by Drake, J. L.
I am pleased on the eighth day—wow I am finally able to keep track of days again—to awaken IV free. I test out my body, limb by limb. My back still hurts like hell but at least the throbbing headache is gone. I feel like I need to stand and move around so I slowly slide my legs off the bed. They shake when they begin to bear any weight, but they don’t let me down. The door opens slowly and Abigail enters with a beaming smile.
“Well, look at you,” both hands to her face, “you’re standing!” I feel a small smile tug at my lips but quickly chase it away—I can’t let myself be too comfortable. I can trust no one. She comes to my side and wraps my arm carefully around her shoulders. I cry out in pain and she quickly drops my arm back down. “Your back?”
I don’t look at her. I want to cry on her shoulder and let her in, but I just can’t. I know better. She guides me into the bathroom and I surprise myself with how sturdy I already am by the time we get there. She turns me around and gently pulls my button-up style nightgown down off my shoulders. I let it fall till just above my bottom while I cover my front with my arms still in the sleeves. She pulls my hair up into a clip. I can see her eye me but she doesn’t say anything.
“Abby, I wanted—” The voice stops suddenly. I look up, and in the mirror see the wide-eyed stare of my rescuer taking in my back. Abigail quickly shields me with a towel.
“Please, Logan, give us a moment.” His reflected eyes meet mine showing sadness, then anger? He steps back, retreating toward the bedroom door.
“Yes of course, forgive me,” he mutters on his way out. So now I know my carrier’s name is Logan.
Abigail runs warm water and helps me into the deep tub. I cry out as the water touches my wounds and she continues to pour Epsom salts around me.
“Soak, darling. The pain will ease in time.” She gently washes my hair and helps me scrub my body clean, then empties the tub, refilling it with fresh warm water. It crosses my mind that in my earlier life I normally would be very uncomfortable with a stranger washing me, but after my experiences in my earlier prison, I hardly think a thing of it now.
I hold a piece of my hair in front of me, noting how ratty it looks. My nails are dirty and my feet are in rough shape as well. All things that I took for granted in my past life. I wasn’t one of those girls who went to the spa monthly or anything but I did look after myself. But now—I close my eyes, letting a few tears slip. I look and feel nothing like my old self. I am someone else now, and I have no idea who that is. I feel completely lost.
Abigail leaves me to my tears, later returning to dry my hair and tuck me back into bed. I notice she has changed the sheets. It feels wonderful to be clean.
She places a bowl of fresh grapes and strawberries next to the bed.
“Only if you feel up to it, dear,” she cautions, leaving me to rest.
The next day Abigail escorts a new visitor in to see me. She is a tall woman wearing thick, green, trendy glasses. She smiles down at me.
“Hello, Savannah, I’m Mel. Someone told me that you could use a little pick me up.” She beams, patting a medium sized polka-dotted suitcase she pulled behind her. I turn quickly to Abigail who also grins happily. She moves forward to help me out of bed and slips a cozy bathrobe over my shoulders.
Settled in a leather chair in the middle of my huge en suite, feet propped up on a stool, looking out at the mountains I let out a comfortable sigh. Wow, is this really happening? It still feels like some happy dream.
“Every woman deserves to be pampered now and then,” Abigail explains. “It helps us on the inside even more than it shows on the outside, so just relax and let Mel work her magic.” I’m nervous to be alone with someone new, of course, but soon feel better when Abigail pulls up a chair to oversee the proceedings.
Mel treats me like a delicate flower that will crumble if she is too rough. Little did she know that I have been treated like someone’s perra for God knows how long, but her actions calm my nerves and I soon relax and enjoy the swiping actions of the comb through my freshly washed hair. She doesn’t ask how I normally wear it, just snips here and layers there. After my hair is blow-dried and styled she moves to my nails, buffing and polishing. She paints them a deep purple then does the same to my toes. As Mel finishes Abigail beams at me with delight, thanking Mel and showing her out.
