Captivate

by Vanessa Garden

  The bathroom was roomy and modern, but I swore aloud at the lack of windows. A useless vent, identical to the one in my room, lay in the far left-hand corner near a shiny cream claw-footed tub. I’d always wanted to bathe in a tub like it—but not here; not like this.

  Desperate, I yanked cabinet doors and tugged open draws, searching for something—another possible weapon—but they were filled to the brim with useless crap like scented soaps, bath salts and cosmetics. I was hardly going to threaten Robbie with eyeliner. I slammed the doors and drawers shut.

  ‘Is everything okay?’ he called from the other side of the door.

  ‘Fine, just fine. I’m coming,’ I said, before stomping out.

  ‘Let’s move quickly,’ said Robbie, glancing over my shoulder anxiously and jerking on my forearm, giving me the impression that something or someone was following us.

  As we neared the cross-section again, my chest swelled at the sound of cheerful voices from the kitchen. Surely there was at least one person in this place who thought that holding a minor against her will was wrong.

  My gut clenched as I eyed Robbie walking beside me, deathly close now, but with a loosened grip on my arm. If I yanked hard enough, it would probably come free.

  This was it.

  If there was ever a moment to escape, it was now.

  A shot of blood whooshed through my veins, flooding every muscle in my body. I sucked in a deep breath, the air sinking like lead to the pit of my belly. In a whisper, I willed Mum and Dad to help me, to somehow cross the veil that divided us.

  And then I ran.

  CHAPTER SIX

  COOL, CRISP AIR stung my face as I bolted down the corridor, my bare feet pounding against the stone floor. My muscles burned as though I were being stabbed with hot needles.

  Robbie’s breathing, loud and aggressive, came at me from behind. His fingers grazed my right arm, but he failed to grab hold.

  ‘Miranda,’ Robbie said. ‘Stop.’

  I was going so fast by then that if I’d tripped and fallen I would probably have lost the skin off my kneecaps, or even my face.

  Bright, enticing light peeked out from the crack beneath the kitchen door. I was so close. The aroma of good food tickled my nose, the smell vaguely familiar, like something Nana had cooked in the past.

  ‘Help me, help me, please!’ In my breathlessness, my words came out as whispers.

  When I got close enough to reach out and touch the brass door handle, a cry tore out of my throat. A strong arm had encircled my waist and in one swift sweep, I was off my feet, kicking the air.

  I threw my head back to let out a piercing scream, but a hand clamped over my mouth. The faint, vinegary hospital-smell of antiseptic clung to Robbie’s fingers.

  ‘There’s no use causing a scene. Everyone here is involved in this,’ Robbie whispered harshly in my ear, his voice rough and his breath hot. ‘Just stop. Please.’

  But I continued to struggle, kicking out in all directions until I got him in the groin with the heel of my foot. He gasped and doubled over, dropping to the ground but still holding me by my waist. Beneath his weight, I bucked and twisted my body, my hips grinding against the floor painfully until he rolled me over to face him.

  I opened my mouth to shout for help but he covered it with his hand again, pressing himself against me, trapping my fighting body with his until I finally gave in because I needed to breathe. When I ceased thrashing, he raised himself an inch. Being this close, it was difficult to discern the wild thrum of my heart from his.

  Catching my breath through my nose, I could smell fresh sweat and salt from his heated body.

  ‘That was really stupid,’ he said between breaths, his hand still over my mouth. ‘If another guard had caught you before I did, you could’ve been in serious trouble.’

  He hoisted me to my feet.

  ‘You’d run if you were me,’ I said, the words catching in my throat. ‘And why would another guard be any worse than you?’

  Footsteps drew near, from the outer corridor.

  Robbie placed a finger to my lips to shush me and cocked his head, his breath trapped inside his raised chest while he listened.

  ‘You’re about to find out why,’ he warned in a whisper, his eyes as black as night.

  Two guards rounded the corner and stopped directly in front of us, blocking our path. They were dressed in head-to-toe black with identical boots to Robbie’s, their silver-dagger hilts peeking out from their sheaths.

