In Her Mind's Eye

by Susan Gnucci

  “Give me the key.” Tess held out one hand shakily. She couldn’t quite believe she had demanded that of him, and by his reaction, neither could he.

  “What?”

  “You heard me. Give me the key,” she repeated herself, this time with more authority.

  “Ah, Tess. You are marvelous.” He lowered his head slightly as if to signal capitulation and then a bloody hand shot out at her, trapping her against the door, his fingers digging cruelly into the soft flesh on either side of her neck. As his sweaty face leaned into hers, his sour breath assaulting her senses, he tightened his grip, causing Tess to squirm and thrash. Releasing her hold on the dinner tray, she raised her hands to clutch wildly at her throat, clawing and digging at his fingers in a vain attempt to loosen his hold. Horrid, strangled little sounds emanated from her mouth as her lips moved wordlessly. Had his hand not been slick with blood, he would no doubt have been capable of lifting her completely off her feet. As it was, he had her pinned against the door in a vice-like grip. Within seconds, her colour began to change from red to a bluish purple. Just as her vision was beginning to fade, he flicked his wrist and tossed her aside with no more effort than one would toss away a cigarette butt.

  Landing in a heap on the floor, painfully jolting her hip once again, Tess ravenously sucked air into her starved lungs, her hands feverishly massaging her throat as she did so. Incapacitated by a spasm of choking and gagging, eyes watering profusely, she was only vaguely aware he had keyed open the door.

  “You have seriously tried my patience today, Tess,” he admonished her before breaking out into a huge grin. “But what a day it’s been!” he exclaimed as he kicked the hairbrush out into the hallway and slammed the door behind him. A second later, the grating sound of bolts being slid back into place echoed deafeningly in her ears.

  Tess sat for a long time afterwards huddled against the wall on the cold concrete floor with her knees drawn up, her arms wrapped around them, head bowed. Deep in shock, she was too stunned to even cry. The minutes ticked by, marked only by her ragged breathing. The ache of her bruised throat was nothing compared to the anguish she felt at her failed escape attempt. Without question, he would be doubly careful with her from now on. If he kept her around at all, that is.

  Gradually, her head cleared, and as it did, she listened acutely for the sound of the exterior door and the car, figuring he would have to seek medical attention for the wound on his arm. After all, surely it would require stitches. Occasionally, she could detect faint footsteps on the floor above her in another part of the house. As the minutes stretched into an hour, she grew perplexed, finally admitting to herself the possibility that perhaps he wasn’t hurt as badly as she had assumed. Or was he simply refusing to go to a hospital or a medical clinic for fear of being identified? She had no way of knowing, but the mere prospect of his wound only being superficial left her sorely dejected. She had to fight back the flood of despair threatening to overwhelm her.

  Finally, she stirred, driven by an overwhelming thirst. The throbbing in her neck had worsened and her throat felt parched and raw almost as though tiny glass shards were dislodged every time she swallowed. Spying the foam cup on the floor in front of her, she crawled stiffly over to it and then stood and made her way unsteadily to the sink. Filling the cup, she drank greedily, the first gulp feeling like a firebrand down her throat, causing her to wince and squeeze her eyes shut. The next few gulps were easier, and afterwards, she tenderly massaged her neck with her free hand in an attempt to ease her discomfort.

  Despondent and defeated, she sought the refuge of her mattress where she lay curled up, numb with fear. It was hours later before hunger finally drove her from her bed. She rose stiffly, wincing at her sore hip, and stood to examine her breakfast that was strewn across the floor. Gingerly kneeling down, she forlornly picked up a ripe strawberry, dusted it off and made a face before taking a hesitant bite. She tried to chew and swallow carefully so as not to aggravate her bruised throat. At first, she worried about any permanent damage, but being able to breathe and pass food down her throat eased her fears somewhat. Despite her disgust, she scooped up the cold scrambled eggs from the floor with her fingers and ate them along with the rest of her fruit. She forced herself to eat because she was under no illusion whatsoever that he would bring her a dinner tray later in the day.

