by Box Set
I’ve malfunctioned.
Every time I try to remember what happened—to figure out what went wrong. I feel like my brain is having a seizure.
Bits and pieces shift to the front, memories with no regard to time and place.
The bathroom morphs into a concrete room and then a dark place, barely bigger than a closet, where Jorge kept me for days on end until I felt like clawing my way out with my bare fingers.
I’d thought my redemption had finally come when Jorge released me from the shadows and let me join his world.
He promised he’d give me everything I needed to survive.
I knew I couldn’t go back to my old life—quite a thing for someone’s mind to accept at ten years old—and Jorge offered me redemption. As unconventional as it was.
I’m not sure if I drift off in the shower or if my mind just wandered too far, but suddenly, I’m wrapped in a towel being carried out to the bed again. The smell of vomit is gone, and the sheets are a different color.
Galeno sets me on my feet next to the bed, leaving the towel over my shoulders, but I immediately drag it off, letting it fall to the floor. I don’t need a wet towel to collapse.
But, as soon as the towel hits my feet, the door to my room opens and the other man steps in again.
Galeno grunts, and the man in the doorway immediately drops his gaze, dropping a bag just inside the door and leaving.
What was that about?
I sit on the edge of the bed as Galeno walks over to the doorway, picks up the bag and returns, setting it next to me as he unzips the top of the duffel. “There should be enough clothes to last you a few days. Pajamas. T-shirts, jeans. Whatever you’d like to wear.”
“Why are you keeping me here?”
“Because you’re in no condition to leave.”
That answer makes too much sense and only adds to my confusion. I narrow my eyes, trying to see through the blurry haze that’s all in my head. “What do you want?”
That slur is still there, but what annoys me most is the unevenness to my voice. The uncertainty slipping through the cracks.
Galeno merely cocks his head, like I asked a mundane question like why is grass green. Of course I should know the answer. Whoever he is, he wants what I know. He wants the same thing the last man wanted. Except he’s using a different form of torture.
5
I wake again to a dim light coming through the window and a weight on my legs. I try to shift out from under it, but then it moves on its own. I squint and make out a brown and white dog with shaggy hair standing on the foot of the bed, stretching its body back. He then walks in a circle and decides to stretch out next to me with his nose near my hand. He looks up at me, then nudges my hand with his nose over and over until I give in and pat his head.
We go on and on like this for several minutes. Every time I stop petting him, he weasels his way under my hand again.
“You look like a mutt.” At least I have one tolerable visitor. He lays his muzzle on my wrist. "So, what's your name?" I ask, twisting his collar around with my other hand. "Rafe?"
He perks up, ears back.
"Nice to meet you, Rafe." I say, patting his head. I always wanted a dog, but…. No. I close my eyes and swallow the lump in my throat.
"I’m a mutt, too," I say quietly.
And now, I'm lying in bed, talking to a dog. But why not? There's not much else I can do without my head feeling like it's going to implode. "My last… boss liked mutts. Said I was his prized mutt. That's why he kept me around. That's why I was good at my job. 'Everyone looks at you. No one sees you.'" I was only valuable as long as the world underestimated me. But pretty little dolls have a short life in this world. Especially when it's their job to get close to targets, find out their secrets, and sometimes quietly see to their death. The blood had to be on someone's hands. And, odd as it sounds, I long to go back to that life. Not the blackmail and killing per se, but at least then I knew who I was in this world. I knew Jorge would keep me safe and alive as long as I delivered on my end.
But now… what do I know?
Strange bed. Strange dog. Strange pain. Strange man.
If I could get up to look out the window, I'm sure I wouldn't recognize anything there either. Sure, the meds help keep the blinding pain at bay, but there's something about the prospect of ending up a vomiting mess on the floor that deters one from getting up.
"If only you could tell me what the fuck's going on," I mumble to the dog.
