The Breakaway

by Michelle Davidson Argyle

  As the clock ticked its way toward seven-thirty, the click of a lock made her jump off the bed. Evelyn opened the door and gave her a weak, apologetic smile. She wore a white apron splattered with what looked like spaghetti sauce.

  Food. For a minute she thought she might claw her way past Evelyn to get to it. The smell was suddenly strong, drifting up from the kitchen in stages—tomatoes and garlic, oregano and sweet basil.

  “I need you to come downstairs with me,” Evelyn said quietly.

  Naomi followed her out of the bedroom, her heart pounding. She had to eat. She had never been so hungry in her life. She didn’t care if she had to see Eric or anybody else. It didn’t matter. Nothing mattered but her stomach. That was more pathetic than anything.

  They reached the end of the hall where Naomi saw a picture of Evelyn and a dark-haired man. She guessed he was Evelyn’s husband, probably the man who had come into the bedroom with her the night before.

  Downstairs, Evelyn led her into the living room where she told her to sit down on a leather sofa across from a TV. Books. They were everywhere, stacked neatly on the end tables, set in straight rows on shelves down the hallways, even in the kitchen. Most of the windows were covered with blinds and curtains. No phones anywhere.

  Evelyn leaned down to her ear. “Stay quiet and don’t move.” She walked into the kitchen where Eric stood talking with the man from the picture. They were all holding bowls of spaghetti, eating during their conversation. The smell drove her crazy as she folded her hands in her lap, pushed her heels together, and sank farther into the leather cushions.

  She couldn’t believe they were going to let her eat. Her hands shook at the thought, but more than that, she didn’t understand why they had left her on the couch. Didn’t they think she would try to run? Because she could. There was a set of sliding glass patio doors in the dining room. It looked like they led to the backyard, but how fast could she run? She was weak with hunger, and if she managed to get out of the house, where would she go? She would only have one chance to make a run for it, and if she happened to knock on a neighbor’s door and they weren’t home or if there was nowhere to hide, what would she do then? They would catch her, and Eric would kill her just like he said. No, she had to wait. She had to make a plan. One mistake, she remembered from the hushed conversation in her room, and there would be consequences worse than she could imagine. Even Evelyn feared them.

  A door slammed shut and Jesse walked in from the garage. He hung up his heavy, green coat, slipped off his shoes, and headed straight for the kitchen.

  “Smells fantastic. I’m starving.” He glanced at the empty dining table then at the bowl in Eric’s hand. “Why are you all in here?”

  Eric scowled, mumbling something as Jesse turned to look at her. From the way he had treated her in the motel room, she expected him to smile, but he narrowed his eyes and looked away.

  Evelyn came into the living room and sat on a sofa. She grabbed a book from an end table and flipped it open, pretending to read as her husband sat down next to her, still eating his spaghetti. He had already splattered sauce on the sleeve of his white dress shirt, and gave Evelyn an apologetic smile when she glared at him over her book. Naomi thought he was nice looking—normal, like her dad. The sad thing was that she had no idea if her dad ever splattered sauce on his sleeves.

  “Naomi,” Evelyn said, “this is my husband, Steve.”

  Naomi swallowed and nodded as Steve smiled softly in her direction. He seemed nice so far. Making an introduction was a strange thing to do, but these people didn’t seem like they were about to let her go anytime soon. She might as well get to know them. She hoped there weren’t any others.

  Eric came into the room next and pulled off his suit jacket. He tossed it next to Naomi and sat on the edge of the coffee table in front of her.

  He was too close. She noticed his hair was shorter than before. His face looked sharper now since he had shaved, and as he placed his elbows on his knees and leaned closer, she smelled his aftershave mingled with garlic. Why did he have to be good-looking? His olive skin and dark lashes, the way his hair curled against his forehead—it all created the most satisfying balance. In the weirdest way, it made him that much creepier.