I sit in the chair looking at my hands and feet. All the dirt and stains are gone and they look pretty. Wow, they look normal again.
“I hope that was all right, Savannah,” Abigail says, coming back in the bathroom. “I’m not sure if you’re tired or not but I need to go start lunch. I’ll leave you be and if you need anything just call for me,” she says, pointing to the intercom. With that she leaves.
I stand looking in the mirror and my heart leaps—there I am, the old Savannah, hair cut long to the middle of her back, loose curls half way up, natural dull highlights peeking throughout. I reach up, running my fingers through it, it feels like silk. If only I felt like the old Savannah on the inside. No, don’t sweat it, this is a start. I look down, remembering the last time someone washed me and did my hair. I shake my head, forcing that memory back down. Okay, I need to get out of this room.
I find myself heading into the closet hoping something might fit, and to my surprise, everything is in my size, even the shoes. Slipping on a pink cashmere sweater perfect for my back and a pair of tan jeggings with flats, I take in how small my waist has become. Christ, how long was I gone? One last look in the mirror and I feel like I just might be able to face people now that I’m feeling a little more human.
I open the door and step out into a long hallway. My hands grow cold quickly when I realize I have no clue where I am going. I take a deep breath and head to my left. Luckily after a few minutes I find a large staircase that spirals around to an entryway. My stomach turns as I hear a low voice speaking. I want to turn around and go back upstairs but I push on. Breathe, Savi.
“Must have been about ten to fifteen slashes across her poor back, and she’s such a tiny thing,” I hear Abigail say. “I think you’re wrong about this one Logan—she's as innocent as they come.”
Wrong?
Both heads turn when I step around the corner finding them both in the kitchen. My carrier—I mean Logan—catches my eye, his jaw dropping as he takes me in. I realize he really is a good looking man with his gelled black hair, dark eyes, and broad shoulders. I instinctively lower my gaze—having learned to avoid eye contact from my prior captors. Sensing my reaction is making them uncomfortable, I force myself to look up.
“Savannah,” Abigail says warmly. “You look beautiful. I’m glad you found the clothes.”
Logan pulls out a chair for me. “Hello again, Savannah, you look lovely. I see Mel got her hands on you. Please have a seat.”
I hesitate for a moment but comply. He sets a prearranged plate in front of me with bacon, eggs, toast, and hash browns with a glass of orange juice. My stomach twists but I fight back the nausea. They take a seat on either side of me at the island, sipping coffee and talking about their days. I know they’re trying to act normal for me, but it isn’t working. Frankly it is all a bit strange. I can’t help wondering what is going on here; what kind of place is this? So many questions fill my head, making it ache slightly. I raise my hand and rub where the bump used to be—now it is just tender. I see Logan watching me and his eyes have an odd effect on me; I can’t quite place the feeling.
“You really need to eat, dear,” Abigail says.
She’s right, but somehow I can’t find the will to do so. I just want to cry. Perhaps coming downstairs was a mistake. They continue talking as I pick up a slice of toast and smell it out of habit, It seems fine. The first bite is all right, but the second is quickly rejected. Food and stress do not co-exist in my world anymore. I hear Abigail sigh as she sets her cup back on its saucer.
“Would you like a tour of the grounds now, dear?”
I would, but I also have a ton of questions and don’t know where or ho
w to start. Seeming to understand my dilemma, Logan turns to me with his mug between his hands. “Savannah, I’m sure you must be confused about where you are and what is happening. We’ll get together later this afternoon, say around four. Is that all right with you?” I slowly nod, not sure why he couldn’t just talk to me right now. “Abigail will show you where my office is.” With that he checks his watch and stands. “Enjoy your day, ladies.”
