by Anna Brooks
Mellie opens her eyes and looks at me as he’s pulling her away.
“Mellie!”
“I’m so sorry,” she whispers. God, I can barely hear her, she’s so quiet. I’m sorry, she mouths, right before he shoves her into the backseat of the police car.
Chapter 21
Mellie
If I were to guess, I’d say we’ve been in this car for five minutes, even though it feels like five hours. We’re in a parking lot behind an abandoned building. The only other thing in sight is a van.
“Time to go, sweet cheeks.” He opens the back door of the police car, and I kick my feet. He got me away from Smith, but now, it’s my turn to fight. No matter what happens, I did my best to get Norman away from him. It’s not Smith’s fault this horrible part of my life came back with a vengeance.
Awful things have been happening—the man on the porch, the flowers, the pictures—but the memories and fears in the box I kept hidden in the back of my brain didn’t want to believe they were true. That the nightmares could become a reality.
This is my only chance. Once he gets me somewhere else, I’ll die there. I can’t let him take me. I won’t. I need to get back to Smith. I need to make sure he’s okay. He got shot because of me. “Leave me alone!” I scream and don’t stop kicking when he reaches into the car.
“Now, now. You know I don’t want to hurt you.”
God, those words.
He grabs my ankles and tugs, but I grab the seat belt and pull against him. He yanks me harder because the tips of my fingers slide off the nylon as I’m being dragged toward him. I’m nearing the door, so I make one last ditch effort and latch onto the handle with both hands.
“I said I don’t want to hurt you.” Then a throbbing hits my thigh where he kicks me. One hand loosens from the handle, and I desperately try to regain my grip. His foot pounds into my legs, and when I think it can’t get worse, he only does it harder.
I can’t hold on anymore, even though I know it’s a death sentence when I let go. My nails are tearing from the beds of my fingers, and I hear a pop in my knee on the right side. My legs fall out of his grip and slam onto the concrete. I’m dumb enough to think I beat him, but when I turn to see what he’s doing, I’m met with his fist.
* * *
My head throbs and my legs are so unbelievably sore I can barely move them. I try to bend them, and when I finally straighten them, the muscles burn. When I lift my arms to stretch, they rub against a soft material. I squint an eye open and am hit with a sick version of my nightmare come to life. I sit up and cover all directions of my old room I can with my eyes before I turn my head and look around. My old bedroom. Every detail, every picture, even the dirty clothes I had thrown on the floor that night… It’s like he took a picture of the place and replicated it.
Except for the bars on the window, the padding on the walls, and the locks on the door, which signify what this room means. Locked inside a horror story, where in a sick twist of fate, I end up where it all started.
Just as bile rises from my stomach and burns its way up my throat, the door opens. Norman stands there with a TV tray. “Morning. Did you sleep well?”
“Fuck you.”
“Oh, no. A pretty girl like you shouldn’t use that kind of language.”
“Fuck. You.” I jump up from the bed but then have to hold on to the wall to keep from collapsing. I lean with one leg partially off the floor to prevent the shooting pain.
He throws the tray against the wall and runs at me. I dodge his attempt to get his sick hands on me, but he sticks out a foot, and I fall on my face. The already sore area of my forehead hits the ground, and I whimper as my head buzzes. It takes a moment, but I scream.
He kicks the door shut. “Scream all you want; nobody can hear you now.”
I turn my head and scream directly in his ear and try to hit him.
“Dammit, Mellicent.” He pulls me up, and I struggle, but my strength is diminishing with the outcome of this horrible situation. “Look what you made me do.” When he pushes me onto the bed, I squirm to get away, and one of his long fingernails scratches me. He licks his dirty thumb and reaches for my face.
“Don’t touch me.” I swat his hands away and lift my good leg to kick him, but he straddles me and pinches my cheeks between his fingers.
“I need to clean you up. Sit pretty for me.” His wet thumb wipes across my face, and when he pulls it away, I see my blood on it right before he sticks it back in his mouth and sucks on it like a baby.
Since he’s distracted, and because my head is already killing me, I swing it forward and push my legs up to get him off me. My head connects with his nose, and he flies off the bed. My muscles are throbbing, and my heart can’t keep up with how fast my blood is flowing through my veins, but it’s now or never. I reach the door, rip it open, and run through the kitchen, only to find the exit locked from the inside. I do a quick count of at least four locks before I backtrack, just to run into Norman.
He places a rag over my face, and before I even have time to fight him off, I fall to the ground.
* * *
If the light from outside is any indication, three days and nights have passed. I get no response when I bang on the walls and scream at the top of my lungs. I sit in this room on the bed, not sure if it’s the exact one we left behind when Jay got rid of the apartment, and stare at the door in defeat. I haven’t eaten or drunk anything other than a bottle of water he threw at me yesterday and a piece of bread he slid under the door the day before that.
I try not to focus on thoughts about Smith or Mouse. Only ways to get out. But I’m weak, tired, hungry, afraid, and so damn sad that I can barely even keep my eyes open.
Norman has become the person he’s always wanted to be. Someone I need. He’s toying with my head and making me believe I need him to stay alive. So when keys jingle outside the room and the handle turns, he will expect me to be happy to see him. I have to play along.