  ‘Hey, Rob,’ the young blond guard said, his curious hazel eyes resting on me. He offered a tentative smile, his cheeks turning a deep pink.

  ‘Andy,’ said Robbie with a curt nod.

  ‘So, this is the little woman who’s here to save our dwindling population,’ said the older guard, who had huge barrel arms and grey-flecked hair. ‘She’s got good solid hips, but she’s a little ordinary looking, don’t you think? Marko should have sent me looking.’

  I dropped my eyes to the ground, my stomach churning at the sickening implication of the man’s words. My palm itched to slap his face. But I heeded Robbie’s warning and remained as silent as the stone walls.

  We were still catching our breath from the run, and the older guard noticed.

  ‘Has the captive been running away from you, boy? Maybe you’re too young to keep a handle on her,’ the man said, a smirk twisting his thin lips. ‘This precious girl needs a more experienced guard to protect her against Damir and his sort.’

  So, I’d gone from ordinary to precious in the space of about ten seconds. Everything was so confusing about this place. And it was hard to keep track of all the names everyone kept dropping.

  I coughed and all eyes swung to me.

  ‘Who’s Damir?’ I asked, breaking my silence.

  The big man laughed, revealing gold fillings and a dry, cracked tongue.

  ‘Believe me, girl, you wouldn’t want to know.’

  Robbie moved to block me from the man’s view.

  ‘She’s not being held captive. She’s the king’s guest.’ He stepped forward and stopped only inches away from the bulky man. ‘And we were just on our way back to her room—Marko’s orders.’

  I wanted to protest that I was a captive, but the older guard was giving me the creeps and I wanted to put as large a distance between us as possible.

  Andy, the blond, nodded his head and stepped aside to allow us through. ‘See you around, Robbie.’ He nodded at me. ‘Miss. We’re all honoured to have you here.’

  The older guard stepped around Robbie to glare at me with slit eyes.

  ‘You want to watch yourself around here, little girl. Even if they tell you different, I know that Damir has men inside the castle working for him.’

  Castle?

  That could only mean I was overseas, because Australia didn’t have castles. How did they fake my passport? Why go to all that trouble for a seventeen-year-old suburban girl? This whole situation was getting more insane by the minute.

  A wave of dizziness washed over me, making my head spin. I leaned an arm against the nearest wall to steady myself. For a moment the men ignored me. They were too busy eyeballing each other.

  ‘Is that right?’ Robbie straightened his back so that he stood an inch or so taller than the older man. Though he was much younger, Robbie had a solid, muscular build and looked as though he could tear out a limb if he wanted to. ‘Maybe you’re one of them, since you know so much about Damir.’

  ‘Let’s go,’ I muttered, moving to Robbie’s side and offering my arm. I was drowning in testosterone. For a few seconds Robbie seemed taken aback that I was being so cooperative, but he quickly closed his fingers around my upper arm.

  The older guard stood in front of us when we stepped forward, and proceeded to match our steps and block us.

  ‘Move,’ Robbie said, his voice low and gravelly, ‘or I will have you stood down.’

  ‘William,’ said Andy, frowning. ‘Step aside.’

  After a ten-second stare-ou
t with Robbie, William finally obliged. It puzzled me why Robbie held so much weight in this place, seeing as he was so young. But I wasn’t going to stop and question it. All I wanted was to get out of there.

  We hurried around the bend and crossed the hall to the door of my room, Robbie’s grip on my arm eased a tad. He seemed to be lost in thought, his hair falling over his eyes so that I couldn’t see them. He unlocked the door but stopped before going in, to catch his breath. The altercation with the guards had clearly rattled him.

  ‘Who’s Damir? And what exactly did that man mean about me saving a dwindling civilisation?’ Robbie didn’t answer; instead, his cheeks reddened slightly. He brushed the hair away from his eyes and stared at the door.

  ‘I have a right to some answers.’

