Time Trap

by Danele J Rotharmel

  “I need you to leave,” the doctor said, blocking Alex’s advance.

  “No! I won’t go. She needs me, and—”

  “Let the doctor work,” Poppa said firmly, still carrying the suitcase. “Come with me. We’ll get you cleaned up.”

  Dr. Ember grunted over his shoulder. “The room next door is empty. He can use it to shower. I’ll meet you both in the waiting room when I’m finished here.”

  Alex’s compassionate heart felt as if it were bleeding as Poppa pulled him from the room.

  “Dim the lights,” Alex shouted as the door closed behind him. “Please, dim the lights!”

  CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

  The morning after her art exhibition, Nicole blinked her eyes and then closed them again with a sigh. She’d been having a scrumptious dream. Smiling sleepily, she pulled a pillow over her face and tried to go back to sleep. When it was obvious she couldn’t, she allowed herself to drowse to cement the images before they wisped away. Grinning, she tossed the pillow aside and stretched luxuriantly.

  Slowly rising to her feet, she pulled a filmy robe over her negligee. Catching a glimpse of herself in the mirror, she laughed. Her dark hair was tumbled about her shoulders, and her robe was swirling like a dreamy cloud. She looked every inch the picture of romance—and it was a picture she tried very hard to cultivate. Seeing herself in wispy garments was an instant pick-me-up and a great way to herald in a new day with confidence.

  Grinning cheekily, Nicole blew an airy kiss at her reflection. She had a well-developed sense of humor and enjoyed her own little quirks. One of which was the fact that she didn’t just use lacy nightgowns to bolster her self-esteem—she also wore slinky lingerie. Although she’d never admit it to anyone, she still fought shyness, and when she wanted to boost her confidence, she suited up in lace and silk. Knowing she had on her “power panties” enabled her to sashay through social events with ease.

  Blowing herself another kiss, Nicole ran a brush quickly through her hair. Yawning behind her hand, she strolled downstairs to get some orange juice. The doorbell rang as she opened the fridge. She looked at the juice and groaned.

  Tying her robe shut, she went to the door and found a deliveryman with flowers. She never gave out her home address, so flowers from admirers were sent to the gallery. After a showing, the curator forwarded them to her—but not too early. He knew her habits after a late night.

  When the delivery was complete, Nicole poured herself the coveted juice and examined the bouquets. There were a dozen arrangements of various sizes—the largest was from the gallery, and the smallest was from the woman who saw herself as an artistic rival. She found a lovely bouquet of orchids from Brandon and a dozen blood red roses from Senator Aaron Richards.

  Nicole frowned over the senator’s card. He was a married man, and in her opinion, he was admiring her more than was proper. She’d been trying to avoid him, but so far, he hadn’t taken the hint. She took his flowers and threw them in the trash. She’d dealt with unwelcome advances before, and she knew she could do it again, but it’d be nice to have a reliable man in her life to handle it for her. Sometimes, she got tired of fighting her own battles where men were concerned. She’d tried bringing up the subject with Brandon, but he told her she was just being silly. He said Senator Richards hadn’t done anything improper yet and that being seen with him could only help her career. It hadn’t been the response she’d desired—the senator gave her the creeps.

  Thumbing through the other cards, she found a pretty arrangement of bluebells from Sue, Sam, and Nicki. She smiled. Although receiving flowers had become routine, she was going to press some of the bluebells in her scrapbook.

  Taking another sip of juice, she found a gift bag nestled among the vases. She picked it up and opened the card. Strong, bold writing filled the page.

  Nicole,

  I noticed that although your shoes were lovely, they seemed a bit tight. You were on your feet all night, and I thought you might appreciate some pampering. As far as the rest, enjoy.

  Zeke

  Nicole sat for a moment staring at Zeke’s message. Quirking a brow, she opened the gift bag and found a pair of plushy slippers. Marveling at Zeke’s originality, she chuckled and slipped them onto her sore feet. Wiggling her toes in the velvety softness, she dived back into the gift bag and found a set of acrylic paintbrushes. They were the exact brand she always used. She tapped the brushes against her lips. Terkletown art supplies were only found in one store in the city, and she knew she hadn’t told Zeke which one. He was obviously resourceful.