  “Evelyn told me how cooperative you’ve been,” he said coolly with a glance at her hair. “I’m not surprised. We brought you down here to see what you’d do, and well, here you are—sitting quietly.” He smiled, but it was twisted all wrong. “You seem like a smart girl. You’re not going to try to escape.”

  She pressed her lips tight as he chuckled. He started unbuttoning one of his sleeves. “Tell me about your parents,” he said without looking up. “Tell me why your mom went back to work one day after she found out you were missing.”

  A weight slammed into her chest. One day? She had expected maybe a week or two, but one day? Had her dad gone back too? No doubt he had.

  “Well?” He looked up from his sleeve.

  “I don’t know. I guess she—”

  She had to stop. An ache tightened her throat and she couldn’t talk anymore. She knew it was only a matter of moments before she lost it in front this man she hated more than anybody she had ever met. The last thing she wanted to do was cry in front of him. Again. He made her feel naked. He made her feel like puking.

  “Look at me.” He lightly placed a hand on her arm. “There are rumors your parents don’t even miss you. What kind of relationship do you have with them?”

  “They have important jobs,” she stuttered. She hated the tears filling her eyes. She hated how hot Eric’s hand felt on her arm. “They work all the time. A lot of people depend on them. They’ve never had time to spend with me, so I guess that’s why they don’t care about me. They’ve never cared about me.”

  That’s all it took. Her tears broke free and streamed down her face. It was the first time she had ever admitted out loud that her parents didn’t love her. It was the truth. A fact. Not even up for negotiation. She remembered her nannies making random comments about how odd it was that her parents didn’t celebrate holidays with her, even her birthday—not because they didn’t want to, necessarily. They bought her things, but that was it. “They’re just too busy to do anything else,” her nannies said in an attempt to explain it away. It was then that Naomi started noticing other children and how their parents dropped them off at school and kissed their foreheads, handed them sack lunches, scolded them for doing something wrong. Nobody cared about her like that.

  Eric was quiet and Naomi looked up at him, her tears still running down her face. He removed his hand from her arm and started rolling up his sleeve.

  “That’s good enough,” he said. “Now I need to know about your boyfriend, Brad.”

  He knew Brad’s name? Her tears stopped. Now she really wanted to puke.

  “What’s your relationship with him?”

  Her eyes widened. “That’s none of your business!”

  Before she knew what was happening, he slapped her right across the bruise on her cheek. She almost bit through her lip.

  “Eric! You said—”

  “Quiet, Evie.” He took Naomi’s arm again and leaned so close to her face that all she could see was the bridge of his nose. She hated his nose. She hated his dark eyes and the garlic on his breath. “Tell me how you feel about Brad.”

  She looked away, straining against his arm.

  “If you don’t answer me I’ll lock you back in the room with no food for three more days.”

  That did it.

  “I don’t love him, if that’s what you’re asking,” she whispered, blinking, finally aware of the sting from his slap. It didn’t hurt. Nothing hurt now.

  He nodded and stood up from the coffee table. “Good.” He turned to Evelyn. “Take her back upstairs.”

  Evelyn stood up from the couch. She was still holding the book, her knuckles white. “You said we could give her something to eat.”

  “She can wait until tomorrow.”

&nb
sp; “Tomorrow? Eric, she hasn’t eaten for two days!” Her lips quivered as Steve stood and wrapped an arm around her shoulders.

  “Sweetie, calm down. You agreed to let Eric make the decisions, remember? We’ve discussed this.”

  “Yes, but you both said we’re doing this because I—”

  “That’s enough.” Eric glared at her.

  She lowered her eyes and nodded.

  “I’ll take her upstairs,” Jesse said. He was at the dining table eating his dinner. He swallowed the last of his wine, threw a half-eaten piece of garlic bread on top of his spaghetti, and motioned for Naomi to follow him. She was glad he was taking her. Something about him felt safe. They headed up the stairs and she realized he hadn’t taken hold of her arm. He stopped in front of her door.