“You too, and I’ll be sure to have Savannah there at four,” Abigail says. When he leaves, she gathers my dishes. “Come dear, let’s go for that tour.” She stops and waves her hand, “First, the kitchen.” It is larger than my entire condo with a view of a lake nestled in front of two mountains. “It is always stocked with food. Please help yourself. If there’s something you want that’s not here just let me know and we’ll get it.” She opens the huge stainless fridge that is packed with everything imaginable.
“There’s always at least eleven people working here, plus those who live here full time, so this is what you’ll typically find.” I shake my head. I’m just glad I don't have to do the grocery shopping. “There’s a wine cellar behind that door if you fancy yourself a glass.” She winks. Wine, wow that was something I hadn’t thought of for a long time, my general menu being mostly water. Suddenly I could almost taste my favorite Chateauneuf-du-Pape. Hmm, I will definitely have to check out that wine cellar. I pull my mind back to the room and note that Abigail is leaning against the marble top island with a little smile on her face, giving me my moment. She continues, “I generally do the cooking. It’s pretty exhausting but it is part of my duties, along with making sure you’re comfortable here.” She smiles again. Another comment that makes me realize I’ll be here for a while and my mind once again fills with questions. I really need to start talking but the wall I have built up for my own protection won’t allow me any wiggle room.
“Come, let’s move on.”
I follow her into a grand living room with a view of miles upon miles of land that weaves throughout the mountains. It is hard to comprehend where I am but this place is spectacular. I was born and raised in New York City so all this land is fascinating. The living room has high ceilings with wooden beams and a grand fireplace. Everything is either dark wood or stone. The couches are red with large black blankets draped over top. A huge, tan rug with black thread woven through in a native pattern sits in the middle of the room tying together the decor in the sitting area. Despite how massive the room is it has a cozy feeling. I notice a patch of fluffy white fur on the floor by the couch leg. Someone must have a pet.
We move into the dining room and again face the same beautiful view overlooking the lake as the kitchen. A huge wooden table that looks like it seats at least thirty takes up most of the room with three cast iron chandeliers hanging over top. I also notice a security camera tucked in the ceiling, quickly looking away, not sure who was watching me.
On the top floor Abigail shows me all the bedrooms, including mine. Next we head to the bottom floor, down a flight of stairs near the kitchen. There is a games room, indoor pool, workout room, and an entertainment room. I note how supersized everything is and begin to feel a bit exposed. I want to find a small room and wrap myself up in a blanket.
On our way back to the main part of the house she points to a shorter hallway and tells me this is where Logan works, his office being at the end of the hall.
“He works a lot, but he’s around for dinner and most evenings unless he is traveling. If you’re afraid you’ll be lonely, don’t be. This place is always crawling with people. Some are friendly and some don’t talk that much, you’ll learn who's who. When you’re in this business you see a lot of things, things that can change you.”
I wasn’t completely blind to the fact that their job must be high risk and dangerous. I just wish I knew if it was legal or not.
“So you take a left out of your bedroom, down the stairs, and another left is the hallway to Logan’s office. Remember, your meeting is at four,” she prompts, looking for my reaction. I nod, and she smiles. “Well that’s great, then. Are you tired or would you like to see outside?”
Outside…freedom…I smile and nod toward the door.
She steps outside and continues to talk about the history of the house but I stand motionless at the doorway. She stops and looks back at me with a sad expression, “baby steps.”
Right, okay.
She hands me a pair of tinted sunglasses. “Put these on, Savannah. Your eyes will need some time to adjust to the light. Thankfully, it’s cloudy this time of year.”
She gently links arms with me and walks me out onto the stone porch that wraps all around the house. I take a deep breath, filling my lungs with the cleanest air I’ve ever breathed. A gentle breeze moves my hair around my neck and I close my eyes, soaking in all the sounds surrounding me. Birds chirping, the sound of the leaves, water lapping on the shore—it's perfect until I hear the snap of a twig behind me. I jump, gripping Abigail’s arm.