  Overwhelmed with curiosity, she dumped the rest of the gift bag’s contents onto the table. There was a caramel-filled chocolate bar, a book she’d been dying to read, a bag of pistachios—she could never get enough pistachios—and new music from her favorite Christian singer. Spreading Zeke’s gifts in front of her, she realized that she’d mentioned wanting each of the items the night before. Her smile grew. Zeke must’ve been taking notes or else he had a remarkable memory.

  She grabbed the chocolate bar and opened it. A note tucked beneath the wrapper fluttered to the table. Picking it up, she read, Eat your breakfast first—Zeke.

  Nicole threw back her head and laughed long and hard.

  * * *

  “So, are my little flies awake?”

  Hearing Spider’s hissing voice, Peter quickly rose to his feet and took Laura’s hand. Putting their plan into action, they stood in a corner, shielded from the ceiling’s hole.

  “Hiding won’t do you any good,” Spider snarled from the blackness above. “I know you’re down there. Answer me!”

  Peter put his arm around Laura and remained silent. He could hear the anger in Spider’s voice. With any luck at all, their plan was going to work.

  “Answer me!”

  Peter began to smile. The frustration in Spider’s voice was extreme.

  “Answer me! Do it now!”

  Suddenly, Spider seemed to go insane. Mirrors were thrown against walls as he cursed and raved. Peter felt Laura starting to tremble. He didn’t blame her. Spider was being extremely expressive in describing the torture he was going to inflict if they didn’t speak. Pulling Laura closer to his side, Peter cautiously put his finger to her lips. She nodded and buried her face against his shoulder.

  As quickly as Spider’s tantrum started, it stopped. An eerie quiet filled the factory.

  Ready to spring, Peter waited for the door of their prison to open. When it became obvious that Spider wasn’t going to pay them a visit, he sighed and sat down beside the wall.

  Laura sank next to him. “What do you think set him off?” she asked in a shaky voice.

  “I’m not sure what triggered his earlier tantrum, but this one was definitely caused by our refusal to speak.”

  In the darkness, he felt Laura shivering. “I know we want to lure him down here,” she murmured, “but the thought of facing such rage…”

  As her voice trailed away, Peter put his arm around her shoulders. “When the time comes, we’ll face him together. It’ll be okay.”

  She took a quivering breath. “I know.”

  Silence fell.

  After a few minutes, Peter said hesitantly, “Laura, may I ask you something?”

  “Are we going to play our get-acquainted game again?”

  He shook his head. “This question isn’t part of a game—it’s serious. When you went on your first date, do you remember what time of year it was?”

  “I’m not senile,” she replied. “It was autumn.”

  “Was your date on September seventeenth?”

  Peter felt Laura turning toward him. He knew she was peering at him through the blackness.

  “How did you know that?” she quietly asked.

  “When you were fifteen, I was seventeen. You’re two years younger than I am.”

  “And two points smarter,” she teased, “don’t forget that.”

  “Shush.” He laughed. “I’m trying to make an important point.�
�

  “You mean besides proving that you know how to subtract?”

  “Besides that.” He chuckled.

  Laura’s voice held a smile. “Go ahead and make your point, but first, tell me how you knew when I had my first date.”

  Peter’s voice became serious. “I knew it was September seventeenth, because on September sixteenth—when I was seventeen and you were fifteen—I went to the drive-in with Fay Hennly.”

  Laura became very still. “Go on.”

  “The day after the drive-in incident, I prayed that my future wife would be the exact opposite of Fay. I prayed she’d be modest and a good friend.” Peter tightened his arm around her. “Laura, I prayed that God would send my wife to me unkissed. I prayed that prayer the same day you went on your first date, and I’ve prayed that prayer every night since.”

  Laura was silent.

  “What are you thinking?” he softly asked.

  She didn’t answer.