“Hi,” I say, before he comes in all the way.
The momentary shock on his face is a bonus for me because he wasn’t expecting that. “Hello.”
“I’m really hungry. Can I please have something to eat? And some water?”
He walks in wearing new clothes—khaki pants and a white sweater. I instinctively flinch when he reaches for my face. “I’m not going to hurt you. I don’t want that.”
Liar. “I know.”
“Good.” With his index finger, he pushes some of my hair away from the side of my face. “Such a pretty face. I hate that there’s a mark on it.”
I’m not a psychological expert, but I’m sure I’ll have a better chance of getting out of here if I play to his weaknesses. Since I’m physically unable to fight him, I have to use mental strength. “I’m sorry I made you do that to me.”
“Yes. I know.” He gently pats my cheek. “Would you like some soup?”
“Please.”
“Okay. I’ll be right back.”
If a smile is what I think I just formed on my face, it must have looked hideous, but he accepts it and walks out. The door is still open, but knowing now that my escape routes are locked, I must find a different way. A window or a fire escape or something.
With what little strength I have, I push to my feet and bend my sore knee. Standing in the archway of my door, I call his name.
“Yes, dear?”
I shiver at the way he talks so naturally. “Can I eat at the table?”
“Of course. Come join me.”
Before I sit, I try to see if there’s something, anything, to help me, but I come up short. I step into the kitchen and hold the back of a chair. “I’m going to use the restroom if that’s okay.”
“Be fast. Otherwise, your supper will get cold.”
“Okay.”
“I’d tell you where it is, but I’m sure you remember, right?”
“Yes.” I try to close the door behind me, but when I reach for the knob, I discover nothing but hinges. Bastard.
Right when I sit down on the toilet, he comes and stands across from me in the hallway. “Do you need something?” I ask.
“No. Just waiting for you.”
“I’ll be right there.” Forcing the words to come out somewhat pleasant is torture.
“I’ll wait.”
Fuck it. I had to piss in a corner for three days. I don’t know if having him watch me pee is any more or less degrading, so I have at it. I finish up, and he takes my hand as we walk into the kitchen, where he pulls out my chair for me.
I hate to admit that the soup from a can tastes like a five-star meal, but I slurp it down as fast as my body will let me. He hands me a bottle of water, and I sip it, knowing if I drink too fast, I’ll vomit. Plus, the faster I’m done, the sooner he’ll continue with whatever he has planned.
Smith
The throbbing in my leg is dull in comparison to the ache in my chest. It’s been three days since I watched her drive away with a madman. Three days I’ve thought about how fucking worthless I am. Every time I close my eyes, I replay the whole incident over and over and want to put a bullet in my other leg for being such an idiot.
A car finally, after about twenty minutes, drove down the highway and pulled over to help me. I wasn’t even able to hold myself up from the blood loss, and by the time the paramedics got there, I had lost consciousness. Next thing I knew, I was waking up in a hospital room. They took the bullet out of my leg and stitched me up. Luckily, I have no permanent damage.
I called Jay when I could and fought with the doctors and nurses to get out so I could go find my girl. The police came, and since Norman shot and nearly killed the officer whose police car he hijacked, they know the severity and have been working nonstop with Jay and me to find evidence.
Jay is surprisingly calm, but I know better, and I’m waiting for him to explode. Waiting for him to beat the shit out of me for letting this happen. Telling him that she was taken right in front of me and I couldn’t do anything about it, is the absolute lowest I’ve ever felt in my life. Aside from when it actually happened, of course. Nothing will ever allow me to forgive myself for letting that happen.
We’re in a hotel room, and the tension suffocating me is less than I deserve, but until I find her, I’ll continue to have trouble breathing. Erik came down and took Mouse back home, and I snuck away for a minute and called Dirt with an update and a plea to help me find Mellie.
“God-fucking-dammit!” Jay punches the wall and bangs his head against it. “How can they just fucking vanish?” He hasn’t slept in probably a week. Came here fresh off his other case and right into this black hole.
There’s nothing more I can say. If I allow myself to think about what he could be doing to her or the pain she’s in… I can’t even let myself, because I’ll lose focus completely. I need to bring her back and put every ounce of energy into that effort. Search dogs came up empty. News stories turned up zero tips. There’s nothing. She’s fucking gone. But I’m not giving up. I never will.
Chapter 22
Mellie
We’re just finishing breakfast the next morning, and I feel much better than I did yesterday. I actually slept for three hours straight, and my body is soaking up the nutrition from the meals I’ve eaten. After last night, we sat on the couch and watched movies. Or he watched them; I blocked them out so I could try to come up with a plan. He made me lie with my head in his lap, and he played with my hair the entire time. His fingers occasionally trailed down my body, over my butt, and each time he did, I gagged.
I don’t know what he will do or when he will escalate, but I’m preparing myself for murder. I thought it would be easy. When I had nightmares and all the times I damned him for making me the way I was, I imagined killing him. It was easy to picture it, standing over his body and watching the life drain out of him, but with him so close... it’s scarier than I thought. He’s a living human. A person clearly mentally insane.
