He nods. “I told you I’m not a bad guy, Ava.”
And I’m starting to believe him. When you have nothing good for comparison, anything can appear to be good. See, I’m not going completely crazy.
I’m not.
Day 18
I lie awake, my mind unable to stop. I glance at the clock and it’s already past three in the morning. Groaning, I wipe a palm down my face before reaching for the lamp on the nightstand. One click and the bright-ass light nearly blinds me. I grab the well-worn book from the bedside table. The Art of Seduction by Robert Greene. I flip to the beginning of chapter 15, titled: “Isolate the Victim.” My eyes skim the first few lines before I drop the book to my lap.
Sad to say, but over the past few months, I’ve lost count of the women I’ve done this to. I should be able to do this in my sleep by now. Ava should not be a problem. But what makes doing this to Ava more difficult—there is something about her that I want.
With just a look she makes me forget what I’m trying to do. I found myself on her Facebook page earlier today looking at pictures, reading posts because I am curious about her. Those books, those weren’t in the plans—although I must admit it was a nice touch. She’s most likely down there reading one right now, and deep within the recesses of her fragile mind I am being connected to something pleasant, to a kind act of remorse. This is how you manipulate someone: you take everything away and suddenly the slightest act of kindness seems like you’ve moved a mountain. Stripped of everything, people rearrange their view on life—on kindness and love. And eventually, once they come to depend on you for everything, when you are all they can see, you are left with the power to rearrange the way they view everything.
Things which were once good can become bad. Things that were once a joy can be turned into an annoyance. When a person has one person and one person only in their life—that person controls everything, right down to their captive’s ideas and logic. So simple yet so complicated. And if you are truly a master at it, they’ll never even realize their entire moral compass has been rearranged, they’ll not be capable of remembering what is truth and what are lies, and most importantly, they’ll be unable to remember who they really are.
The thought of Ava losing herself—it makes me somber because I want to know who she is, and if she loses that identity, I’ll never really know.
I flip through the pages until the early morning light filters through the old window beside the bed. After placing the book back on the bedside table, I crawl out of bed. I piss and brush my teeth, then I grab a piece of rope from the dresser drawer and make my way down to the cellar. Ava’s curled up on her cot, the copy of Frankenstein still in her hands. I cross the room and gently take a seat next to her, watching her sleep.
She looks so peaceful, so damn perfect. Her porcelain skin is flawless, her thick, dark lashes such a contrast to her fair skin tone. High cheekbones. A perfect cupid’s bow in her full upper lip. And if I’m honest, I feel much like Lucifer luring an angel from the realms of heaven; however, the devil wouldn’t feel guilt pressing down on him like I do. Leaning over her, I tenderly trail my finger across her cheek. Fuck if her skin doesn’t feel good under my touch. “Ava,” I whisper. “Hey, darlin’?”
Her eyes flutter and she makes a subtle movement.
“Ava, time to wake up.”
Her eyes open, dazed and confused before she startles. I lay my hand over her thigh and pat her. “It’s okay. I’m not gonna hurt you. Just wanted to take you up for a shower while Earl’s gone. Maybe have you eat up at the table with me? He’ll be gone most the day so I thought—” I narrow my eyes—“if I can trust you…that maybe you would like to get out of this fucking room?”
For a second her stare falls blank, and I wonder if she’s planning how she can get out if I let her upstairs. But then she smiles and drags in a heavy breath. “That would be great. Thank you.”
Because she trusts me. She has no one to trust but me. And so she holds her wrists out and I tie them before opening the door.
The sullen midday sun streams through one of the kitchen windows. Ava’s sitting at the table—hands bound, of course—staring down at her lap. She’s had a bath, put on a new pair of jeans and a fitted long-sleeved shirt I bought her, and now, we’ve just finished lunch. I clear the plates, stacking them in the sink and running water over them. Bear’s asleep under the kitchen table. He whimpers, kicking his legs wildly in his dream. A small smile tears at Ava’s lips as she peers beneath the table at him. “My dog does that all the time—pretends to run in her sleep,” she says.
