by Liz Lovelock
A noise startles me, and my heart jumps into action. My body doesn’t have the strength to move, to save itself. It’s weak. I turn my head to the bars of my cage. There stands the masked man, my captor. Those black pools from my dream stare back at me.
“What do you want?” My tone is somber, and even to myself, I sound like a broken woman who can take no more.
My captor hasn’t hit me, aside from when he first took me. He’s had me strapped to the bed, and after he cut me, my feet bled for hours. My blood now marks the walls of my cell along with the rest of his victims’ and since then, I’ve just been lying on the bed in this cell, my own bodily functions mess and vomit keeping me company.
“Here.” He slides a tray under the cell bars. On the tray is a bottle of water and bowl of something that resembles dog food. There’s a sliver of a gap there; I guess it’s for this purpose. I don’t move; my body won’t allow it. It’s broken. I have no energy, even if I wanted to get up, so I glare at him, hoping he sees the disdain in my eyes. I shut them and block out the sight of him.
When I hear him huff and leave, I peek through the crease of my eyelids, noticing he’s gone. Ever so slowly, because that’s all I can do, I shift my body upright. I feel so weak. My arms tremble as they hold my weight when I sit upright.
What is it?
“Just kill me already,” I whisper under my breath. While I wait for the dizziness in my head to stop, I take a moment to absorb my surroundings like I’ve done plenty of times before over the last few days. It’s gray and bleak, and the dried blood covering the walls encloses a little on me each day. What I wouldn’t give to be able to walk around outside during the sunlight hours one more time. To be free in general.
My emotions are all over the place. A small part of me wants to throw it all in and die. A larger part pushes harder to live, to survive what’s coming. My dreams hold no hope when those evil eyes invade them. I have no strength to be able to survive.
In an attempt to stand, I collapse on the ground, crying out in agony. My fingers lightly touch the open wounds on the soles of my bare, dirty feet. A burning sensation builds. The throbbing begins in my toes and goes right up my legs.
The bottle of water has an appealing look to it, like liquid gold. My body craves it. I don’t care so much for the brown slush, but that water, I need it. I get on my hands and knees, fighting the urge to collapse. I push on. I fight.
Finally, after what seems like an eternity of crawling, I make it to the tray. My vibrating fingers pick up the water, and with everything I have in me, I twist the cap to discover it’s been loosened. Well, maybe he’s not as heartless as I think. But what he’s done to my body… I can’t help but wonder why he does this. Is he messed up in the head? Does he believe he has to do it? Does he hear voices? Who the hell knows?
Opening the cap the remainder of the way, I immediately want to suck the bottle dry. Only I know if I do it, I’ll throw it all up in seconds. Little sips, I remind myself.
As soon as the chilled, clear liquid touches my tongue, it’s an instant relief. I feel it hit my empty stomach. The chill sits there for a moment, so I take another sip. Leaning against the wall, not caring about whose blood is on it. I close my eyes and cherish the deliciousness I hold within my grasp. I clutch it to me for dear life.
After a few more sips, I begin to feel a little better, not much, but better than I’ve felt the last two days. Even well enough to inspect the bowl of food. Upon close inspection, I can see bits of meat, potatoes, and some vegetables. Could it be a stew?
Taking a smell, my senses go into overdrive, and my taste buds tingle with anticipation of eating. Again, I know I need to eat very little; my stomach isn’t the same as it was.
This isn’t a new feeling to me. I recall the week my father locked me in the dark room after I’d accidentally dropped a glass. Well, when I think back on it, he had tricked me. He’d gone to hand me an empty glass he’d finished with and before I extended my hand to take it, he dropped it, allowing it to shatter around my bare feet. He just wanted to punish me, to cause me pain. I’d been good all week, then he brought my world crashing down in the form of shattering glass.
I was locked up, and every two days I’d get a slice of bread and not even a full cup of water. How I survived that hell amazes the heck out of me.
Suddenly, a lock clicks. My head snaps up, and I see a silhouette coming down the stairs. I’m not strong enough to move to my corner, so I stay grounded on the spot. My body shakes as if my bones will vibrate out of my skin. My breathing hitches, so I take short, shallow breaths. The tightness in my throat I used to get with my father comes back whenever this monster comes into view.
