Dark Mysteries

by Jessica Gadziala

  He stood up and moved toward the door, opening it and calling Bobby in. He walked in, looking down at Ellie like it was the most normal sight in the world to see a woman lying on the floor, clutching her broken rib, struggling to breathe. "Eleanor seems to have fallen and hurt herself," he had told Bobby. "You need to take her to the hospital," he said, reaching down and hauling her to her feet, completely oblivious to her scream of pain. He went over to her jewelry box and pulled out the necklace, putting it on her.

  "Yes, sir," Bobby said. He led her down to the car, put her inside and drove her to the hospital, never allowing her a single moment alone with the doctors, never letting her have the chance to get help.

  It escalated slowly. Days or weeks would pass and she would forget the pain. She learned to go out of her way to please him. She kept her head down and do what was told.

  She never wore earrings again. She wore the necklace even in the shower.

  But as she got more obedient, he got less tolerant. Everything she did irritated him. Every small misstep made him fly at her, slam her against walls, kick, punch, bite, and throw objects at her.

  Ellie would lie awake at night next to him after another session of obligatory sex she had tried to convince herself wasn't rape no matter how much she hated it, no matter how much she didn't want it. She would crawl out of bed and shut herself in the bathroom, staring at herself in the mirror, but not crying. She never cried. She just watched herself, trying to figure out what had happened. How it had happened. What could be done.

  But she never did anything.

  One year in, she missed her period. Two months in a row. The nausea becameoming overwhelming and she knew without having to take a test that she was pregnant. So, she started planning. She counted the steps through the house. She timed how long it took to get from her room to the front yard, from the kitchen to the back access road. And then a week later, when he was on the phone, yelling at someone about a botched deal... she grabbed a small bag and ran.

  She had gotten as far as the end of the access road before he caught up to her, grabbing her and dragging her all the way back to the house by her hair. His silence was the most terrifying thing she had ever experienced. As he pulled her down the basement stairs, through the storage area full of cheerful Christmas decorations and through a door she never knew existed.

  Inside she found a small square room, the cinder block walls covered in some sort of foam tile. There was a wooden chair inside, and two sets of shackles: one hanging from the ceiling, one poking out from the floor. He threw her against the wall, quickly securing her wrists and ankles and moving the chair away from her.

  And then her left her. For two days. Standing. Hanging at times from her wrists, her legs too tired to hold her up.

  When he finally returned, he had a sly grin on his face and a newspaper in his hand. He held up the paper, showing her the headlining story. It was about the death of a decorated detective who was shot in the back of the head, execution style.

  Her father.

  He killed her father.

  And then he had beat her. Savagely. Mercilessly, until he was as drenched in sweat as she was in blood. Until she felt the blood trickle down her thighs and knew she had lost the baby. Until she was in so much pain that she passed out.

  She spent six weeks in that room of pain.

  She was beat until she was bruised everywhere. She was starved, humiliated. Then she was left with a raging infection and hallucinations for days before she was released to be cared for by one of the maids in the house.

  --

  Ellie woke up screaming, jumping into a seated position, looking around in the dark. Her pulse hammered in her ears as she reoriented herself to her surroundings. Safe. She was safe in Xander's apartment. She leaned forward, cradling her head in her hands, rocking, trying to soothe herself, trying to block the memories away.

  "Hey," Xander's voice said from the other side of the room, sounding rough from sleep, but alert, "you okay?"

  She didn't know what made her do it, but she heard his voice and then she was moving, her feet sliding silently across the floor. She sat at the foot of his bed, looking down at the sheets. "No," she admitted, surprising herself.

  "Come here," Xander said, moving the blanket aside and patting the space next to him.

  She shouldn't. She knew should just go back to her couch and try to catch her breath. But even as she was trying to convince herself that, she was crawling in beside him. He reached down, dragging the blanket up and over her body. He snaked an arm underneath her shoulders, turning her and pulling her against his chest.

  Ellie settled slowly, holding herself at first ramrod straight, her arm glued to her side and her face hovering just barely over the warm skin of his chest.

  "Want to tell me about it?" Xander asked, bringing his arm around her back and placing it around her waist. He looked down at the top of her head which she was shaking rapidly. "Okay," he said, feeling the uncharacteristic urge to lean down and kiss her hair.

  He wasn't going to press the issue. He was just going to lie there and offer comfort. She wasn't sure she ever felt more grateful to anyone as she did in that moment. She slowly pressed the side of her face to his chest, scooting her body to press against his side. Her arm moved across his belly and then up toward the skin on his shoulder.

  She forgot how nice it was to just... be held. How long had it been? Five years? Longer if she didn't count... him. If she discounted him entirely because those arms around her were the same ones to beat her... then never. There had never been anyone else.

  Underneath her ear, his heart was slow and steady. The hand on her shoulder was rubbing slow, small circles across her skin. She closed her eyes, taking a deep breath, smelling a trace of his soap on his skin, but mostly just... him. It was a slight, personal, pleasant smell that she felt a little drunk on.