  It was the end of day three, almost 72 hours since Tess had been reported missing, and they were no closer to finding her. This fact was weighing heavily on all the police officers involved although they tried their best not to show it in front of the dozens of volunteers who had gathered at the search command post at the police station that evening. Many of them were Tess’ colleagues from the university – faculty, staff, and fellow graduate students who had taken time out of their professional and personal lives to aid in the search. Leah had been instrumental in organizing them into various groups to put up posters and hand out leaflets at the university, to comb the nearby woods and campus buildings for any evidence, and to spread the word to neighboring residents in case anyone may have noticed anything amiss that night.

  The university’s astronomical dome was housed on the top of the Science building situated on the southeast side of the campus bordering a large wood known to locals as Mystic Vale. This area encompassed several hectares of heavily wooded trails and deep ravines, making it difficult terrain to search. Although the police were certain the suspect had removed Tess from her building by car, they did not rule out the possibility he had then taken a secondary road on campus from which he could have accessed Mystic Vale. And so, it had taken dozens of volunteers hours to tramp inch by inch through the dense brush and trees, prodding and checking every possible hiding place where evidence could have been stashed. Despite their best efforts, they were unsuccessful in turning up anything other than a few discarded beer bottles and joint stubs from young party goers who often used the woods to pass away a few idle hours.

  One promising lead from the day’s efforts came from a fellow graduate student who remembered a rather odd character at one of the weekly Astronomy Open Houses several weeks prior. An excited Leah steered this student through the crowd of volunteers who were taking a few minutes to grab a quick coffee and muffin before heading home for the night.

  “Detective McLean!” Leah called out. “Hey, McLean!” she waved.

  Hearing his name, McLean turned around to face her, his face unable to conceal the strain of the last three days. “Hey, Leah,” he greeted her in a voice that revealed his exhaustion.

  Guiding the graduate student to a stop in front of the young detective, Leah couldn’t contain her excitement. “You’ve got to listen to this!”

  McLean perked up at the sense of urgency in her voice.

  “Ryan here says he remembers a weirdo at one of the Astro Open Houses a few weeks back,” Leah informed him. “Right, Ryan?”

  The graduate student held out his hand in greeting. “Hi. I’m Ryan Withers.”

  McLean straightened, clearly intrigued and shook the young man’s hand. “Hi. Detective McLean. Jay McLean. Nice to meet you. Come on. We can talk easier in here.” He indicated a door to a small side office, signalling to his partner as he did so.

  Ryan and Leah followed his lead and both of them took a seat at the table in the centre of the room. McLean remained standing as his partner entered and curtly introduced himself.

  “Name’s Detective Baxter,” he spoke directly to Ryan while simply nodding at Leah.

  “Hi, I’m Ryan.”

  “Anything I can get you guys? A coffee?” McLean asked them.

  “I’m fine. I’ve got to get going soon. I have a lab to teach first thing tomorrow morning,” Ryan explained.

  “Tell them what you told me, Ryan.” Leah, who could barely contain her excitement, nudged him.

  “I’m one of the grad students who run the Astronomy Open Houses on Wednesday evenings,” he began to explain. “That’s where we invite the public to tour the astronomica
l dome on our building. We talk about the main telescope and we let them look through the smaller ones mounted out on the roof. It’s an outreach program,” he added. When he witnessed the impatient looks directed at him, Ryan moved along with his story. “Anyway, when Leah came to speak with us today about anything unusual in the last few weeks, it got me thinking about this guy who came to one of the open houses back in May. Leah showed us a sketch of your suspect, and it kind of looked like this guy.”

  “Did you get his name?” Baxter crossed his beefy arms and frowned.

  “Nope, he never gave it.” Ryan shrugged his shoulders.

  “What was it about this guy that made you remember him?” McLean asked.

  “Well, quite frankly, he was not your ‘run of the mill’ member of the public,” Ryan admitted. “I’ve done a lot of these open houses over the years and we get the same type of people coming out – amateur astronomers, retirees, families with little kids, or students who have a career interest in Astronomy, and he just didn’t fit into any of those categories.”