It’s the most horrible sensation, one I hoped I would never experience again after my father and mother went away. When they disappeared, a wave of pure and utter relief washed over me. I felt clean and told myself I’d never allow another man, or person in general, to make me feel that way again. I told myself every day for about a year I was worth something. That I was to become so much more than my father ever wanted of me.
I remember now. I’m so much more than just some weak little girl you can lock in a basement. My neck twists to the monster who stands before my cell, and I don’t hold back. “What do you want with me?”
He pauses and takes hold of the bars. “I want you to suffer. How the others have.”
“But why? I’ve done nothing to you. If anything, I’ve suffered at the hands of another monster.” I watch his knuckles turn white as he tightens his grip on the bars. Perhaps my words have affected him in some way.
Those dark pools look down and burn right into my own. There’s poison in the glare he’s giving me. “You’ll die soon, just like the rest of them.” With those few words, he turns and leaves while I release a huge breath.
I don’t understand why he feels I have to die.
I do know, though, I will try my very hardest to live.
I lie silently in my cell, when the lock on my cage door clicks. My stomach plummets and before I get a chance to react, my captor slips a blindfold over my eyes. I wish he weren’t so ninja quiet, I could have prepared myself. His hand grips my matted hair while he drags me out of the cell and up the stairs from the basement. I wonder where he’s taking me. Terror causes my legs to freeze in fear. Being blindfolded, it’s a challenge. Tripping about three times cause cuts and bruises to keep building on my skin. Each bump, I’m certain, brings another to the surface. A scream bursts from my throat.
“Shut up, or you’ll end up dead before I want you to be,” his deep monotonous voice growls. He doesn’t stop, just keeps powering toward something. It feels as if he could take the clump of hair right out of my scalp, the pain is so excruciating.
My feet burn with every step, the cuts he sliced into them still bleeding. I remember my parents burning the soles of my feet one afternoon because I was five minutes late home from the school bus. Still, I survived.
My knee connects with the corner of something, maybe a doorway. I bite my lip to hold back the scream threatening to erupt from my throat. The metallic taste of blood hits my tongue. I believe I know what’s coming now… I’m about to die.
The fresh night air hits my dry face, and I inhale deeply. Pine scent fills my nostrils. I’m dragged down another set of stairs, only there aren’t so many this time. My feet hit the ground, and sharp rocks cut their way into my open wounds. Dying would be better than receiving this agony all over again. The only problem is I want to live. It’s not in me to give up.
I’d hoped Roman would have found me by now.
I should have died many years ago, but I survived. I fought so hard to get away from that life. Now, I’ve been here for what seems like months, but going by my markings, it’s been about seven days.
They say your life flashes before your eyes as you’re about to leave this world, but in my case only sadness fills me. My life hasn’t been anything special. It became something great, and that’s all thank
s to Suzie, and now maybe Roman. A vision of his sexy grin appears behind my closed eyes. If that’s going to be the last I see of him, at least it’s something that brings a smile to my lips. Oh, the thought of his lips on mine… My heart stutters. Too bad I’ll never feel them again.
This worthless man can hurt me all he wants, but I’ve decided to live, and live I shall.
My hair is released as I slam face first into my reality once again. No more happy thoughts. My captor’s rough hands grip the blindfold, ripping it off along with a handful of my hair. A cry of hurt I can’t hold back calls out into the black of the night, which results in a kick to my stomach.
He stands above me. His breath is heavy. The darkness surrounding us is quiet. It’s just us. Looking up from the ground, I’m met with an open field about the size of a football oval. Large trees skirt the area. If I could somehow get out there, maybe I could escape. I know I’m not strong enough to fight him—his strength is unbelievable. I’m sure he could snap my neck in an instant.
Maybe that’s how he’ll kill me… quick.
This is a beautiful final sight to see. The stars are twinkling, and the moon is casting a blue light.
My thoughts turn to Suzie once again, and it’s as though I’ve received a sucker punch to my gut with those feelings. She was, and has always been, my everything. I wish I could tell her again how much I appreciate and love her. All I can do now is hope she knows.
The captor says nothing, simply stands there, looking down at me. His gaze is scorching. “Write your goodbyes.”
Write my goodbyes?
He pulls paper and pen from his back pocket and shoves them in my direction, and my shaky hands take it.
