Grif got up and pulled me up with him.
“Come.”
Chapter Fifteen
He led me to his torture room. My skin immediately broke into goose bumps as I remembered being chained to the floor. It still looked foreboding. Maybe more so now that I knew what he could do with all of the instruments. Just thinking about the pain he could create sparked a wave of desire in me.
“Do you see all of this?” He gestured to the room. “This is my father’s legacy.”
I didn’t know what to say.
“He is the leader of a church. It started small. When I was growing up we lived in rural Appalachia. I didn’t see a TV. until I was twenty. The church was our life.” As he spoke, the drawl that had only been hinted at in his speech became more pronounced. He had tried to erase it along with his past, but both refused to disappear.
His fingers went out and touched a riding crop, lovingly tracing the soft leather handle.
“Isaac and I, we watched him. It started with our mother. She never ate with us. Waited on him hand and foot. Slept on the floor while we slept on beds.”
He shoved his hands in his pockets, agitated. “When we were older, it escalated. Isaac was the first to strike her. She didn’t get his meal fast enough. But he wasn’t the last. We all did it.” His voice cracked and he looked at me. His green eyes were haunted. “I beat her, Renee. My own mother. Once I beat her so badly she couldn’t get out of bed for three days. And my father clapped my back in approval.”
What do you say to that?
“As the church grew, some of the elders grew jealous of my mom. Wanted their wives to be the same. That was when my father decided to make it a church tenant. Women were to be seated at the heel of the men. And if a man were to tithe enough to the church, my father would train the women for his followers.”
“When we started, we were barely surviving. Eating potatoes and onions every night because that was all that we could afford. When I turned eighteen, we were eating steak and drinking fine wine. My father’s church goers were very generous.” Grif spat the words.
“Somewhere along the lines my dad brought Isaac and I in to help train. It was an awakening, Renee. He wasn’t just making these women subservient. He was utterly ruining them. Making them less than human. For him, women were to be despised. To atone for original sin through punishment.”
“As Isaac and I worked with the women I… I changed. I discovered two things about myself. The first is that I began to believe that women were spectacular creatures. The second was that I only found pleasure in destroying them.”
I gasped a little. Breaking. Destroying. I thought about his face, pained as he had whipped me in his bedroom, even as his cock had strained against his pants.
“I fucking revered them, Renee, even as I tore them apart. I couldn’t stand to see the final product, these whimpering women at the feet of their husbands. Like my mother. A battered puppy who always came back for more. So I left the church and my family.”
My voice was small as I whispered, “But you kept doing it.”
“No. Yes. I make women into something domicile. Obedient. But there is a beauty in that, a strength the women in the church had never had. Something the men couldn’t see, or appreciate. But yes… I kept doing it.”
“Why?”
“I started to hate people. The parishioners. My father, my brother. When I would go out, all I could see was the evil in peoples’ hearts. My father said we were putting everyone in their rightful, holy order. All I could see was sin and a desire to hurt. That’s when the anxiety began.”
His hand raked through his hair. “It started as a little anxiety. Then it grew. I pictured my mother in that tiny house, that tiny, chaotic world. Then I pictured myself trying to fit into the larger, chaotic world and I became sick.”
“I kept doing it because I am saving women from the real evil. The men and women I sell them to are hard masters, yes. But they love their slaves. Cherish them. I’m saving those women from the rape, the abuse, the degradation people like my dad think they should suffer and giving them a small, safe world. One where obedience is rewarded and they are worshipped for their subservience.”
“It doesn’t feel like worship.”
He didn’t say anything else. My eyes glanced around the room, taking in each device for torture and pleasure. He knew it was wrong. But he had chosen to keep doing it.
“What were you doing, when you were caught?” He finally asked me.
It felt like so long ago, when it really hadn’t been. “I was going to hike. The Appalachian trail, and then the Mountains to Sea trail.”
“You’re big into the outdoors?”
I blushed. “This was supposed to be my first big hiking trip. I grew up next to the beach. I’ve always loved being outside, the sun on my skin, the sky so huge it feels full of possibilities.”
He shuddered, visibly uncomfortable as he went and looked out the window, a hand longingly placed on the pane.
“Why do it?”
I laughed, bitter. “I wanted adventure in my life. I… I had needed to escape my hometown, I suppose.”
“Bad home life?”
“No, my parents are great. Heartache. My fiancé left me a day before we were set to be married.”
His eyebrows raised in surprise, but his eyes were a storm. “You were going to be married?”
I shrugged. It felt so long ago to me now. Matt had ripped my heart out, but now I wasn’t so sure my pain came from him, or from the shame of being left. I realized that the only times I had thought of Matt since being kidnapped had been about the things he’d said or done that made me feel sad. Ashamed of myself. It stunned me to realize not once had I missed him, or dreamed of him rescuing me.
Grif looked at me, his eyes piercing through me.
“You’re different. From the other girls.”
“How?”
“You’re a fighter. Compassionate even while fighting. And so unafraid.”
