Twenty-seven so far.
She stepped out of the shower and faced the foggy mirror. She wanted to wipe away the condensation to look at herself, but she knew it was a bad idea. She didn’t want to see her short hair. She wanted to forget the motel room. In her mind, it seemed so far away from this isolated bedroom. She was beginning to feel safe for the most part.
Her stomach growled, indicating it was time for dinner. Evelyn would be up any moment. Opening the bathroom door, she stopped dead in her tracks.
Jesse.
He was leaning against the dresser and looked up from a book in his hands. She wanted to run back into the bathroom and lock the door, but she was so shocked to see him—to see anybody besides Evelyn—that she couldn’t move.
He smiled, closing his book before he set it on the dresser. It was The Great Gatsby. She noticed a new stack of books next to it.
“Evelyn sent me up here,” he said, struggling to keep his eyes on her face. They kept drifting to the edge of the towel wrapped around her chest. He shifted his feet. “Get dressed and I’ll take you downstairs for dinner.”
Heart pounding, she clutched the towel even closer and stepped back. The way he was looking at her invaded her space even more than when he had touched her face and told her she was beautiful.
“I’m sorry,” he said with a half-smile. His cheeks were red. “I didn’t know you’d be undressed.”
She stepped back. “You’re not going to watch me, are you?”
“Of course not. I’ll be right outside the door.”
When he was gone, she rushed to the closet. Her breaths were fast and panicked. She looked at her naked body when she dropped the towel and imagined a stranger’s hands on her skin. Sick. Sick. Sick. She shuddered, dressing as fast as she could before heading for the door. But something caught her eye. The stack of books Jesse had left on the dresser. He had brought her fantasy novels, even some Mercedes Lackey. God bless him in spite of everything else.
There were classics too, one in particular that made her breath catch in her throat. The Awakening. It was the same book her mother had given her in the library at home. The thought of even touching it made her look away. He couldn’t possibly know about that, could he? What were the chances?
Slipping through the doorway, she let him lead her downstairs to the dining table where the others were already eating. A lump formed in her throat. The table was set with prepared bowls of chicken Caesar salad, something she always avoided because most Caesar dressings tasted fishy. She hated fish. She had told Evelyn weeks ago that she hated it, but maybe she had forgotten.
Jesse pulled out a chair for her and she sat down. Of all things, the salad frightened her the most. What if she couldn’t eat it? This was the first time they had let her downstairs since Eric had slapped her. She didn’t want to upset him again—or offend Evelyn, who was watching her from across the table.
“It’s alright,” Evelyn urged with a glance at Eric. “You can eat.”
“Um, sure,” she whispered, and picked up her fork.
Eric swallowed a mouthful of food and smiled. “Is it nice to be out of the bedroom?”
Barely nodding, she tried not to narrow her eyes. He had no right to be nice to her. She squeezed her fork in a death-grip.
Eric rested his elbows on the table. “This is how it will be. If you do exactly what we say and don’t try to escape, we’ll let you out every evening for dinner. You can eat down here with us, walk around if you need, watch TV, read a book, whatever. Jesse spends a lot of time upstairs in the den. He’ll keep an eye on you if you want to spend time in there. He’s told me you like to read.”
Jesse smiled and she nodded. “Yes, I do.”
“Evelyn told me you like photography. Is that what you were doing the night in the parking lot? Taking pictures?”
Her fingers shook. “I was in the park,” she answered carefully. She was certain he already knew what she had been doing that night. “I was taking night pictures. I didn’t see anything you were—”
“That’s not what I asked.” His voice was firm, but gentle. “I’ve looked at the pictures on your camera. It’s obviously a talent you enjoy very much.”
She nodded. That was right. They had her camera bag from the night they had taken her. She had everything in there, including her phone. Brad had probably tried to call her two-hundred times by now. There was also her camera card. What was on there? A storm a few weeks ago, the tide pools, the fog, but why would Eric care? Why would any of them care? They were all looking at her now. She lowered her eyes to the salad and tried to control her quickening breaths.