Then, I hear the door swing open and Galeno walks in. I bite the inside of my cheek and close my eyes. He's now wearing jeans and a black T-shirt, and black socks on his feet. No wonder I hadn't heard him. He sits at the foot of the bed, inches from my feet, and I jerk myself away from him.
I also instantly regret it, gritting my teeth as the pain shoots through like black lightening.
What's wrong with me?
It's never been like this. Pain. Bone pain. Muscle pain. Hell, I've even had nerve fucking pain. But not the kind that radiates out from between my shoulder blades like a fucking atom bomb.
Will it go away?
The nerve damage in my jaw never did, but at least it's tolerable now.
I stare up at the ceiling, trying to let the white void take me. Olvidado. All is forgotten in the void.
Paper rips and crackles behind me. "Hungry?" Galeno asks. He lays a sandwich on the bed next to my leg and dumps a bag of chips next to it.
Olvidado.
I don't answer, but my mouth waters as soon as the smell of bacon hits my nose.
Rafe jumps up, laying over my legs, wagging his tail and staring expectantly at his master's food. At least the damn dog likes him.
Fuck him.
Olvidado.
I have to swallow before my own body drowns me.
Galeno picks up a chip, crunching it loudly in his mouth. I hate the sound of people eating. In a quiet space, it's enough to send me into a rage.
Fucking hell, I'm hungry.
Crunch.
Olvidado.
The dog wallows on my legs.
Crunch.
Olvidado.
"I know you can talk, Chiquita. I've heard you chatting with the dog and mumbling in your sleep."
"Que te den." Fuck you.
Galeno smiles at me over the half sandwich he has raised to his lips. "I was going to give you half, but if you're offering…"
Bastardo.
He holds the sandwich out toward me, and Rafe presses his front paws into my thigh, waving his tail madly behind him.
"Feed your fucking dog."
Galeno sits back, peels a strip of bacon off the sandwich and hands it to Rafe, who happily swallows it down in one or two bites.
Damn it, mouth, stop watering. Then, my stomach joins in with a deep growl. I close my eyes, but I can't block out the smell.
"What do you want?" I grumble, keeping my jaw tight.
There's a long silence, but I refuse to open my eyes to see why. "I picked up a sandwich after my meeting this morning, and I thought you might like something to eat."
So… he'd been gone? Did that mean he left his friend the “creeper” to watch over me?
Well, it wasn't like I'd be going far either way.
"What's the catch?"
"No catch. It's a fucking sandwich and you need to eat."
"There's always a catch. You're keeping me here and alive for a reason."
"And what is it you think I need?" he asks casually, handing the dog a slice of cheese that makes my mouth water again.
"Leverage… information…"
"To get what?" he asks.
"How the hell am I supposed to know?" Yelling aggravates that damn spot between my shoulder blades again. We haven't hit excruciating yet, but it's getting there.
Galeno puts the sandwich down, making a sound to Rafe so he immediately sits and waits. Then, he picks up the bag next to his feet, pulling out a bottle of water and something wrapped up in a napkin. He unfol
ds it in his hand and offers me the two white pills again, sitting the water bottle next to my hip. "I assure you, I have no need for whatever you learned on your exploits for Jorge."
The twinge in my back causes me to wince. Jorge? Who doesn’t fucking know who I am?
"And if I needed leverage, I could find less exhausting ways to get it."
"Then, what?" The pain's starting to fuck with my head again. Fuck with my senses. I grab the pill before I become a vomiting mess and chase it down with water. Then, I grab the other half of his sandwich. "This the best dinner you could come up with?"
"The protein will do you good.” He adjusts on the bed, bending one leg up across the mattress while the other hangs off so he fully faces me. His shoulders are low, limbs relaxed with none of the usual tension I’m used to seeing around me. Bread will help the pill settle in your stomach. And bacon is always a plus. Besides, I figured we should make sure to have the vomiting under control before I feed you anything too crazy."
I glare at him for a moment, then snap. "At least you have plenty of answers for something.”