  Peter peered into the blackness, but he couldn’t see her face. “I know this isn’t the right time to ask, but considering the circumstances we’re facing, I don’t want to wait…”

  He paused, but she didn’t speak. Taking a deep breath, he said, “Laura, will you marry me?”

  He felt her shaking in his arms. “I’m sorry,” he said in a rush. “I should’ve waited. It’s not the right time, and this definitely isn’t the right place. Talk about blowing it! I don’t know what I was thinking, blurting it out like that. It’s way too soon. I’ve been a fool—an utter idiot! It just seemed so obvious when I learned you weren’t kissed. I’ll wait for you to feel the same way about me, and I’ll court you properly. I know you only think of me as a friend. I’ll be patient and prove myself to you. I think we’d make a terrific couple, but I won’t push you to—”

  “Oh, Peter,” Laura interrupted with a giggling gasp. “It sure took you long enough to figure things out! I knew we were headed toward marriage hours ago.”

  His jaw dropped. “What? How?”

  “Ever since I was a little girl, I’ve been praying that my husband would be a spiritual rock. When you told me about your prayer at camp, God might as well have put a neon sign above your head that was flashing, Pete’s the one! Pete’s the one!”

  Peter grinned against the darkness. “Does that mean you’ll marry me?”

  “Of course it does.” She laughed. “Besides, if we didn’t become engaged, how would we face Gil? She probably has our whole wedding planned by now. It’ll be far simpler to get married than to convince her we aren’t meant for each other. And think of McGuntry’s registry. Our friends are probably buying us wedding gifts already. Returning all the china, blenders, and towels would be a nightmare. It makes me shudder to think about it.”

  Peter’s chest quivered with laughter. “So that’s why you’re marrying me? Self-preservation and convenience?”

  “Of course.”

  “No other reason at all?” he coaxed.

  “Well, it’ll be nice to supervise your diet 24-7. I hate to think of what you’ve been eating when I’m not around.”

  “You mean no more French fries—not even on the sly?”

  “Not as a main food group, at least.” She snuggled against his shoulder. “I want you to live to be a hundred and one. Just because you can’t see your arteries doesn’t mean they’re not important. Fried potatoes and ketchup aren’t vegetables in my book.”

  “I suppose I can live with that.” He chuckled. “But are you sure there isn’t any other reason why you’re marrying me?”

  “Well,” she said in flirty little voice, “you do look awfully cute in that blue t-shirt of yours—that’s reason enough for any red blooded woman.”

  Peter threw back his head and laughed.

  Laura nuzzled his cheek. Her liquid voice held a tantalizingly teasing quality. “You’re a real pain in the neck, you know it? Your prayers have been a horrible hindrance to my love life.”

  Hugging her close, Peter whispered in her ear, “Don’t worry, love. I’ll make it up to you. I promise that you’ll never feel like you’ve missed a single thing in that department.”

  “I’ll hold you to it,” she said breathlessly. After a moment, she gurgled. “I’ll bet your prayers are to blame for that other thing as well.”

  “What other thing?” he murmured with a smile.

  “The fact that I can’t cut my wretched hair. Every time I try to get it bobbed, I feel guilty and end up just getting a trim. Did you pray for your wife to have long hair? I’ll bet you did.”

  Picking up a curl that had escaped her bun, he tickled her nose. “Come to think of it, I did make it a matter of prayer once or twice.”

  Chuckling, she swatted the curl away. “Well, if you want me to keep my hair long, you’re going to have to keep me supplied with bobby pins.”

  “Honey, I’ll do whatever it takes—I’ll even brush it for you.”

  “I’ll take you up on that.” She began to laugh. “Oh, Peter, you’re up the creek without a paddle! All our prayers about each other have been answered except one.”

  Hearing her giggle in a way that delighted him, he smiled. “What prayer is that?”

  “I prayed my husband would be willing to change all of our children’s poopie diapers.”

  Peter gave a shout of laughter. “Consider it done. We’ll write it into my marriage vows.”

  * * *

  Alex paced the waiting room with his stomach in knots. It had been several hours since he’d left Phoebe. He couldn’t believe he was so worried about a woman he’d just met. Glancing up at the clock, he popped an antacid as Dr. Ember entered the room.