“Oh, yeah?” I turn the tap off, glancing at her as I dry my hands. “What’s her name?”
“Sadie.”
“That’s not a dog name.” She tosses a playful glare at me, and I laugh. She’s so fucking adorable.
“It most certainly is. She’s a miniature Collie. And besides, it was from one of my favorite Beatles’ songs.”
I cock a brow, throw the towel down, and step away from the sink. I drag out the chair across the table from her and take a seat. “The Beatles? You”—reaching across the table, I flick her hair from her face—“pretty girl, listen to the Beatles?”
“Yeah, I listen to everything. My mother…”
And the mention of that name brings a flood of tears to her eyes. Fuck. I fucked up. I brought up the things she should forget about. I clear my throat. “Earl will be back soon.” I stand, holding out my hand to her.
She lifts her bound hands and places them in mine.
“Maybe we can do this more often. It’s been nice having you up here with me for the day,” I say as I open the door to the cellar.
Tears trickle down her cheeks, and without thought, I swipe them away. I want to hold her and comfort her. “It’s okay to be upset, but the thing you must remember is I will keep you safe. I won’t let you hurt, Ava. Understand?” I attempt to regain the upper hand. She gives a halfhearted nod and I take her chin between my fingers, forcing her eyes up to mine. “Look at me,” I say, and when she does, something inside of me becomes crippled.
That look of innocence—you don’t see that often here because the girls that come here are already corrupted. Ava is anything but. Hope and love and family, those things are still very fresh wounds here. She is still very much a person—a woman that at one point in my life I am fairly certain I would have chased after, loved, coveted. And the man inside of me still wants to chase her, to love her, to covet her. I sweep my thumb over her soft skin, my eyes drifting to her plump lips. I’m so lost in instincts that I barely notice myself inching closer and closer to her. Bare centimeters before my lips meet hers, I stop myself, gritting my jaw in an attempt to restrain that part of me that wants to take her.
“I promise,” I breathe the words against her lips and she shudders. “I will protect you.” And it is with those words that I turn to head down the wooden steps, to lock her back up in a room and leave her.
“I believe you,” she whispers.
Closing my eyes, I inhale. In this world, innocence is a downfall.
Day 20
I’ve tried like hell to find Lila. But I have no idea who any of these men are, or how they find Earl to get to the girls. Last night Earl was so fucked up he passed out at the kitchen table and pissed his pants. I took the opportunity to go sneak through his room again. It has to be the twentieth time I’ve done it, but to no avail. There is nothing in that room aside from cigarette butts, beer cans, pornos, and clothes.
I grab two bottles of water from the fridge and turn to head back up to my room just as Bubba comes waddling into the kitchen, Rufus at his heels. “That girl should be ’bout ready, huh?” he asks. “What’s it usually take, a month or some shit like that?”
“Yes, but she’s stubborn.”
“Yeah.” He yanks the pantry door open and begins rustling through the bags of food. “She seemed a bit feisty when we got her. Figured she’d be a pain in the ass. Guess you gotta do it right though, huh?�
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“Something like that.” I eye him suspiciously. He’s not one to strike up conversation often.
“Hell, might not ever break.” He shuts the pantry door and opens one of the Oatmeal Creme Pies he took from the box, tossing it to the floor for Bear to wolf down. “But I betcha there’s a mighty high number of men that’d pay a pretty penny for one like her, at least I reckon, you know?”
He sits down at the table, dumping his snack out into his chubby hand.
“Hey, Bub.” I take a seat across from him. “Where do these guys come from anyway?”
“Uh, the main guy’s got a site running. Kinda like one of those mail-order bride things.”
I struggle to keep my jaw from tensing. A fucking website to sell these girls? “Really?”
“Yep, well, I mean not exactly like it. I guess it’s more of a site for the guys, you know.”