Galeno leans forward until he's almost crouching over me. "Even if I answered your previous question, you wouldn't believe me, so what's the point?"
Damn. I take a bite of the sandwich. The flavors—however mundane I'd find them on a normal day—explode in my mouth, enhanced by the fact that it’s the first food I remember tasting since I’d ordered room service at the hotel. Galeno’s eyes never leave me as I chew, so I quickly swallow before he thinks I’m enjoying it too much.
I am.
Since I don’t have many other options, I try for more answers, or at least an opening to find a clue. "What's wrong with me?"
I catch him in the middle of a bite and he cocks an eyebrow while he chews. "Of concern, you have two stress injuries in your back, causing pressure on your nerves. Doc estimated they were more than a few days old, so an old injury that Serge exacerbated, I suspect. He also indicated that in addition to numerous contusions, sprains, strains, and abrasions, you were given quite a cocktail of drugs."
I wince as I take another bite of the sandwich. That drunken feeling’s building up again, replacing anger with complacency.
My eyes fixate on his lips as he chews another bite of his sandwich, then his fingers as he breaks off another piece and feeds it to Rafe.
After the sandwich is gone, he crumples up the wrapper—the sound of which fortunately doesn’t make my skin crawl. Then, he pats Rafe on the head and the dog promptly rolls over for a stomach rub as well.
Everyone thinks dogs are cute trying to please their masters for a belly rub or begging for a pat on the head, but I see a part of myself mirrored in his movements. I know that feeling. Appreciating scraps, unwavering loyalty, doing tricks for attention and appreciation—but my tricks were anything but cute. It reminds me of that feeling I’d had in the tub, waiting for some acknowledgement from Jorge before he walked out.
But among the things that held me to Jorge was the firm knowledge that outside his shielded control, someone would always be looking for me. Alone in the world without an identity, always looking over my shoulder, isn’t somewhere I ever wanted to be.
Where was that shielded control when I needed it most?
I have to find my way out of here.
6
It’s almost evening and the house is silent. I slept most of the afternoon and aside from dropping off a plate of chicken and rice for dinner with another rounds of meds, Galeno has been surprisingly inattentive. Even Rafe has made himself scarce and I’m about to go stir-crazy. I can’t stand to stay in bed for another minute, so despite the risk of repeating my last attempt to get out of bed, I roll back the sheets and drop my bare feet to the cold floor.
The pain’s tolerable, but I move quietly—and gingerly—toward the door, which I fully expect to be locked, but the doorknob turns freely, releasing me into a long hallway.
Who is this guy? Someone with no clue what he’s fucking with. That’s certain.
And yet he’d figured out my connection with Jorge, whether or not he knew what it meant. For all I knew he could’ve gotten that information from the man whose place he’d broken up.
To the right, I see a railing overlooking the floor below and beyond that, a flight of stairs.
Too easy.
I creep toward them anyway. Maybe he hadn’t realized my door was unlocked. Maybe he never expected I’d walk right out.
But as soon as I clear the corner of the wall, I catch a movement below and I drop back. The creeper, of course. That man always seems to be luring somewhere along the edges.
He walks across the large open space below—lined with fancy, expensive furniture and arranged as if expecting a large party. Creeper opens the front door, and for a second, I hope he’s leaving, and I’ll have a clean shot, but he lingers in the doorway as if talking to someone outside.
Shit.
With the stairs ruled out for the time being, I decide to explore the rest of the hallway, following it past the door where Galeno was keeping me to the second door. I press my ear against the solid wood and hear nothing, so I quietly turn the knob and peek inside. Another bedroom—this one much larger, almost dwarfing my entire villa. Tempted as I am to snoop, I close the door. I’m not sure how much time I have, and this is obviously not an exit.
Another twenty feet down, the hallway turns left, leading to two more doors facing one another. I reach for the one on the right, but before I turn the knob, I hear Galeno’s voice and press my ear against the wood. The sounds are faint, but there’s no indication they’re coming through this door, so I crack the door and peek in.