  “Will you be alright?” he asked.

  She lowered her eyes to the noodles in his bowl and held back a flood of tears. She was such an idiot. Why couldn’t she be strong for five minutes? Her stomach clenched so tightly she wrapped her arms around herself to try to stop the pain. She blushed and looked away.

  “I guess so,” she mumbled, and turned to go into her room when Jesse wrapped a hand around her arm.

  “I won’t let them hurt you,” he whispered, then gently nudged her into her room and followed her inside.

  She stumbled backward. “Wh-what do you want?”

  He turned and shut the door. “Here.” He flipped on the light and held out his bowl of spaghetti. She snatched it from his hands, too hungry to care about anything else as she bit into the bread and turned away. She didn’t care that he had already eaten half of it, that his mouth had been on it. She could feel his eyes on her back.

  “How old are you?” he asked.

  “You don’t know?” She stared at her bed as she chewed so fast her temples started to hurt. She knew she should eat slower, but she couldn’t help herself. “You guys seem to know everything else about me.”

  A pause.

  “Okay, I know you’re seventeen.”

  “Then why did you ask?” She spun around, food still in her mouth. It tasted so good. She wished he would leave so she could enjoy it.

  “No reason.” He stepped forward, and she saw a spark in his eyes as he leaned forward and drifted his gaze down her body.

  She almost choked.

  So far she had managed to convince herself that none of the men would touch her except to hit her or force her to move, but now a whole new fear opened up inside her. She swallowed. Hard.

  “I’d like to be alone,” she said and stepped back. He took another step to match hers. His green eyes were anchors attached to her body. She remembered the poetry book he had been reading in the motel room and her mind fought to cling to it, to anything that might mean he wouldn’t hurt her. People who read poetry didn’t hurt others, did they? Maybe that was the dumbest thing she had ever let herself believe.

  “I’ll stay until you finish.” He nodded at the bowl and smiled. An idea, small and possibly insane, formed in the back of her mind.

  “I’ll hurry.” She shoveled the food into her mouth as fast as she could. She wasn’t hungry anymore, but the faster she finished, the faster he would leave—if that was his intention. She guessed it wasn’t.

  V

  DESPITE HER SUSPICION, JESSE LEFT HER IN peace. She gathered the courage to finally take another shower and change into the pajama pants and camisole from the closet. The camisole was pale pink and thin. Too cold. She searched through the closet and found a velour sweatshirt hanging near two pairs of jeans.

  It was pale pink too. Evelyn obviously liked pink, or at least thought Naomi did. It had been washed and smelled the same as the clean sheets and pillowcases on the bed, rain-scented fabric softener and Tide, the same as Brad’s clean laundry. That wasn’t comforting.

  She crawled into bed and grew tense beneath the covers. Had she lied to Eric? Was she in love with Brad? She had certainly thought so for the longest time, but there were always periods of doubt. Eric had forced her to answer his question so quickly that maybe she hadn’t thought through everything in enough detail.

  Or maybe she didn’t have a clue what love felt like. She used to think it was lying in Brad’s arms as he whispered things like, It will be this way forever, you and me. I will always protect you, hold you, love you.

  Now, thinking of her admission to Eric, she was almost positive the passions Brad stirred inside her heart were not impressions of love at all. Maybe she was wrong about that too. The only sure thing was the dangerous idea forming inside her head; Jesse was possibly the answer to her escape. He seemed to want her, and whether or not that was part of her kidnappers’ plans, she could play into his hands and get out of here. If they trusted her, they might let their guard down. Maybe.

  She rolled onto her side and tried to ignore both her uncertainty and the fact that her hair was wet. She hated going to sleep with her hair wet and tossed and turned for the longest time, irritated that her pillow was now damp and cold against her face. Maybe she should ask Evelyn for a hairdryer.

  A soft knock on the door made her jump. The locks turned, and she sat up when Jesse slipped into the room. In the moonlight from the window, she thought she saw him smile as he approached. She hugged the blankets to her body, trembling.