“Remember, never far from people,” she whispers, pointing to a camouflaged man armed with a semi-automatic assault rifle and blending in seamlessly with the tree he stands next to. “This is a safe place—one of the best, Savannah—but in order for it to be that way there has to be constant surveillance. Everyone who works for Cole is top notch. Scout Snipers, Navy Seals, Green Berets, you name it if they're Special Forces we’ve got them.”
So does Cole run this place I wonder and when or will I ever meet him? I scan the woods trying to locate more guys but I can’t see any.
“Just because you can’t see them doesn’t mean they’re not here,” Abigail says, taking in my gaze around the property, then she nods for us to move on. “You’ll get used to it, in time.”
Time, there’s that word again.
“The lake is cooling off fast, but midday some can tolerate the cool water—not me—too hard on these old bones.” She laughs. “There's canoes and kayaks are in the boathouse along with anything else you may want—don't forget to wear a life preserver!”
We round the house coming up to the front again and I am starting to grow tired. Walking great lengths isn’t something I am used to anymore. Abigail senses this and starts pointing to things rather than actually walking over to them. We stop at the front door. “Later I can show you the rest, the stables, and the hot tub. All this is yours to use whenever you like. We want you to make yourself at home, Savannah.”
We walk back inside and up to ‘my’ room. Before she leaves me to rest she pauses, sitting on my bed. “I’m sure this is a lot for you to take in after all you’ve been through but I promise you everything will be fine. The sooner you relax and settle, the easier it will be for you to adjust.”
I watch her leave trying to process everything she said. It doesn’t take long for me to drift off to an unsettling sleep.
Chapter Three
I stand in front of the heavy wooden door to Logan’s office admiring the door knob. It looks like a handle from an old sword. Three iron pieces curl around your hand when you grasp it. I know I can’t stall any longer and knock gently.
“Come in,” I hear him say in a harsh tone, making my hand retreat from the handle. I hate how scared those bastards made me. My mother would be heartbroken to see her once full-of-fire daughter acting like a burned out wick.
The door bursts open in front of me. “York!” he barks, then stops abruptly when he sees me. “Oh, Savannah, I’m sorry I’ve been waiting for someone.” He steps to the side glancing at his watch. “Is it four already? Please come in, take a seat.”
I move inside, taking in his office. His desk stands in front of a floor to ceiling window that overlooking the stables and part of the lake. The decor is like most of the rest of the house with its fireplace and couch. Two rifles hang on the wall. I note these almost subconsciously while my attention is drawn at once to the flat screen TV on one wall tuned to a Los Angeles news channel. I can feel Logan’s gaze on me but he remains silent. I catch th
e date from the news anchor—October 26th. I gasp and try to rationalize this date with the day I was taken.
“Yes, they had you a little over seven months, Savannah,” he whispers, answering my unspoken question. My eyes dart to his and I feel the tears welling up. Oh my God, I’ve been gone for over a half a year! As much as it felt like a lifetime for some reason knowing the actual amount of time was soul shattering. It solved the nagging question that’s been eating away at me and now that I know I am reeling in shock. My hand flies to my chest.
“Please take a seat.” He reaches for my arm and gently pulls me over the couch. He sits across from me watching me closely. Once I get hold of myself he begins to speak.
“A lot is has gone on since you’ve been missing, Savannah. I’m sure you have a ton of questions, mainly the one about why you are here and why you were taken.”
I nod.
“The men who took you are not just regular kidnappers. They’re part of a highly dangerous group called Los Sirvientes Del Diablos, which means Servants of the Devil. They are a part of the Cartels and had you hidden well in Tijuana.”
Holy shit!
“Your father—”
I sit up straighter when I hear his name. Is he here? When will I be able to see him? Again nothing comes out.
He raises a hand. “Your father has been making a media storm out of your kidnapping.”
Great…more unwanted publicity.
“Problem is, Savannah, the two main guys,” he holds up a picture, “Rodrigo Heredia,” a lump grows in my throat—the Montecristo smoker—he holds up another picture, “and Jose Jorge—”