his voice made her stomach clench.

  “Electrically charged wires have been installed around the windows and doors. There is also a transmitter, of course. No use looking for it. I spent hours yesterday customizing and installing the wires, making sure everything was good to go.”

  She said nothing.

  “Don’t you see? You’ll be free to roam the house as you see fit.”

  She raised a hand to her throat and touched the metal collar. “It’s humiliating.”

  He angled his head to one side. “You want to know real humiliation? Try having your eye nearly gouged out by the love of your life! I had to run after you as I bled, and then punish you so that you would not try to escape again. Do you have any idea how much it pained me to have to hurt you like that?”

  His face was red and mottled. Spittle formed at the corners of his mouth. He was deranged, and yet that hadn’t stopped her from saying too much. When would she learn to keep her mouth shut?

  “I have provided you with a beautiful house,” he went on, his arms raised as if he were preaching to an audience of fifty instead of one. “I have cooked for you and tended to your injuries, and you’re complaining?�
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  “I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking. I never meant to hurt your feelings after all the work you’ve put into this just so that I would be free to roam.” Again, she touched the collar around her throat. “The truth is I can hardly feel it. It’s perfect. You’re amazing.”

  His chest rose and fell, but the lines in his face softened. Her words had done what they were supposed to do—they soothed him, calmed him down.

  He exhaled, held his head a little higher, then gestured toward the door. “If you approach one of the exits, you’ll feel a jolt. It won’t cause you any real harm unless you hold your ground or force your way through.” He cringed as if he were imagining her doing so. “I wouldn’t try it.” He then clapped his hands, smiling as if he hadn’t been in a rage twenty seconds ago. “Any questions?”

  “Will I be able to take a shower without being electrocuted?”

  “Yes.”

  She hopped on one leg to the kitchen just to see if she would feel anything. After opening the refrigerator, she made her way to the sink and turned on the faucet. She looked over her shoulder, surprised to see he hadn’t followed her. Her attention fell on a pile of mail sitting on the counter. Set to the side was an envelope with a stamp on it, ready to be mailed. It was a utility bill. An idea struck her, giving her hope.

  “Isn’t it wonderful?”

  Startled, she put a hand to her chest.

  “I should have thought of this sooner. It would have made your transition so much easier.” He walked forward holding a cane. “Here. This should make getting around much easier.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Don’t thank me yet. There’s more! One last gift from me to you. I saved the best for last.”

  She waited and then remembered he wouldn’t tell her what it was until she asked him. “What is it?” she asked, feigning interest.

  He reached for her hand and held it in his. “I talked to Dylan Rushdan.”

  Her heart kick-started into high gear. Why would Dylan bother to talk to him? Stay calm. He’s just trying to scare you.