  “I thought you might like a book,” he said softly, and placed a hardback on the nightstand. He was close enough now for her to smell his cologne—a peppery smell, like eucalyptus. She held her breath and looked up at him, confused. His smell burned in her throat.

  “A book?”

  “Yes, you seemed interested in my poetry book in the motel. I thought you might get bored during the day, so I brought you something to read. Do you like classics?”

  What was going on? She shook her head, still confused. “I like fantasy, but I just found out my mom likes classics and I—” She stopped and looked away, finally letting out her breath. Too much information.

  “Hmm,” he said, and stepped closer to the bed. She could see his face now. It looked innocent enough.

  “What do you want?”

  He leaned down with that same spark in his eye. “I thought it was obvious.” He came so close to her that she could feel his breath on her face. His attention fastened to her lips, hanging there until she shrank from him. She was surprised at every part of her reaction. If she was going to play into his hands, this wasn’t the way to do it.

  “I’m not going to hurt you,” he whispered as he inched closer again, leaning halfway across the bed. His red hair seemed brighter now. His smell was nice, but it was too close. It almost made her choke.

  “P-please,” she cried as his hand reached out to touch her face. “Please don’t ....”

  He tilted his head as if he didn’t understand her apprehension and curled his fingers around her face. There was a soft ache in his eyes. She tried not to whimper with the fear boiling beneath her skin.

  “I think you’re very beautiful,” he said, moving even closer. “I keep thinking about you lying in the parking lot that night. You were beautiful then too, and I didn’t want Eric to hurt you. You’re so innocent, so frightened.”

  He stared into her eyes, his hand strong but gentle around her face. Then he let go.

  “I only came in here to bring you the book. I hope you give it a chance.” Clearing his throat, he backed off of the bed. She looked away. “Good night,” he said softly, and left the room.

  Her breaths came ragged. Fear throbbed in her chest. Being intimidated wasn’t a foreign thing to her, but she didn’t want to think about that right now. Nothing had happened, anyway. He hadn’t hurt her. She was fine.

  She smoothed the blankets around her and took a deep breath. No more Jesse. No more dragons. Maybe a classic would be good for her. Shaking, she picked up the book from the nightstand. It was old, and the smell of its pages reminded her of her parents’ library. The book was The Great Gatsby. It had been an assignment for her English class, and she remembered first c
racking it open in the library at home. As she had settled herself into her usual spot in the armchair, she glanced over the open pages at the Mercedes Lackey novel lying on the table. It would have to wait.

  She had barely begun chapter three when her mother entered the room. That was odd. She was in jeans. Naomi rarely saw her in something so casual, but she still wore a work blouse and jewelry. She was all lopsided.

  “I thought you would be in here,” she sighed, and sank into an armchair across from her. “You know about your father’s merger, don’t you?”

  Naomi closed the book around her thumb and lowered it to her lap. “I’ve heard you guys talking about it. I guess it’s a big deal?”

  She nodded. “Yes, a big deal. It’s an overseas merger. There’s a company in Germany ....”

  Naomi tuned her out, certain she was going to say something about moving to Europe, but soon realized it was nothing so drastic.

  “They’ll grow three times the size they are now,” her mother was saying when she tuned back in. “It’s a significant step for the company.” She paused and wrinkled her nose. “Does that make sense?”

  Naomi wondered why anything about her father’s company had to be explained. “I guess so,” she answered. Then with more trepidation, “Will he travel more than he already does?”

  Karen frowned and glanced at the book in Naomi’s lap. “I suppose he will for the first little while, yes.” Her eyes narrowed. “Does that bother you?”

  She didn’t know what to say. Of course it bothered her. But how was she supposed to explain that to a mother who rarely sat down to talk to her? A mother who, most of the time, said things like, “I had no idea you were gone all last week on a school trip. Did you have a good time?” Or, “Naomi, I’m busy right now. Maybe later.”