“I hope you have other interests.” Eric’s voice drifted through her spinning thoughts. “I can’t give you your camera back, but we’re willing to consider other things you might like to do. We want to ....”
He paused, probably waiting for her to look up, but she couldn’t look at him as his intentions became clearer.
“We’d like to make you happy.”
Her lips smashed together as she gathered her courage. “You mean so I won’t want to leave?”
He blinked. Steve cleared his throat and looked down at his newspaper. Evelyn leaned into the back of her chair. Jesse smiled through a mouthful of food, apparently amused.
“Yes, so you won’t want to leave,” Eric mocked, glancing at Evelyn with an expression that said, I told you she wasn’t stupid. “I don’t want you here as much as you don’t want to be here. It was a mistake to take you—one huge, damn mistake, and if you’re not going to appreciate the fact that we’re willing to make the best of it, then we can handle things ... differently.”
The scent of Caesar dressing drifted up to her nose. The sharp garlic and Parmesan was mingled with something fishy. How could she possibly eat it? How could she swallow anything they were going to feed her? Forced kindness, insincere affection, cruel threats.
She stood up from her chair. She couldn’t stay here. It was crazy. They were crazy. She looked at the front door and tensed her muscles when Eric’s voice slammed into her.
“Sit down!”
She turned back to the table. They were all halfway out of their chairs, ready to grab her if needed. Eric’s eyes were dark, and as she sat back down in her chair, she watched the trembling in his fingers subside.
“Don’t ever try that again,” he snapped. “You’ll sit there and eat and you won’t move until I tell you to. Another move like that and you’ll never leave that bedroom again. Got it?”
Evelyn hissed something unintelligible in his direction, but everyone else remained silent as Naomi lowered her eyes and nodded. She stabbed a piece of chicken in the bowl and lifted it to her mouth, determined not to gag and reveal her weakness. She had to remain strong and think clearly. Submission might be alright for the moment, but there had to be a way to outthink these people and escape. Something they would eventually overlook.
The chicken was good, but the dressing tasted exactly as she imagined. She reached for her water and swallowed half the glass.
“What’s the matter?” Evelyn asked.
She stabbed another piece of chicken, but wasn’t sure she could bring it to her lips.
“Anchovies,” Steve mumbled. He peered at Evelyn over the rims of his reading glasses. “The dressing you make has anchovies in it. You said she doesn’t like fish.”
Evelyn set down her fork and turned to Naomi. “I’m sorry. I didn’t even think—”
“It’s alright.” She lowered her hands to her lap.
“Is there something else you can get her?” Steve asked, turning back to his newspaper. Naomi caught a glimpse of the front cover and saw The Denver Post printed across the top. So she was in Colorado. That was just great. Nobody would ever find her here.
“I’ll get it, Evelyn,” Jesse volunteered before Evelyn could get up from her chair. He stood and went into the kitchen.
“There’s leftover lasagna,” she called out to him as he opened the fridge. “Is that a
lright, Naomi?”
Whatever. She wasn’t hungry anymore, but even without an appetite, she was still willing to eat. It was the only reliable sensation she didn’t have to question. She would do whatever they told her because she was weak and they were strong. It was a familiar place, even comfortable if she settled in far enough.
Jesse took her back upstairs when she finished eating. He opened the door and gave her a pleading stare. There was red stubble on his jaw and an indent on his nose from a pair of glasses. “I won’t ever hurt you,” he said, leaning close to her.
Confused, she backed into the room.
“I’m not like that,” he continued softly. “I’m sorry if I’ve scared you, that’s all.”
She nodded. She had to admit he did creep her out on a lot of levels, but then again, he wasn’t the first guy in her life to make her feel uncomfortable without any hope of escape.
VII
HER KIDNAPPERS LEFT FOR WORK THE NEXT morning, but when Jesse returned he came straight to her door. Naomi lowered her book when he stepped into the room.