A storage closet.
My options are dwindling. I sigh, leaning back against the wall. I have one door left, one I’m certain Galeno is behind. I can still hear his voice, but no others, so I carefully cross the hallway, hoping he doesn’t have any squeaky floor boards.
I press my ear against the wall a couple of feet away from the door.
“Elena, I thought you were enjoying Catalan…. Of course I’m not trying to avoid you… Yes, I know, Elena… Next week… Good.”
Elena. Wife? Girlfriend?
Leverage.
I back away from the door, trying to use what little I know to come up with a plan when a figure rounds the corner, heading straight for me.
Creeper stops dead, cocking his head at me.
Fuck.
I can take one man. That’s easy.
Or, it would be if I could feel my feet. Regardless, I charge toward him, hoping to throw him off balance just enough to dodge by and still have enough in me to make it downstairs and find a way out.
However, I’m the one who gets knocked off balance. All I feel is the searing pain in my back as he swings me around and pulls me against him, my back to his chest.
I know the muscle memory should be there to get me out of this, but I hang from his grasp like a dying leaf on a tree.
Elbow to ribs.
Kick his shins.
He isn’t even holding me that tightly.
Headbutt him in the nose.
My mind keeps going, but my muscles refuse.
I do nothing, frozen, not by him, but by the paralyzing sensation in my spine. Then, the door opens, and Galeno leans against the frame. His lips are pressed together, and his forehead creased with tension.
“You have an audience,” Creeper says.
Galeno makes a sound in his throat.
“It’s not like he was saying anything interesting,” I say, testing Creeper’s hold on me, but he isn’t my problem. Every breath sends a spasm rippling through my back.
“I’ll take care of her,” Galeno says.
The arms around me fall away and Galeno waves me into an office about the size of the bedroom he’d left me in.
Fine. Long game. Keep it smart. I needed information, and it seemed I only had one source for that at the moment, especially since the dog wasn’t talking.
&
nbsp; “Lucero,” Galeno calls over my shoulder. “Consulta el itinerario de Elena. Este no es un buen momento para una sorpresa.” Check Elena’s itinerary. This isn’t a good time for a surprise.
Then, he faces me.
“I understand Spanish, you know.” I’m grasping at any opportunity to throw him off balance, but he navigates it all with the ease of a trapeze artist.
“I’m aware. Is that your native language?”
I stare back with no intent to answer. “Why did you bring me here?”
“To protect you.”
I hadn’t seen that coming, and my head cocks slightly before I can conceal my reaction. “I don’t need you to protect me.”
“Are you certain? The condition we found you in told quite a different story.”
I open my mouth, but I’m stuck. I can blackmail. I can spy. I can spill blood. And yet, I can’t seem to figure out what kind of story I’m supposed to feed this guy. I’d already killed the damsel in distress bit.
Galeno crosses his arms, tapping his fingers against his arm, waiting for some kind of response. “Okay,” he says, walking past me back to his desk. “How’d you end up with Serge?”
“Serge?” I shrug.
“The guy who was holding you,” he clarifies.
Control the narrative. “He corralled me at a party.”
Galeno scoffs. “And why were you at this party?”
My chest constricts. Because Jorge sent me there. But that, I can’t say.
“Jorge?” he guesses anyway. “Were you spying on someone there?”
The skin on the back of my neck tingles with beading sweat from the adrenaline flushing through my body. I’m losing control of everything. I still don’t know why I was there.
Galeno studies me, but doesn’t wait long for me to respond. “Jorge is off the grid—probably enjoying the money he made at your expense.”
I snort, shaking my head. “You don’t know jack shit.”
His head rolls to the side, a slight smile curling up his lips. “Don’t I, zorra?”
“What’s with everyone?” I throw my hands up, hoping to hide my panic by letting the frustration seep through. Did someone put out a press release I’m unaware of? “I went to a party. Serge and his friends jumped me. He held me captive and I woke up here.”