“Huh…” I know not to say much. Bubba may not talk much, but when he starts it’s like word vomit that just pours from his lips.
He crams half of the Oatmeal Creme Pie into his mouth. “Yeah.” He smacks around his food. “So these guys, there’s this website they can join. Post what they like, you know, hair color and eye color, personalities, and all that shit. Then that’s where the main guy gets the information to have Joseph go and get ’em, used to be Travis, but then when he went off and got killed, they figured maybe they should have a separate person to take ’em and then you to train the girls. I guess your position’s a little more valued and all since you got to have that skill to fuck ’em up in the head.”
My stomach knots. Fucking someone up like that is not exactly what I would consider a skill, but then again, in this line of work, I guess it is.
“Who runs the site?” I ask, and Bubba doesn’t even give me a second glance.
“Tom. He handles all that businessy-type shit. Used to be a lawyer or something fancy like that, but he had this wife”—he licks the crumbs off his round fingers—“he was cheating on her and she found out, took him to the cleaners then he got hooked on some bad shit and lost his job, and down the pisser went all his money.” He waggles his eyebrows. “Worked out good for us, I guess, cause now we all got good paying jobs.” He chuckles before pushing back from the table. “Me and Earl’s gonna go down to the pool hall with Judy, wanna come?”
“You know I don’t like people, Bub.”
“Yeah, well…” He totters out of the kitchen, belching.
Tom. Fucking Tom is the one behind most of this shit? I’ve only met him twice, but he never struck me as the type to be a ring leader. He’s a balding, middle-aged fuck. Missing half his teeth—due to meth—and he seems squirrely as shit. Can’t make eye contact for more than three seconds.
I have no idea where in the hell he lives or what his last name is, but this is better than having no idea who in the hell I need to be going after. All I have to do is buy my time, play my cards right, and eventually, I’m sure me and fucking Tom will come to an understanding. Smiling, I climb the stairs, digging the key out of my pocket before I stop in front of my room. The latch pops and the door swings open, and there she is, just where I left her, sitting in the chair in the corner of my room, awkwardly holding a book.
“Here’s some water,” I say as I set a bottle on the little table next to her chair.
She nods, her eyes trained on the page she’s eagerly reading over.
I shrug and flop back on the bed before grabbing the moleskin journal from the nightstand. Opening to the dog-eared page, I glance over at Ava.
She’s been here for twenty days. And every day is the same: I fight with myself because I have forgotten what I should be doing. At times, I believe I am dragging this out because I like her company, because by her being here I’m not alone.
She goes to turn the page and loses her place. Bound wrists don’t allow her much freedom, and I find it almost cute the way she struggles, flipping from the bottom and swearing when too many of the pages fly by. She tosses her head back, rolling her eyes as she drops the book to her lap. “Just fuck it,” she says with a groan.
I cock a brow. “Such a filthy mouth for such a pretty girl.” I smile and she glares at me like she wants to choke me. Standing, I laugh. “How about I just untie you then?”
Her gaze narrows accusingly on me.
“I mean it, I’ll trust you, but if you break my trust…” I shake my head as I reach for her hands. “It will not bode well for you, my dear.”
“I wouldn’t.” She sounds desperate, her voice on the verge of a sob. “I promise. I just want to be able to turn the pages.”
“All right then.” I untie the knotted cord and step away, turning my back on her—waiting to see how she will react. I settle back on the bed, lean against the headboard, and pick my notebook back up.
“Thank you,” she says as she grabs her book from the floor and opens it.
“Welcome.”
And here we sit, reading—her in the chair, me on the bed, like she has chosen to be here. And in a way, by her not attempting to run—she has. I skim over the entry in the notebook dated July 2016, subject 130:
Day 8 in captivity: A week of isolation and minimal food. I had my first encounter with her today. This one’s peculiar. Jumps anytime I come within three feet of her. Cries if I narrow my gaze on her. She never responds to anything I ask her. Earl said he thinks she may be mute because she’s not uttered a word.