  “How so?” Baxter prompted him.

  “Well, for one thing. He asked a lot of questions.”

  “That’s unusual?” Baxter threw Ryan a skeptical look.

  “No, not at all,” Ryan attempted to explain. “It was more the type of questions he was asking. Instead of asking how the telescopes work and what you can see with them, he seemed more interested in the dome facility.”

  “An engineering background?” McLean speculated.

  “No, I don’t think so. It was more like – Was there access off the roof from the viewing platform? Did the dome only have one door? Things like that. It just struck me as odd. He didn’t spend any time looking through the telescopes, just kind of snooped around.”

  McLean began to pace the room. “Did he stay long? The entire session, I mean.”

  “Yup,” Ryan nodded.

  “You’re sure?” Baxter narrowed his eyes.

  “Yes, I’m sure,” Ryan answered resolutely, “because it ticked me off when he hung around,” he added.

  “How come you didn’t call campus security?” Although Baxter’s question was blunt, it didn’t seem to offend the young man.

  In response, Ryan simply shrugged his shoulders. “Hey, the guy was creepy but he wasn’t doing anything disruptive. It crossed my mind he was casing the place for something to steal, but there’s really nothing a person can take from up there, you know. It’s not like he could remove the smaller telescopes. They’re bolted down. So I just shrugged it off until today when Leah came to talk to us.”

  “Did you see him anywhere in the building after the session?” Baxter asked.

  “We always escort the group out of the building,” Ryan assured them.

  “How big was this group? You sure he left with it?” McLean seemed anxious for confirmation of that fact.

  “Any group I’ve had is usually too big to go down the elevator together, so I always make everyone walk down the stairs,” Ryan chuckled. “Some of them complain, but it keeps them all together. Believe me; I checked to make sure this guy was with us.”

  “Do you remember what evening this was? You said it was back in May?” Baxter flipped out his notepad and pen.

  “I know exactly what night it was,” Ryan assured him. “Open Houses are every Wednesday night, weather permitting, and I only did one session in May. It was the night of the 25th.”

  “And have you seen this guy since?” Baxter asked.

  “Nope. Just the once.” Ryan shook his head.

  McLean stood feet apart, hands braced on the tabletop. “And this guy, you say he sort of resembled the sketch? How would you describe him?”

  “Let’s see. He had long hair pulled back in a ponytail.” Ryan gestured with his own hair. “And he wore a baseball cap. Can’t remember any insignia on it or anything. He was tall, probably six foot and thin, maybe 140 or 150. Kinda reminded me of one of those carny guys.”

  “Carny guys?” McLean cocked his head and looked over at his partner to see if he understood the reference, but Baxter simply gave him a blank stare.

  Ryan looked between the two detectives before attempting to explain. “You know – the kind of lean, wiry guys who run the rides at those traveling carnies.” he chuckled. “Sorry,” he held up a hand, “I don’t mean to be rude or anything.”

  “Anything else? Any birthmarks, tattoos, missing teeth? Anything like that?” McLean asked as they wrapped up the interview.

  “He had a beard.” Ryan ran his fingers over his own clean-shaven face. “Well, I guess you’d call it a beard. It was pretty scruffy. And it didn’t cover his scar very well.”

  “Scar?” Both detectives’ exclaimed in unison as they looked over at one another in disbelief.

  “Yeah,” Ryan raised his hand to his own cheek. “Right here. A big one.”

  His arm was throbbing as he drove home from work later that evening. The painkiller he’d taken had yet to kick in. The ugly gash made by her makeshift dagger had required several stitches to close, and he had stayed late after his shift to sew it up. As luck would have it, the wound was on his non-dominant arm, so he was able to stitch it up himself by standing in front of a mirror. It had been an awkward and slow procedure, but when it was done, he was more than pleased with the result. He did not doubt his arm would be sore for some time, but at least it was nothing more than a flesh wound. No artery had been involved. Plus, he still had full use of his arm.