My heart fluttered and I felt like a schoolgirl. A disturbed schoolgirl. “Is that a good thing or a bad thing?”
“I don’t know.”
* * * *
He locked me in my room for four days after that. I was brought food and allowed to keep the clothing of his that I had taken. But it was boring. And, I hated to admit it, lonely. I didn’t know what was happening between he and I. I wanted to hate him. For everything that he was and everything he had done to me. For his fucked up family.
Instead I missed him. Because I missed him, I realized I should have run. I never should have hesitated at the door. What kind of person was I, that I couldn’t run from a man who admitted to torturing women? To selling them?
Even knowing that, I craved his company. Missed looking at his face. I missed his smell and the sense of danger I felt around him. The small, short moments when he shared a little of himself with me.
These were my thoughts as I counted the days by the meals they brought me. They were the thoughts that raced through my mind as I paced the floor. My hate for him. My hate for myself, for being so weak.
It was while I was walking the length of my small room, back and forth, that he finally came to see me. My heart jumped in my chest as he walked through the door. He was wearing a t-shirt and jeans, the most dressed-down I had ever seen him. Is there anything sexier than a tight white t-shirt and old jeans, slung around the hips?
I was so desperate for him, for company, and yes, for the sex that I grew moist just from the sight of him. It took an act of will I didn’t know I still had to keep from flinging myself at him.
“I have something to show you. Come with me to the foyer?”
Just like the times in the past, he offered me his arm, ever a wolf in a gentleman’s skin. I took the crook of his elbow. It felt good to see the sunlight in the hallway and warming the steps; my room was small and cramped and I had craved daylight.
At the base of the stairs was a large, wrapped box. A present.
/> “For you,” he murmured.
“You got me a gift?” I could hardly believe it.
“Open it.”
As a child I had always delighted in gifts, tearing into them, ripping the paper. I had never minded cleaning up the scraps after, but the moment of opening had been the best part of a present. Matt had always scolded me for my haste, trying to get me to gently open the paper so that we could reuse it later. He said it was wasteful and rude. I had hated the restraint but had done what he asked because that’s what you do when you’re in love, right? Compromise, even on something as stupid as the joy of ripping apart wrapping paper. God, these memories made me grateful he had left me.
The same feelings of restraint wrapped around me now. I ran my finger along the side, delicately lifting the tape, cringing at every micro tear that occurred. The paper was lovely, a heavy parchment with delicate gold designs. The ribbon was red like the ribbon he had once placed around my neck. My fingers rubbed along its smooth satin surface.
“What are you waiting for? We don’t need to stand on ceremony. Open it.”
His voice was harsh, an edge to it, but the permission was all I needed.
I hooked my fingers in and ripped, ripped, ripped. It was, I realized, remarkably satisfying to destroy something so beautiful.
Oh.
As I peeled the last remnants of the paper off the box and let them tumble from my hands to the floor, I knew that, though worlds apart, Grif had tried to explain this to me. Had maybe even pleaded for me to understand that there was a catharsis that happened in the destruction. Beauty in the ashes that remain.
Suddenly I didn’t want to open the gift. It felt too oppressive. Ominous. What could he have to give me? What does someone give the thing they are seeking to destroy?
“Go on,” he commanded.
I was less zealous now as I opened the box, fingers popping through the bonding tape. Slowly I opened the top and gasped at what was inside.
Chapter Sixteen
A backpack. A bedroll. Hiking boots. Twenty or so camping aids like firestarters, an electric torch, a tarp, a purifying water bottle. It was everything a person would need to comfortably backpack for weeks.
“Here,” Grif said, pressing a piece of paper into my hands. I unfolded it and it became a map of North Carolina, a long line curving and winding across it.
“What’s this?” I whispered.
“A map of the Mountains to Sea Trail. The second half of your planned trip.”
“I don’t understand.” My mind was numb as I looked at everything, packed neatly in the box. I noted the names and labels on some of the items; they were top of the line. There was at least a thousand dollars worth of gear in the box.
“Finish your adventure.”
My eyes began to water, threatening to spill over. “I’m free?”
Grif said nothing. When our eyes met, his face was a twist of agony. “I’m sorry. My father was right about one thing; I shouldn’t have tried to keep you for myself. You… you bring out the worst in me.”
“That’s not true!” I couldn’t believe the words even as they escaped my lips. “I thought… I don’t know what I thought, but you haven’t been the worst. Your father would have been the worst.”
His laughter was a bark, hard in my ears. “You don’t know how much I’ve been holding back, Renee. The truth is that from the moment you’ve been in my home I’ve wanted to bind you. Whip you. Fuck you raw. Hurt you, over and over. And not to see you break. The joy I’ve had from the few screams you’ve given me--I’m a sick man. I’ve held back because I didn’t want to ruin you too quickly.”
His words were a punch to the gut. My captivity had been brutal. My body had been turned against me, a husk that danced only to his tune. It wasn’t entirely from horror, either. Some part of me, deep in my stomach, began to burn hot with curiosity for how far he could push me, both in pain and pleasure.