No. I can’t think like that. If I don’t kill him, then he’ll kill me. I have to keep that as the main thought in my head. So I take a breath through my nose and continue to work on a plan. He’s fucking stupid, honestly, because he’s letting me eat with silverware and providing me with energy. I’m just waiting for the right time. And the right time is now.
When he stands to put his dishes in the sink, I grab my plate and slide the fork between my underwear on my hip when his back is turned. “I can do the dishes.”
“Thank you, Mellicent. That’s a nice thing to do. See, this is all I ever wanted.” He stops right in front of me, smiling, and then slaps me across the face.
I didn’t see that coming, so I stumble, but fall to the ground when he kicks me in the stomach. I scream at the excruciating pain in my ribcage, but he just kicks me again. “Do you think I’m stupid? That I wouldn’t see you? I see everything! I’m not stupid!”
“No, I—” I shake my head and scoot as far away from him as I can but hit the wall and have nowhere else to go.
“Liar!” he screams and grabs me by my hair. “Why do you continue to test me? I just want us to be happy together. That’s all I ever wanted.”
I still have my weapon, so I reach for it, but he fights me and eventually rips the stainless steel out of my grip and throws it across the room.
Both of his hands are in my hair now, and he pulls me down the hallway. He momentarily stops to pull out something metal from a cabinet, then continues dragging me. I grab his wrist and try to scratch him, but that doesn’t work, so I just and hang on, praying he doesn’t rip the hair straight out of my scalp. He tosses me next to the bed and grabs a pair of handcuffs from his pocket. Attaching one to the metal bed frame and the other to my wrist, he succeeds despite my efforts to ward him off.
He leaves without a word, and through my screaming and crying, I hear him laugh as he closes the door.
Dammit, I’m an idiot. I should have waited. Should have let him trust me more before I tried to fucking kill him.
I sit up for as long as my body allows me before my head bobs forward. My brain is begging me to stay awake, but my aching bones and muscles are protesting. A deep and unwanted fear overtakes the pain and confusion; I will die here, and I never told Smith that I love him.
* * *
Somehow, I’m back at Smith’s on the old highway. I’m sitting in the middle of the street, handcuffed to this bed watching the blood drain from his leg. His normally tan skin pales, and I reach out to him but can’t touch. He continues to fight against his restraint, but it doesn’t budge. Finally, he gives up as his body becomes limp.
My eyes blur as I try to tell him how much I love him, but something’s in my mouth... a rag or something. Norman’s in front of me all of a sudden and he laughs. I rip at it the material in my mouth but can’t get it out. He just shoves it farther down my throat, and I gag as I gasp for air. Fighting to breathe, fighting to live.
“Mellie. Wake up.” A voice stirs me from the awful dream I was having. Sleep has become such a catch-22. Each time I close my eyes, I’m blasted with the past and present colliding. What has happened, what could happen.
“Mellicent, I’m here.” I’m poked and slowly I open my eyes.
When Richard’s face is the only thing I see, I open my mouth to scream, but he puts a hand on it and tells me to be quiet. “Shh. Shh. I’m going to get you out of here.” With his other hand, he holds up a key.
“I’m here. I saved you.”
What in the ever-loving hell is going on?
“Do you want to leave and come home with me?”
“I want to get out of here, yes.”
He tilts his head, and his eyes dart around the room before they focus on me again. “Do you want to come home with me?”
I nod frantically and allow him to unhook the cuff from my wrist. Whatever I have to say to get out of here. I roll my joints and stand up as best I can, but Richard grabs me. I should be more concerned with why he’s here, but if he’s my means to escape, I’ll take it and run with
it.
“What’s going on?”
“Shh.” He puts a finger to his lips. “I’ll explain later. Follow me. I’m here to save you.”
I’m so desperate to get out of here, I do what he says and shut the hell up and follow him. When we walk into the hallway, a metallic smell bombards me. He reaches the kitchen before me, so when I slip on something and look down and see a crimson puddle at my feet, I slip even more from trying to get away from it.
“It’s okay,” he assures me.
Directly past him, the sight of Norman’s sliced up body makes the little contents of my stomach tumble. He’s lying on the floor with so many wounds; I only recognize him because his face is turned toward me and one eye stares back.
“We need to call the police.”
“Once we get out of here.”
“No, stop.” I pull my arm out of his grip. “He’s dead. We need to call the police.”
“We need to leave.”
“Okay, okay.” I relent and gingerly walk to the cracked open door. I just want to get out of here. I plan to run when we get outside. My knee isn’t on fire anymore, and it may be a futile attempt, but I have to try. Just as he opens the door all the way, I find guns trained on us, and police officers scream.
I raise my shaky hands and cry with relief when I see the CPD badges. It makes things so much worse that Norman actually brought me back to where I used to live, to where he assaulted me the first time. The similarities of the apartment made the last few days a special form of mental torture.
Richard tries to run past the cops, but one of them tackles him to the ground. As officers come in, one of them handcuffs me and then walks me outside, practically carrying me, since I’m still pretty weak. Bright red and blue lights flash, causing me to squint my eyes.