  Xander tried to focus on the circles he was tracing. He tried not to think about the fingers on his shoulder moving slowly across his skin, her warm breath on his chest, her breasts pressed up against him, her leg she was pulling up and around his waist.

  She was freaked out. She didn't need him reading more into it. She didn't need to think that he was suddenly finding himself turned on by her. Because he was. Completely against his better judgment. Completely against reason. She wasn't even his type. Not even close. But there she was, small and soft, her long blond hair brushing against his stomach, her lips touching the skin at the center of his chest.

  Her fingers slowly stopped stroking, her weight pressing into him more fully, her breathing slow and shallow. He wrapped his other arm around her as she slept, lying awake, staring at the ceiling for a long time, trying to talk himself out of his attraction, trying to convince himself he just needed to get laid. It wasn't about her at all.

  But even as he finally fell asleep, he knew that wasn't the case.

  Seven

  Ellie woke up early in the morning, finding herself completely sprawled out over him, her head lodged underneath his chin, arms and legs on either side of his body. One of his hands was tangled in her hair, the other had slipped up under her shirt and was resting on her back, his fingers brushing the band of her bra.

  She knew she should slowly scoot herself off, but she didn't want to. She brought her knees up, balancing a bit of her weight so she wasn't crushing his chest with her body. But she stayed there, feeling the weight of his hand on her bare skin, the intimacy that was his hands in her hair. And it felt nice. It felt comfortable and right.

  She breathed in his scent, felt his breath on the top of her head. And she realized she wanted him. It was a sensation so strange, so foreign that she wasn't sure what it was at first. But it was in the tightness in her chest, the hypersensitivity of her skin, the urge to bury herself in him. The longer she rested there, the faster her heart started to beat, her fingers reaching up and toying with the ends of his hair. She felt the undeniable pulsing in her core. A n
eed strong, insistent.

  "You make one hell of a blanket sweetheart," Xander said beneath her, his voice sleepy.

  Ellie stiffened slightly, wondering how long he had been awake. If he knew how long she had been awake. "I... ah... didn't want to wake you," she said, sitting up and pulling her leg back toward her other one.

  He smiled up at her, his arm going behind his head. "No more nightmares?" he asked, watching her face.

  "Nope," she said, smiling slightly. She actually hadn't had a nightmare. In all the years since she finally escaped, she had never had a night where the dreams didn't come. Sometimes they were just blurry enough to let her silently toss and turn. Sometimes they were so vivid that she would swear she was there again and woke up screaming so loud that the neighbors would come pounding on her door. Not one night passed peacefully.

  Until she slept next to Xander.

  "Good," Xander said, watching as she nibbled slightly at her lower lip. She looked up and found him watching her and jumped off the bed, moving quickly toward the kitchen.

  He watched as she bopped around the kitchen, seeming more at ease than he had seen her before. Maybe it was just a full night of sleep and an absence of bad dreams. But a part of him, albeit a small part that he was desperately trying to squash, kind of rather hoped it was because she had enjoyed being next to, and on him, all night.

  He slowly got up out of bed, walking over to the kitchen. She was jumping up and down, trying to reach into the cabinet above her head. God, she was really short. Xander came behind her, pressing up against her back, reaching up above her to get the extra can of coffee down. He leaned slightly forward, pushing into her, making her press against the counter.

  He felt the air whoosh out of her. Her ass was rested against his thighs, just under his crotch. He brought the can down, putting it on the counter next to her arm, his fingers brushing hers slightly. She didn't pull away or flinch. He could just lean down, move her hair out of the way, and sink his lips into the hollows of her neck. He could grab her, turn her around, lift her up onto the counter, and kiss her until he got it out of his system.

  He needed to get her out of his system.

  Xander stepped back quickly, raking a hand over his jaw. He was hard. He was fucking hard just from standing close to her. He cursed himself, moving to the closet and grabbing fresh clothes. "I'm taking a shower," he said, going out into the hallway and slamming the bathroom door with more force than was necessary.

  What the hell was wrong with him? She was a client. Yes, she was staying at his house. He was in much closer proximity with her than his usual clients. But there were at least a dozen other clients he had cross his path that were more his type: tall, dark hair, more voluptuous frames, with in-your-face kick-ass personalities. That was his thing. Not tiny little slips of women with blond hair and big, innocent blue eyes.

  He turned the shower spray all the way to the right, wincing as the cold water splashed over him.

  He needed to get a grip. He didn't even know her. He could barely get a read on her. And that was a problem. Maybe his attraction was clouding his judgment, because he could normally size people up from a mile away in a dense fog.

  Things with Ellie just weren't adding up. She was jumpy and overly cautious. She flinched away from men with raised arms. She had no possessions, no family, no friends. She moved to New York City and spent all of her free time in her apartment. From what the neighbor said, she never went out. She never explored, saw the sights.

  He turned off the tap, scrubbing the water off his skin and slipping into black jeans and a black long-sleeved t-shirt. He needed to go to her work. She worked long, grueling hours on her feet slinging hash and bitter coffee... she was bound to be close to someone there.

