by L Neil
Is it jealousy?
Whatever the fuck it is, he needs to get off me right now. I struggle again, trying my hardest to pull free of his hands but they’re just too tight. He’s too strong.
Tommy was too strong too.
And this is precisely the moment when the panic kicks in.
I can feel the change instantly – everything is happening so quickly that I cannot register it all, but my movements are uncoordinated and my efforts to get free become too sloppy. I don’t even notice that he retrieved the handcuffs from his bedside until he slaps them on me, tethering one of my wrists to the bed post.
“What the fuck-
“Stay still,” he growls in my ear. I notice this time when he leans over to the bedside and pulls out the large, silver pair of scissors.
“FRANK!” I scream again, louder this time. I pull on the cuffs so hard and suddenly that it feels like I have broken my wrist. But the pain is forgotten when he pulls my head back by my hair, exposing my throat.
I smack at him with my free hand. Otherwise, there’s nothing I can do but feel the tears spill down from the corners of my eyes and choke, “Please. Please, don’t.”
Why is he doing this?
“You said you would never hurt me,” I sob.
At that, he looks into my eyes and I feel the tension in his body ease.
Still, he draws the scissors nearer. “I won’t,” he replies, hoarsely, and then slides the scissors behind my head and chops my hair.
With the scissors being so large, he only needs to cut twice before he holds the length of my pale hair in his hand.
I am relieved that it wasn’t my neck. Still, I gape at him in horror. “What…” I breathe. “Why?”
I’m too shocked to cry just yet but I know that I’m devastated. How could he do this to me? And who is this man?
Kneeling over me, I watch as his eyes are filled with comprehension once more. No longer with a single-minded purpose, he begins to realise what he has just done.
But instead of apologising, he seems to remember that he is furious with me and moves off the bed quickly, tossing the scissors aside.
He steals my phone from the other bedside and throws it, too, to the other side of the room, out of reach. Then he abandons me without another word, leaving me shattered and so very confused.
When I can finally get my body to cooperate, I sit myself up, which is hard to do when you’re cuffed to the bed and feeling like your whole world has just turned upside down.
Still shaking, I reach up to feel the remaining hair on my head. He had cut it while I was still horizontal and it was just enough distance from my head that when I sit up, it falls halfway down my neck, into a bob. Well, a crooked one.
I squeeze my eyes shut and cry so hard that my rib cage feels like it might collapse.
I should have known that I wasn’t safe with him. Why did I think that I knew him - that I held sway over him, to make him treat me differently to others? He’s a ruthless gangster, the most dangerous man I have ever known. I knew that by marrying him, I was making a deal with the Devil.
I was blind and stupid and....I need to get out of here. Fast.
Looking around, I try to think of something that I can use to unlock the cuffs.
Yes, one of the few useful things I learnt from Jimmy was how to pick a lock. The other two skills he taught me were how to shoot and how to read people’s faces.
I haven’t had to shoot anyone, and I am obviously no good at reading people, otherwise I wouldn’t be in this mess to begin with.
But I haven’t forgotten how to pick a lock.
There’s gotta be a bobby pin around here somewhere…
✽✽✽
“Fuck!” I shout, for the millionth time.
Leo is hovering near, still waiting for an answer to his question: “What did you do?”
I sit on the lounge downstairs, hunched over and resisting the urge to punch my comrade, my brother, my consigliere.
He paces before me, itching to go upstairs and ensure that I haven’t harmed her. He loves her too, considers her family. However, his loyalty to me keeps him down here.
“Frankie,” he croaks, stopping in his tracks, “please tell me you didn’t hurt her.”
“I would never hurt her,” I snarl at him, offended that he would suggest such a thing. “I…” it is difficult to explain what I did. “I used the scissors-
He begins to march out of the room, so I hastily clarify, “I cut her hair, Leo.”
He halts, facing away from me still but I can see his shoulders relax as he exhales in relief.
Then, I add, “I cuffed her to the bed.” Knowing that I shouldn’t have to explain myself, I tell him anyway, “You know that she fits his profile – she’s beautiful, she’s young and... all of his victims have long hair. It’s his thing.” Yes, Leo has seen evidence of this firsthand.
He turns to face me, much calmer now but still not impressed with the way I have handled things.
“It was the only solution I could think of in the moment. I…” I look down at my hands – as if they were responsible, had acted on their own accord. They have done so in the past, before I have had a chance to consider any consequences. I have never felt a regret as deep as this, however.
“What have I done?” I whisper to no one in particular.