“Would you like to go into the den?” he asked. He was dressed in tan slacks and a button-down shirt. His hair was neatly styled. She wondered what he did all day to have to look so nice.
“Yeah,” she said with a relieved sigh. “This room is getting small.”
“I’ll bet.”
She followed him down the hallway into a long room lined with bookshelves. In the middle of the room was a pool table, but what caught her attention were the French doors leading out to a balcony. She could see the backyard and hints of the rest of the neighborhood. It seemed like only older people lived around here. She had seen hardly anyone out her window during the day, and she hadn’t heard any children or loud noises at all. Lights were on inside the houses. Were the people eating dinner? Watching TV? Here she was in the middle of their neighborhood, a prisoner. It was weird. She stared down at her hands, grateful she wasn’t tied up at night. She might scream her head off if it came to that.
“I like to play pool,” Jesse said as he motioned for her to sit on a sofa by the table. “You can read if you like. Do you want a drink?”
“A drink?” She sat gingerly on the edge of the sofa, trying not to look uncomfortable. Why was he asking her if she wanted a drink? He was too nice to be a kidnapper. It was all wrong.
“Yeah.” He walked to a refrigerator at the back of the room where a weight machine and treadmill were tucked into the shadows. “Water? Coke? Sprite? Juice? What do you like?”
She stared down at her hands. “Uh, Coke, I guess.”
“My favorite.” He opened the fridge and pulled one out for her. When she had it in her hands he took a cue stick from the wall. “Do you like to play?”
She turned the can in her hands and looked away. The truth was she loved to play pool; Brad had taught her how.
“Well?”
“Uh, I think I’d rather read.”
“Be my guest.” He nodded to the shelves. She stood and walked to the shelves with the most fantasy titles. A little gasp left her mouth. They had some of the best books. She touched the spines with a trembling finger— classics and newer titles too, mostly hardbacks. It seemed odd that they bought and read fiction. She remembered all the books stacked downstairs and wondered if Eric read fantasy, if he liked all those made-up worlds. Evelyn seemed more the type to love dragons and princes and long, epic journeys, but as she was discovering, these people weren’t predictable.
Gradually, she became aware of Jesse’s eyes on her back.
“You sure don’t talk much,” he said.
She turned around to see him leaning against the pool table, his arms folded as he waited for her to answer.
“What do you mean?”
“Don’t you miss your family? Your boyfriend? Evelyn says you never talk about any of them.”
“What does she want me to say?”
He shrugged. “Don’t you miss them?”
Clamping her mouth shut, she considered the question. It should have been easy to answer, but it wasn’t. Out of pure habit she rarely thought about her parents, and Brad only entered her mind when she forgot to focus on something else. She imagined her emotions and memories trapped inside a tiny box she was too afraid to open. Her eyes started to sting.
“I’m sorry.” Panic crossed Jesse’s face as he unfolded his arms. “I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. I—”
“I-I can’t think about them,” she said as the box started to open. Now she was going to fall apart. “I think more about the tiles in the shower than I do about my parents. They went to work only one day after they found out I was gone, and Brad ....”
Her voice trickled into a sob as she thought about his arms around her in his bed. The first time she had slept with him she had panicked that her parents would find out, but they never did. They wouldn’t have cared anyway, and that’s what hurt. Brad wanted her more and more until it was a regular ritual, and now she missed his lips on her skin, his tight embrace and whispers that he would keep her safe forever. He was so wrong.
Jesse approached her and she backed away. The last thing she wanted was him trying to comfort her. They wanted to make her believe they cared about her, and she couldn’t allow that.
“Don’t touch me,” she whimpered. “Please.” She backed into a bookshelf and watched him come closer. He was the same size as Brad, just as strong, but leaner. She could see his firm muscles defined under his shirt. He definitely worked out, but she wondered why—if it was for a girlfriend. Why was he even here? He didn’t seem related to the others in any way.