“I thought you wanted me to break.”
“I thought so, too. Some part of me still does. Wants to see you crumble at my hands. Whimpering and begging for more.”
Oh god, those words. I closed my eyes against them. We were matched in our fucked-uppedness. The part of me that wanted that called to him started to come out, fighting over leaving. I slammed the door in her face.
“Grif--” I didn’t know how to finish. What do you say to the cruelest man you’ve known? Who’s kept you locked away?
Who is letting you walk away?
“Just go. Run to the police if you want. Tell them everything. Hike the trail. I don’t care.”
He turned and began to walk away from me. When he reached the hallway he turned to me. “Renee, I’m sorry. You said you wanted to hike to get away from heartache. I… I hope that maybe you are still able to do that.”
He left me on my knees, all the tools for my freedom in front of me, all the unanswered questions and longing squeezing the life out of me.
* * * *
A taxi drove me from Grif’s mansion to the nearest trail point. A large white dot on a tree signaled the beginning of my journey. It was still summer, the air warm. By the time I reached Wilmington it would be winter. Grif had counted on that; in my bag were long johns and a coat that could be squeezed into a tiny bag for storage but promised warmth against the harshest winter. North Carolina rarely had harsh winters, but I would be prepared for anything.
The taxi drove off. I had asked him to take me to the nearest town but he had ignored me. Grif must have paid him an exorbitant amount of money to take me to the trailhead only.
I stood in front of the trail, paralyzed.
I hadn’t expected to be delivered here. I had never expected to be set free.
The road we had been on to get to this point was far from any civilization. It would take me at least a day to hike to a phone. Run to the police if you want.
It was what I should do. As fast as I could. Get to the police and tell them where he is. Let them know about his father’s involvement, too. Go home and try to forget about the whole thing.
I would never be able to forget. Not the capture. Not the arch of my body under his. Not him.
I stood at the trailhead for a long time, burning daylight. I could try to get to a town, but it would probably involve hitching. At the thought, I shuddered. Never again.
So one foot in front of the other, I started on the trail.
The sunlight streamed through the pines. It dappled the fern-covered ground, making it seem like it was glowing. The air…
It wasn’t like I hadn’t been able to breathe in Grif’s house. But air after captivity was a life-changing experience. Fresh. Rich. Pungent earth and the smell of green flooding over and through me. Soon I all I could hear was the birds and insects, the forest alive around me.
This was what I had envisioned in Wilmington. The richness of the forest. The openness around me. Of course, I had originally planned to be walking it with Matt.
How long ago that felt to me now. Matt had been the pillar of my life. When he had broken our engagement I had felt as if life was crumbling around me. Now, though, that felt like a joke. Matt hurt me? No, I knew what hurt was now.
I could always tell the police about Grif later. An anonymous tip. For now, I just wanted to walk away the pain.
I had told Grif that I wanted to walk off the heartache. At the time I had meant Matt. As my feet hit the trail, though, I realized with increased heaviness that maybe heartache meant something entirely different now.
* * * *
My tarp was set. I had found a nice spot off-trail to set up. As I snuggled into the designer sleeping sack that Grif had given me, I surrendered myself to the sounds of the night. The cicadas were loud, making the forest around me hum. My face pressed close to the earth I could smell the rich, damp odor of life. After spending so many nights in the tiny room I found the open space uncomfortable.
I thought about Grif.
How he was trapped in the house. He hadn’t spoken
much of his fear of outside, but I had seen it. The way he looked longingly out of windows. The way he had breathed heavy, his inhalations racing, that first night that he had bought me, racing to return to the safety of his home.
God, he must have been so lonely if it had been worth it to come outside to get me.
That huge house, filled with girls, one after the other… and they always left him. He spent time with them and then sold them. I snuggled in deeper, pulling the bag tightly around me. Did he ever feel anything for them? For me?
He had said I was different. Some part of me relished that thought. He had made me feel special, fucked up as that was.
But he had also let me go. Maybe he hadn’t wanted me, after all. Maybe, like Matt, he had realized I wasn’t worth keeping.
Tears, sprung from feelings of rejection, falling from my eyes. I was so screwed up. Screwed up for thinking hitchhiking was a good idea. Screwed up for letting myself get kidnapped and not putting up a fight. I did what he had asked of me and worse, I had enjoyed it. Now he had kicked me out and I was fucking terrified of being without him.
With the way my heart ached in my chest, I knew I would need to cover the whole trail, mile after mile, to even hope to put a dent in the heartache it felt.
* * * *
My legs ached. The pack, which was around sixty pounds in reality, felt as if it were a hundred pounds of rocks. Every hill was hell. My breaks came more and more frequently.
I berated myself every step I took. Of course I had known it would be hard. Before I had left, I was in decent shape. I ran at the gym and swam in the ocean on weekends. But I was not prepared for the grueling pace of the trail. I made it by counting the white painted dots on the trees. They weren’t quite mile markers, but they reassured me that I was still on the trail and that I had put more distance behind me.
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