  He looked at me then. ‘Of course you do,’ he sighed. ‘Damir is Marko’s brother; Sylvia’s twin. He lives in the underworld and is Marko’s—and Marin’s—biggest threat. If Marko doesn’t produce an heir soon, Damir threatens to claim the throne.’

  Underworld? So these people were members of a big-time mafia? A weird, underworld mob with kings and a throne?

  ‘So why doesn’t he just produce an heir with someone he knows?’ My cheeks burned, but I needed to know the point of my kidnapping. ‘Why take me?’

  Robbie sighed. ‘No babies have been born in Marin for over eighteen years. That’s why I brought you here. Sylvia ordered me to.’

  He spat out the last sentence as though he despised my situation as much as I did, and finally met my eyes.

  ‘You’re here to help Marko—just Marko—sire an heir.’

  I stepped back, my mouth hanging open in disbelief, then pushed open the heavy steel door and raced into the room.

  Robbie followed.

  ‘Get away from me!’ I shouted between heaving breaths, before diving beneath the covers.

  ‘You need to understand how dangerous it is out there for you. If you try to escape again, and one of Damir’s men gets hold of you—’

  ‘You’re holding me against my will, and you’re warning me about dangers? Get out! I want to be left alone!’

  ‘Alright, I’ll go. The drugs are most likely out of your system anyway, so I’ll stay outside your door from now on. Call out if you need anything or feel unwell.’

  When I peeked over the blankets, Robbie caught my gaze and grimaced apologetically.

  ‘There are some crosswords in the bedside drawer— tricky ones. I put them there myself. And there’s a pack of cards. I could teach you how to play War, if you like? Unless you know it already.’

  I dropped the sheets and gaped at him, anger rocketing up my spine.

  ‘You think I want to just sit around all day doing your stupid crossword puzzles? While my family are out there worried sick?’

  Half-way through my second sentence, Robbie flinched and stormed out the door, slamming it shut behind him.

  While he fiddled with the lock on the other side, I flopped against the pillow, too numb to even cry.

  Minutes later, despite everything that had happened, a yawn escaped my lips and my eyelids turned to lead. Every muscle in my body screamed with exhaustion.

  Perhaps my only way out of this crazy hell-hole was sleep. Maybe I could dream my way home.

  I woke up sometime later, when a middle-aged woman with a handkerchief tied around her head entered the room carrying a tray. There was a plate of grilled white fish and potatoes still in their skins, a bread roll and a glass of water balanced on it. Curling steam rose from the food. My stomached growled like a pack of starving wolves.

  ‘Guten morgen,’ the woman said.

  I understood her, because my grandmother was a quarter German and sometimes threw in the occasional phrase or word to spice up an English sentence, like: ‘What a lovely morning for a spaziergang’, meaning she wanted to take a walk.

  ‘Is it…er…morgen?’ I asked. The question, or perhaps my pathetic language skills, made her smile.

  ‘Morning, night—it’s all the same down here. But, yes, up there,’ she pointed to the ceiling, ‘it is morning.’ She set a knife and fork down beside the plate. ‘We do try to keep a cycle though. It is healthy for your state of mind,’ she said, in perfect English now.

  ‘Are we in Germany? Or are we still in Australia?’ I asked, reaching for the still-warm bread roll. It smelled like the inside of a bakery. My teeth broke the crust before sinking into the roll’s soft, buttery centre. It tasted good, even if it was a little on the salty side.

  Next, I reached for the tall glass of cool water and skolled half of it down in one go. It left a metallic taste in my mouth, but I was thirsty and wanted to keep my body in good order, ready for when I had a chance to escape.

  The maid chuckled heartily at my question as though I was an overimaginative child who had just announced that the Tooth Fairy and Father Christmas were real and lived together in a gingerbread house beside a flowing river full of lemonade.

  ‘No, my dear, we are not in your Australia anymore, nor Germany.’

  I dropped my glass, flooding my fish and potatoes.

  ‘Then where are we?’

  She frowned and shook her head, her eyes brimming over with pity as she gazed down at me.

  ‘They should have told you by now.’

  ‘Told me what?’

  ‘We are at the bottom of the deep blue sea, my darling.’