He came closer. Naomi held her breath. She would not freak out. She could handle this, but tears spilled down her face. Something about him tipped her over the edge. It was something strong, like in Brad, the hard glimmer in his eyes pushing her into submission, the way he moved as if nothing could shake him. A part of her yearned for it, and the other part cowered.
He touched her cheek to wipe away a tear. His hand was warm and gentle. “The news reports say you’re shy. You have no close friends except for Brad.”
She couldn’t tear her gaze from the freckles on his cheeks. They weren’t nerdy like some of the boys’ freckles at school. She could see he was proud of the way he looked, the way he held himself.
He tilted his head. “How can someone so smart and beautiful be so lonely?”
More tears. She couldn’t keep them back. She felt behind her, but there were only books, nothing to defend herself with as his hand wrapped around her arm and pulled her away from the bookshelf. She remembered how firmly he had held her in the motel room when he had helped her up from the floor, how he had smelled of stale cologne and sweat—a sweet, almost comforting scent. He smelled like that now, like Brad, like everything she loved and hated.
With a heavy sigh, she gave in and let him gather her into his arms. She rested her cheek on his shoulder, embarrassed that her tears were already soaking through his shirt. It was gross, but he didn’t seem to care.
“Shhh,” he whispered, tightening his hold on her. It was tighter than it needed to be. He lightly caressed a spot on her back. “You must still be scared to death, even after a month here, but we haven’t hurt you, have we?”
“N-no,” she whimpered. An odd feeling swept over her, like she was floating in water. She remembered months ago trying to straighten the starfish in the tide pool so she could take a picture. It had velvety, bumpy skin. It clung to the rock for dear life as she tried to pry it away.
“The only reason Eric will hurt you is if you try to get away,” he said in a steady voice. “You won’t do that.”
“I won’t.” She had no idea if she meant it. They couldn’t possibly expect her to give in so easily. She was trembling now. Jesse loosened his hold and nudged her away enough so he could look at her.
“Let’s play a game.” He nodded to the pool table. “I’ll teach you if you don’t know how. It’ll get your mind off things.”
“I don’t think so,” she said through a sob. Her mind was spinning around thoughts of Brad and the starfish and that night on the beach with Damien as she ate a hot dog with mustard. The only thing she thought about her parents was them driving away to work in the morning, and that made her feel guilty for some stupid reason. The last thing she wanted to do was play a game.
“Naomi, calm down.”
She looked up and realized she was sobbing uncontrollably. Little hiccups escaped her mouth. Her nose was starting to run. Fantastic.
“I’m sorry,” she spluttered and turned away to wipe her nose with her hands. She didn’t want anyone to see her like this, a complete wreck. Even her knees felt weak.
“What’s the matter?” he asked. “I had no idea mentioning your parents would—”
“You’re right,” she interrupted, wiping her snot on her jeans. “I don’t even think about them. That’s not normal. None of this is normal.”
“No, it isn’t.” He cleared his throat. “But you don’t exactly come from a normal family.”
She looked at the books on the shelf in front of her. The word normal had never described her, even now. All she had done for the last month was sleep, eat, and read. She obeyed every order. She was their perfect puppet. Her mind was in a rut like a song stuck on repeat. She was getting so sick of it she wanted to curl up and die. Had she felt like this her entire life, or did she only notice now because the situation was more intimate?
The worst thing was she was too scared to do anything to fight back. Jesse wanted her, but what kind of a girl threw herself at her kidnapper just to see if it opened a door? What did that say about her? Was it worth trying to get back to Brad? Her heart ached for him in spite of the bruise he had left on her cheek. She wanted his protection again. He had always helped her feel better about her uncaring family. His own parents were divorced, and he was constantly reminding her that at least hers were together. At least she was taken care of in a lot of other ways. It was only in those brief moments that her resentment melted away. Nobody but Brad had ever given her such stability to lean against, and she would do anything to get back to him so she could feel those solid walls once more. She needed him.
The Breakaway Page 6