  “How is she?” Alex demanded.

  Dr. Ember hesitated.

  Poppa stood and handed the doctor some paperwork. “These forms give Alex power of attorney for Phoebe. You may talk freely in front of him.”

  Alex looked at the old man in astonishment. “How’d you get those signed? Phoebe hasn’t signed them.”

  “Not yet, but she will,” Poppa replied. “Don’t worry, her signature’s valid.”

  Even as Dr. Ember nodded, Alex felt troubled. He wasn’t sure if he was overstepping his boundaries where Phoebe was concerned.

  Poppa put a hand on his shoulder. “Alex, Phoebe has no family. Her future-self would not have signed those papers if she didn’t have absolute confidence in your judgment.”

  Taking a deep breath, Alex nodded. Turning to the doctor, he asked again, “How is she?”

  “She’s severely dehydrated and malnourished. As you know, she’s also undergone severe physical trauma. From the nature of the bruising, I believe the beatings spanned the course of several days. The initial beatings were intended to harm, but not to kill. The last beating, however, was intended to end her life. It’s a miracle she survived.”

  Alex felt his heart constrict. Unable to speak, he nodded.

  “We’ve treated her injuries and tended to her burns. We’ll continue giving her intravenous hydration and more blood as needed. Just as a precaution, she’ll be on penicillin to guard against infection, tetracycline for the rat bites, and a topical cortisone cream for the spider bites.”

  Alex blinked. “Bites? Do you mean…?”

  Dr. Ember’s eyes lost their impassiveness and began to blaze. “Her captor exposed her to rats and tarantulas. She was bitten multiple times.”

  Alex put a shaking hand to his forehead.

  Opening a folder, Dr. Ember used the photographs he’d taken during Phoebe’s examination to detail the other horrors she’d endured. As Alex looked at a picture of Phoebe’s back, his gut twisted in rage and dismay. Her attacker had sliced hideous words into her skin. “Worthless” was the nicest word that had been carved.

  A wave of nausea threatened to overwhelm him. He clamped his lips together, trying not to vomit. Clammy sweat dripped down his neck. The room began to spin. Suddenly, Dr. Ember seemed to be rushing away from him like a train traveling at great speed. A whistling fi
lled Alex’s ears. The room went dark. Feeling a thump, Alex realized he was sprawled on the floor. A few seconds later, Dr. Ember was pushing his head between his knees.

  As his vision cleared, Alex choked out, “How could any human do those things to another human?”

  Poppa spoke up. “The man who tortured Phoebe stopped being human a long time ago.”

  Alex tried to stand, but Dr. Ember put a firm hand on his shoulder. “Stay down for a while.”

  His limbs were trembling as he nodded. “What can I do for her? How can I help?”

  Dr. Ember squatted beside Alex and looked him in the eye. “Phoebe has retreated to a catatonic state. I don’t want to move her to the psychiatric ward, but if she doesn’t become responsive, I’ll have no choice.” He hesitated. “When you first brought her in, she seemed aware of her surroundings. If you could get her to speak, it’d be a great help to us—and to her as well.”

  Nodding, Alex rose to his feet. “Let me go to her.”

  Dr. Ember led the way to Phoebe’s room. When he opened the door, Alex clenched his hands into fists. The lights were blazing, and Nurse Warner was sitting by the bed, pummeling Phoebe with questions.

  “She still won’t answer me,” the nurse said.

  “Alex is going to try,” Dr. Ember replied, motioning for the nurse to come away.

  Alex immediately dimmed the lights and went to Phoebe’s side. She had been bathed and bandaged, and she was staring at the wall with a fixed, unblinking gaze. He chewed his lip. She was so still that he could barely see her chest moving as she breathed.

  Kneeling in front of her, he put his face next to hers. “Phoebe,” he said gently, “it’s me, Alex. Can you hear me?”

  Phoebe slowly focused on Alex’s face. Across the room, Nurse Warner exclaimed in relief.

  “That’s right,” Alex said softly. “You’re safe with me. The doctor has finished examining you, but he wants to ask you a question.”