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  AFTER THE MAID left I sat in a silent stupor for a very long time, trying to make sense of what she had said. But I couldn’t. Everyone here was insane. It was as simple as that. And the quicker I got out the better. Maybe if I complained louder they’d listen.

  So I threw a fit. I pounded at the door with my fists and my knees until they throbbed. I shouted the filthiest expletives I could think up. I demanded my freedom.

  Nobody came, not even Robbie. But I knew he was there. I could hear him breathing.

  God, was the guy not human?

  I paced the room. And how could he guard me continuously for days in a row? Wasn’t he tired by now? Didn’t he need to eat and sleep and relieve himself?

  Over and over, I repeated the maid’s words inside my head.

  Bottom of the deep blue sea? How was that even possible? Were we in some kind of gigantic submarine?

  Hours passed and, to stem the boredom, I hummed— tunes from my iPod, songs Dad used to crank up on the stereo, the music Lauren played while she got ready for parties, even nursery rhymes—until I couldn’t think of anything else to hum.

  After a lunch of grilled octopus and zucchini pasta, delivered by the German maid, which tasted quite good, I tried to kill time by recalling passages from my favourite novels; but the words jumbled into awkward prose. When I started to have conversations with Mum and Dad, I knew I was in serious danger of losing my mind.

  Part of me wished I was still knocked out.

  I started groping the walls for secret passageways, taking care to cover every square inch.

  After what felt like hours of this, with no result, footsteps approached my door.

  A quiet knock followed, and then a small, rectangular object slid through the gap beneath the door. I rushed over. It was a book; a well-worn, well-thumbed, dog-eared book. I picked it up and sat on the bed.

  Was this Robbie’s idea of an apology? Sorry I kidnapped you. But, hey, here’s one of my favourite reads—it’s got a killer plot and the character arc is huge.

  Or had somebody else slipped the book in; someone here who did not agree with my kidnapping.

  I dusted the cover, smoothed out the rumpled edges and pressed it to my chest. This was a good thing. The book meant somebody actually cared—and I now had a means of virtual escape.

  I got comfortable, stuffing two pillows behind my back, and held the book out in front of me.

  ‘Of Mice and Men by John Steinbeck,’ I read aloud, with reverence, stroking the wrinkled spine with shaking fingers, and wondering who had loved this book so much to
have worn it so. And how did they know my reading preferences?

  When I opened the book, something pale and rectangular dropped onto my lap, something totally unexpected.

  The air around me crackled with an energy that prickled the skin on my arms and legs.

  It was a letter.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  I TORE OPEN the envelope and took out a folded piece of thick, cream-coloured paper. The writing was lavish, stylish swirls of glossy black ink.

  Dear Miranda,

  Happy Birthday.

  I’d like to apologise for my rudeness yesterday and make it up to you with dinner tonight.

  Yours,

  Marko

  The letter quivered in my hands.

  So today was January the thirteenth. My birthday was the reason Nana and Pop had insisted on the getaway to Bob’s Bay. As though a trip to the seaside would make us all forget that Mum and Dad had died exactly a year ago and forever entwined the day of my birth with the day of their death.

  And Marko expected me to celebrate my birthday with him, my captor. Sitting at his table and eating his food.

  My throat closed up. A single tear rolled down my face and fell onto the letter, bleeding into the fibres of the paper to form the shape of a tiny blazing sun—something I hadn’t seen for an entire week and didn’t know when I’d get to see next.

  In a fit of rage I hurled both book and note across the room, but five minutes later, after I’d calmed down, retrieved the book and stuffed it under my pillow. I could never hate a book by Steinbeck. The note, however, after being torn into as many shreds as possible, was sent down the vent hole to live with the creepy mermaid painting.

  Sometime later, Sylvia and a woman with the same hair colour my mother had had—chestnut brown—paid me a visit. After wishing me a happy birthday they escorted me down the hallway and into the bathroom, where rose-scented steam warmed the air and clouded the mirrors. The deep claw-foot tub was filled fill with bubbly, pinkish water.