  How clever she had been – to have devised such a resourceful plan so quickly and with so little at her disposal. He had to admire her ingenuity. Examining the modified hairbrush, he’d come to the conclusion she had been able to sharpen it on the rough concrete floor, any evidence undoubtedly washed off or covered up by her mattress.

  Facing such a shrewd opponent was indeed invigorating, but being caught off guard needled his ego more than he cared to admit. Of course, he had come out the winner, but if truth be told, he’d been caught with his pants down. That never happened. Ever. Thinking back on it, he had picked up on a peculiar smell in her room. It had been hard to place so he’d naturally assumed it was a female smell. Having no experience as an adult living with a woman, he was totally unfamiliar with their…body odour. How was he supposed to know what they smelled like? With hindsight, he now realized the smell in her room was from her efforts to sharpen the brush. How strange his senses had not alerted him.

  Despite breaking his cardinal rule about not bringing a victim to his home, despite this morning’s close call, and even despite the dull ache in his arm, he still had no regrets. None whatsoever. She was a fascinating creature. He simply couldn’t remember a time when he’d felt more exhilarated. Realistically though, he knew he had to be very careful around her from now on. Her unpredictability was entertaining, but it was also risky.

  With his wound, he had not taken her a dinner tray before he left for work, but once back home after his shift, he quickly put together something for her to eat. It was only a sandwich and a glass of milk, but as it was close to midnight, he figured she would devour it. No sense in starving the poor girl he thought to himself with a chuckle.

  As he descended the stairs to deliver her meal, he pondered what her frame of mind would be; after all, she’d had all day to think about her actions. Was she remorseful? Resigned? Scared? Oh, he hoped she was scared. He hoped to see that reflected plainly on her face.

  As he slid the first bolt back, he paused when he detected shuffling on the other side of the door. Leaning his ear against it, he listened intently, trying to gauge her whereabouts in the room. He did not want to be ambushed as he entered. He had never worried about such a possibility before with her, but now, he was not taking any chances. Quietly setting the tray on the floor bedside him, he knelt down soundlessly on his knees and lowered his head to look under the door. A sliver of light emanated from inside the room. It amused him to know she slept with the light on. Frightened of the dark, was she? Squinting to see un
der the door, he could not detect any shadow or any indication she was there. Rising to his full height, he decided to be diligent.

  “Tess. I’ve brought you something to eat.”

  No response.

  “I’m going to open the door, Tess, but when I do, I want to see you on your mattress, is that clear? I’m afraid I’m going to insist on such measures from now on, my dear, as you’ve proven yourself entirely untrustworthy.” He raised a hand to stifle the smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth.

  No response.

  Slowly lowering his hand, he frowned. Pursing his lips, he debated what to do. Well, he was not going to plead with her to cooperate. If she chose not to, she would suffer the consequences. It was that simple. Making a show of sliding the second bolt noisily, he slowly opened the door…

  From his vantage point, his eye immediately fell on the mattress. He had strategically placed it in the left-hand corner of the room so it was the first thing he saw when he opened the door. He needn’t have worried, for she lay curled up in a fetal position on the mattress, her eyes huge, her expression one of dread. Realizing he was hunched over as though prepared for a possible attack, he straightened and made a show of entering the room. Unsure if this was some new ploy to throw him off his guard, he swiftly set the tray down on the chair by the door and backed away to stand directly in the doorframe.

  “Come now, my dear. You must be famished. I’ve brought you something to eat. Nothing fancy at this hour of course. Just a sandwich and a glass of milk.” When he noted her wary reaction, he added – “A token.”

  She stared blankly at him.

  “Why, to show there are no hard feelings, my dear.” Bowing his head curtly to demonstrate his sincerity, he turned abruptly and closed and re-bolted the door.

  Tess was dumbfounded. Heart still slamming against her chest, she rose and tore into the sandwich.

  Tess woke on the fourth morning of her captivity suffering from lethargy and a dull headache. Something wasn’t right. She struggled to lift her head, but even this simple act seemed to take a colossal effort. Sinking back down on her mattress, she let out a guttural moan. The last time she’d felt like this…Her eyes flew open. Oh, God, No! The last time she’d felt like this…