He kneels before me now. I hadn’t even noticed him approaching. Calmly, he tells me, “I know what he’s capable of and…I doubt he could resist someone like Helena. You were just trying to protect her.”
“Are you telling me that I did the right thing?” I ask, softly. I don’t need his approval – or anyone’s for that matter. But for some reason, this is important. Perhaps if someone can see that I had good intentions, then she will be able to forgive me. At least, one day.
“I…well,” he stumbles, “it might be hard for her to understand at first…”
“Leo…” I urge him to tell me the truth.
“No,” he says resolutely. “You fucked up. I mean, you should have warned her about him sooner-
“I did!” I growl. “Many times. When I spoke to her for the first time. And the second time…I…I guess I never told her exactly-
“She needed to know everything,” he gently cuts me off. “She is up there now, confused, in pain, because she doesn’t know why you attacked her like that.” He stands and the next thing he says breaks my heart. “She must be so scared.”
I stand, too, about to make my way back to her. Holding my hand up, I stop Leo from following me as he was expecting to do.
With each step, my shame deepens. What the fuck was I thinking? If someone else had done this to her, they would surely be under my scalpel, tout de suite.
She will never forgive me. How could she? Why should she?
When I reach the top of the stairs, I consider all the ways I could make it up to her. Surely, there is something I can do...
But there is nothing.
She doesn’t want anything. My wife is one of those rare women with no desire for material things. Everything else, she either already has or can have whenever she wants.
I have already given her all of me – the King of New Orleans – my heart, my body, my mind...my very soul. I surrendered it all to her when she agreed to be mine. Hell, she has owned me for years now, without a single clue that I even had my eye on her.
No doubt, she doesn’t want any of it anymore. I broke her trust again and her heart, too. Damn it! She was supposed to feel safe with me!
I hesitate at the door to our room. I will explain my reasons and they will not be enough to keep her here. But it should be enough to keep her away from my evil son.
Will that be enough for me?
If I set her free again, it would surely be the end of us. She will not return to me again.
Crippled by this dreadful thought, I place my hand upon the door to support myself. The idea of losing her again does not bode well with me at all.
No. I’m
not letting her go.
So, how far am I willing to go to keep her?
Before I allow my mind to wander into dangerous territory, I decide to bite the bullet, to go in there and beg her forgiveness. I will show her that I am at her mercy and will grovel at her feet until she grows tired and hungry and has no choice but to give in.
She will be the only person to ever see such weakness from me, but it is a small price to pay.
Feeling most unprepared, I push open the heavy door. When I do, I find an empty bed with the opened handcuffs upon the messy bed.
✽✽✽
CHAPTER 20
Dolls
Shivering, I stand in the light rain in an alleyway between two restaurants in town. At this time of night, this particular street is mostly dark and quiet.
I ditched the Aston Martin a few blocks away, aware that a GPS tracking device had been installed in it even before I started borrowing it from Frank.
There was no chance I would get away quickly enough without taking a car and I knew exactly where the keys were, so I quietly nabbed them on my way out of the mansion.
I rub my wrist which aches again now that the adrenaline has worn off. I’m sure it’s not broken but it still hurts like a motherfucker.
As I sped to town, I phoned the only person who made sense at the time.
I couldn’t put Manny or any of my friends in danger by going to them. I can only pray that Frank and his goons will leave them alone when they realise that I’m not hiding with them.
Before abandoning my phone, which I have no doubt is being traced, I texted Dominic to warn him that Frank is mad and dangerous and that he needs to expect company. I didn’t bother asking him to protect our family - that is a given.
Just now, I realise that I forgot to warn Eddie too. Shit. Is it too late to go back?
Headlights shine on the brick wall beside me before they briefly flood my vision. The car parks on the curb with a certain confidence that confirms it must be who I’m expecting. If it were Frank or his men, they surely would have driven past slowly before stopping suddenly. Well, that’s how I figure it anyway.
When the driver’s side window slides down and Sam’s cheeky grin is revealed, I can finally relax.
But then his smile slips and I don’t know if it’s because I’m wet from the rain or because he can see what Frank did to my hair.
“Get in,” he orders.
Glad to get out of the cold rain, I oblige.
“Who sent the photo?” Sam asks, quietly.
He sits in the brown, leather armchair near the sofa that I occupy, legs crossed. There seems to a range of emotions simmering within him and, as usual, I can’t seem to identify them.
The heat from the lit fireplace has thawed me out significantly and my teeth are no longer chattering. “I don’t know,” is all I can say. We both know that if it were one of Frank’s men, he would have been alerted sooner.
I can’t help but feel guilty for Sam. He had to ditch his home because he would most certainly be the first person my wrathful husband visits to look for me.