  Walking back into the apartment, he went straight to the bedside table to grab his phone and keys. "Here," Ellie said, holding out a mug. "I made coffee. Do you want some eggs for breakfast?"

  "No," Xander said, wincing at how surly his tone sounded. He walked over, grabbing the mug and walking over to the counter. He reached upward, grabbing a paper travel mug, and pouring the coffee into it. "I need to get to work," he said. Moving into the office he called back, "Lock the door behind me."

  He walked. It would take him the better part of an hour but he needed the exercise. He needed the somewhat fresh air. He needed to put the space between them in a very tangible way.

  He paused outside of it, looking at the brick exterior, the old mustard-colored awning with the black writing... and then looking at the building next door. How didn't he realize it before? He had been in the bar next door hundreds of times. Why hadn't the address rung a bell when he first saw it?

  With a long-suffering sigh, he opened the diner door and stepped inside, met with the strong smell of coffee, hamburgers, and syrup. It was an odd, but comforting smell for someone who had eaten at diners most of their life. It was a small diner with six booths and barely enough floor room for the waitresses to walk.

  There was a pretty young waitress with her red hair pulled into a tight bun toward the top of her head. She had sharp features and smart eyes. She seemed calm and capable, almost bored, like someone who knew they weren't going to be a career waitress. An older waitress stood behind the counter, her brown hair cut short enough to meet health code standards for not needing to be pulled back. Her eyes looked far away, lost somewhere outside of the job she had spent too many years of her life in.

  "The booths are all full, but you can sit at the counter if you want," the pretty redhead said, coming up toward him with an armful of used dishes. She looked him up and down, smiling a bit flirtatiously, "I can take care of you there."

  "Aw sweetheart," he said, winking at her, "I actually just need to talk to you about Ellie," he said, watching her, gauging her reaction. Her eyes went wide for a second, surprised. Then the squinted, raising a brow... suspicious.

  "Paula," she called to the waitress behind the counter. "This guy has some questions about Ellie," she said, moving behind the counter herself.

  Paula looked over at him, turning her head slightly. "You can talk to me," she said, her tone firm, authoritative.

  Xander nodded, moving toward the passway behind the counter, putting his hands on either side of it, leaning slightly forward. Paula moved closer, wiping the counter as she walked. "She hasn't been in since..."

  "Two nights ago," Xander finished.

  "Right," Paula said, lowering her brows. "She was here till about midnight. Handled her last tables, counted her tips, and left. Nothing weird. Then she didn't come back."

  "And that's weird?"

  "Well, she was always punctual and never missed a shift, if that's what you mean. But girls come and go in this job all the time. You come to expect it. And she was..."

  "Yeah?"

  "Nothing," Paula said, shaking her head.

  The redhead came back, a hand on her hip. Her name tag caught the light: Trish. "Who the hell are you?" she demanded, charming Xander with her complete lack of subtlety.

  "I'm Xander Rhodes," he said, reaching in his pocket and opening his wallet, revealing his driver's license and his private investigator license. "I work for Ellie."

  "And you're here because?" Trish asked.

  "Because some pieces of her story aren't fitting. I need more information to help her." The women shared a look. "I won't tell her where I got it from," he coaxed them.

  Paula nodded at Trish who sighed. "She never really talked much to us. I mean... we all talked. About the job and the guests and the city... little things. But she never shared personal details unless someone pressed her. And I mean... we didn't want to pry."

  "But I'm sure you know more than I do... working with her for the past few months..." Xander encouraged.

  Paula shrugged a shoulder. "She had an abusive boyfriend."

  Xander pulled a notebook out of his pocket. "She told you that?"

  "No. But... let's just say I'm
familiar with the signs. She was always looking over her shoulder, always backing away from loud male customers, flinching when someone reached in front of her. All the usual signs. I guessed that's why she moved... to get away from him."

  "She has no family," Trish supplied. "She was raised by a single father. But he died a few years ago. She wasn't dating anyone here. She didn't have any friends."

  "I know all of this," Xander grumbled to himself.

  "She had licenses from three states," Paula chimed in.

  "What?" Xander's head shot up, certain he had misheard her.

  "Yeah... she dropped her wallet once and they flew all over the floor. I went to help her pick them up, but she freaked and grabbed them from me."

  "What states?"

  "Umm... Virginia. And Pennsylvania. Washington. And..."

  "Oregon," Xander finished, scribbling in his notepad. "Did you ask her about them?"

  "No... I... I didn't want to press. I figured she was just running from her ex."

  "Okay," Xander said, nodding. "Anything else?"

  Trish shrugged. "I don't know if it means anything, but she has her check sent to a P.O box... not her address."

  "Alright," Xander said, closing his notebook and slipping it back into his pocket. "Do you happen to have a picture of her?" he asked, knowing it was a long shot.

  Paula laughed, reaching out to the wall next to the food window. There hanging under a sign that said "employee of the month" was a picture of Ellie... looking completely unhappy about having her picture taken. But he took it. He needed it.