Day 10: I didn’t visit her yesterday. Today when I went in, she didn’t move. For a moment, I feared she may be dead because she lay so still, then I heard her sniff. She was crying. I told her how sorry I was for her to be here. Nothing. I told her I wouldn’t hurt her. Nothing. I brought a basin of water in with a washcloth and soap and told her to bathe herself off. She didn’t budge. I left.
Day 11: I sat with her for two hours and never said a word. I studied her, watched her watching me. It’s obvious she’s been abused. There are scars all over her arms and legs, her face. Right before I left I told her she was beautiful and she wept. Sometimes I think this entire ordeal may be a blessing to these women because the one thing I’ve found is that most of them are in dire need of love, no matter the form, because they’ve never had the slightest glimpse of it.
“What are you reading?” Ava’s soft voice draws my attention away from the words on that page.
“Studies.” That is what it is, I’m not lying. I’ve kept notes on each girl I’ve trained. As morbid and sick as it sounds, I can’t help but find it fascinating.
Her brow wrinkles in confusion. “As in school?”
“Something like that. I enjoy learning.” I slowly close the notebook and set it on the nightstand.
“You’re in school—” I can see the confusing mounting on her face.
“I got a degree in psychology,” I say, smiling.
“Huh…”
“Did you think I was just some uneducated criminal?”
“I…uh, I mean, it’s just…” She clears her throat. “What made you want to study that?”
A smirk pulls at my lips. “You want the truth?”
She nods, flipping her long hair behind her shoulders. I debate on whether to tell her or not, because as simple as it is, I’ve never told anyone before. But something makes me want to tell her, just to see how she reacts. “It’s a terrible feeling when you’re terrified of your own mind, Ava. I wanted to understand why I was so fucked up.”
“Everybody’s fucked up,” she mumbles. I can almost hear disdain in her tone.
Almost.
“Ah, yes, but the level of fuckedupness—”
“That’s not a word.”
“Not a clinical word, no.” I laugh.
“So, I guess your level of fuckedupness surpasses most normal people’s?”
There’s a faint smile across her lips when I lock my eyes with hers, and without pause, I confess exactly how fucked up I am. “I killed for the first time when I was sixteen, and I liked it. I loved it. I dreamt abo
ut it over and over because I wanted to do it again.”
That smile vanishes and those supple lips of hers part. God, if I can’t help but think about slipping my fucking cock between them, and almost immediately after imagining wrapping her hair around my wrist while she’s on her knees, shame washes over me.
“Shocked?” I ask.
“I shouldn’t be…” Her eyes shift to her lap and she begins to pick at her nails. So cute. She’s so fucking innocent, so much something I want.
“Only the bad people though, remember that. I only want to kill very bad men.”
She nods, but she won’t look at me now.
“We all have our secrets, don’t we?”
“I guess so.”
“So”—I sit up and scoot to the edge of the bed, clasping my hands together and leaning over my knees—“you know my secret, what’s yours, Ava?”
I watch her swallow. She shrugs.
“I want to know something about you.” I stand and cross the room, kneeling beside her. There’s an overwhelming urge to touch her, so I do. I gently brush my fingertips over her warm cheek, trailing them down her jaw. My pulse picks up as my touch sweeps over her throat and collarbone. Grabbing her chin, I tilt her head back and force her to look at me. “Tell me something about you no one else knows.” I hold her gaze. There is something so familiar in that stare, and for a moment, I wonder if I’m losing touch with reality. “You said everyone is fucked up, which means you think you’re fucked up and I want to know why.”
“There’s a darkness inside that won’t let me go,” she whispers. “And it scares me.”
“A darkness?” I move closer to her, my hand still clutching her chin. My lips are mere centimeters from hers, and I have to close my eyes because the temptation is too real. Her breath hitches and to keep my mouth from slamming over hers I drag my thumb across her plump bottom lip, fighting a groan at how perfect it feels. “Why are you afraid of the dark, my dear… Don’t you know that’s the only place we can dream?”
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