Luckily, he has this friend who lives nearby, who Frank apparently doesn’t know about.
The two-storey house is old and could use some updating. It’s certainly not what I would expect a friend of Sam’s to live in. Although I haven’t seen his own place, he had once described his penthouse apartment in the city as quite modern and luxurious.
I want to ask more about this friend, whose home is also very minimalistic and neat with its bare grey walls and sparse furnishings, but I don’t want to seem nosey or ungrateful, so I keep my questions to myself. For now, anyway.
At my request, he texted Eddie when we first arrived here. A minute later, his phone chimed, and I was finally able to relax, knowing that the message had been received.
The next order of business was to get me a towel and a change of clothes – a white Victorian-style nightgown. I have therefore gathered that this friend must be female.
While I dressed, I tried so hard not to think about Frank and what he must be feeling right now. A very small, stupid part of me wants to go back to him and demand an explanation. But no, I somehow made it away from him – I need to stay that way.
The light from the fire dances across Sam’s face now, illuminating pale green eyes that are again taking in the work that Frank did on my hair. He lifts his hand and his long fingers rub his smooth lips in thought.
I play with the hem of the gown which stops just below my knees. Again, I don’t know what he’s thinking.
Not in the mood to play the guessing game, I ask, “What? What are you thinking?”
He drops his hand, but his face remains unreadable – motionless but full of emotion all the same.
“I’m perplexed,” he answers, flatly. “Devastated. How could he do this to you?”
Suddenly, he sighs loudly and rests his cheek on his closed fist. He seems more put out by the fact that my hair is cut than him not being able to return home anytime soon.
In fact, he seems almost child-like in his reaction to all of this. Maybe because his priorities seem out of whack – surely, he should be more worried about my murderous husband who is no doubt combing the streets for us?
Now, he stares – not at me but in my direction. Lost in thought, he says to no one in particular, “I wonder how long it would take to grow back.”
Feeling uneasy again, I ask, “Sam, are you okay?”
His eyes slowly refocus. Seeming to remember himself, he stands and then kneels on the floor below me.
“I am so sorry,” he says in earnest, placing his hands on my knees. When he looks down at his hands, his thick, black lashes rest on his smooth cheeks. Sombre, he finally seems to understand the gravity of the situation.
He gazes back up at me. “You have been through so much and you need a friend to take care of you, to let you know that everything will be okay.” He smiles beautifully. “I want to be that friend.”
His words help ease the pain. Of all people, I never expected him to have my back like this. Perhaps everything will be okay.
Standing abruptly, he declares, “I’m going to make you some hot cocoa.”
I start to tell him not to worry but he seems to be on a mission and disappears from the living room quite quickly. I guess a warm drink would be nice.
I’m floating. Gravity no longer holds me captive. Like a helium balloon that’s been let go, I feel myself drifting higher and higher...and higher.
Too high.
My stomach roils and as I move my body, everything feels wrong, off-balance and then I begin to plummet.
I want to scream, long and loud but it would require so much energy. I may as well just let myself die.
No. I can’t think like that. I need to get up.
Up?
Yes, I’m on the ground, not in the air.
It seems to take all my strength just to open my eyes. My eyelids are so damn heavy.
When I do, I can’t see much...it’s dark but maybe it’s morning? Perhaps 6am? I’m outside. No – inside. Glass walls. Plants. Argh, this doesn’t make sense. It’s pointless. I can worry about this later. I should just go back to sleep.
Yes. Sleep...
I wake with a start. The sun is right in my eyes. The rays are magnified by one of the glass panels above me. Squinting and shielding my eyes with my forearm, I sit up.
The world tilts.
It smells like dirt and... rotten things and my back is sore from sleeping on the rough, hard floor.
What the hell is going on?
When my eyes adjust in the morning light, I can finally see where I am. Some sort of large greenhouse? I guess that maybe explains the smell.
Vined plants climb up the tall, glass walls, to the ceiling, seeking a way out.
What am I doing here?
I begin to stand but something tugs at my ankle, putting me off balance.
A deep and sudden sense of dread fills me as I look down at the
shackle.
No.
My very first thought is that Frank has captured me but that doesn’t make sense. I would remember if he did, wouldn’t I? Besides, he didn’t know where Sam’s friend lived.
Sam’s friend. The house. These clothes... I look down at the night gown. The hot cocoa.
The hot cocoa.
I turn my head to take in more of my surroundings – yes, it’s old, dilapidated, it certainly fits with the house. There are broken clay pots scattered about and the ones still intact hold unattended plants that sag, flowerless and brown.