A hard lump gets caught in my tight throat. My stomach turns at the thought that Suzie will read this. It will break her. I can’t write it to her, or even Lewis. What if I wrote it to Roman? Let him know it wasn’t his fault he didn’t find me in time? I wouldn’t want him to break himself up over this, either.
Does he care about me like that?
No. Why would he, we only just met.
Why am I planning to give in to my captor?
I may have been weak when it came to my parents and their ill treatment. I can’t be weak now. It’s not who I am anymore. I learned to grow. I learned to live, and live I will. Taking the pen, I start writing, a wry smile on my lips.
She does nothing. No tears are spilling down her cheeks like they did on others before her. They were blubbering messes. It made it so much fun watching the sheer fear in their eyes. With her, there’s nothing. Did I not cause her enough pain?
I watched her on the monitor a few nights ago, and she sobbed. Now she sits on the ground, me standing over her, and she doesn’t respond. Her hand scribbles over the paper. I’m eager to read her goodbyes.
My hand instantly goes to the gun I’ve got tucked in my jeans. The same as always. Ready to use. Although, I do enjoy telling them to run. The pop of the gun and the sensation coursing up my arm arouses me.
Sometimes, I wonder why I can’t be more like everyone else. This darkness swallowing my heart and soul is so depressing. The big question is, can I change? I’ve done this since I was inducted by my father. He wouldn’t have had it any other way. And when I didn’t do something to his standard, I’d be punished, and I’d witness the enjoyment radiating from his eyes. Those black-as-night eyes haunt me every time I close mine. Do mine torment these girls, like his did for me?
She holds up her completed letter. Taking it from her steady hands, I look at her. They shook when she took it from me—what’s changed? Has she accepted her fate?
My gaze drops to the neatly handwritten letter. No wobbly letters, and no tear stains on the paper. What is with this girl?
My mouth drops open at the sight of her words. Anger roars within me like a lion about to pounce on its prey.
Dear Captor,
You’ve stolen me.
You’ve spilled my blood.
You’ve brought me pain.
But what you’re yet to realize is… I’m a fighter.
I’ve been broken before.
I’ve at one point even lost the will to live.
So now you know… this information I gift to you.
I’m ready for you, so do your worst.
Sincerely,
Elenore
My hand lashes out, gripping her hair. “You think you’re so unbreakable. Everyone crumbles in the end. They fall to the ground unmoving, and you’ll be the same.”
Her blue eyes have a depth to them as if they could swallow me whole if I allowed them. I hold her gaze. Her stare feels as though she’s burrowing right into my soul and delving into my deep, dark secrets.
Quickly, I shove her back to the ground, hard. I hear the wind escape her, but not a yelp.
The voice in my head, his voice, screams at me to finish her. If he were here he wouldn’t hesitate, so why am I? Screw this. She’ll die just like the others.
I yell into the night, “Run!”
The volume of my voice causes her to jump away from me in fright, but she pulls herself off the ground quickly and bolts toward the trees along the border of the forest. She’s a smart one, and it’s as though the cuts on her feet and the previous beatings haven’t waivered her. She doesn’t even limp. She’s different.
I reach around behind me and grip the familiar gun in my hand. Looking down at the letter once again, a mixture of emotions sear through me, some known and others very foreign.
Shaking my head from whatever it is taken hold of me, I look up and notice she’s made it farther than any other girl has. She’s a fighter, that’s for sure. She warned me.
Lifting the gun, I run a little to get closer, stopping to take aim. My breathing is unsteady. What the hell is happening?
Another forceful shake of my head, and my finger presses on the trigger. A loud bang ripples out into the night air.
She falls.
Thank the devil. I lower the gun and wipe my brow, surprised at the sweat I find. It’s over. Another one, done.
Then why don’t I feel the joy I usually do?
That’s when I realize.
It’s because she never gave me my songs of the night.
Dear Captor,
Do you find pleasure in my tortured screams?
My darkened cell is my own living nightmare—a place I tried to desperately escape.
Why do you continue to play this game?
Why don’t you just kill me?
You’ve almost broken me all over again. But I’ve held firm. I’ve pushed through the pain you’ve inflicted.
My skin… your touch… it ignites a fire within.
Is it hate?
Or is it desire?
Only time will tell.
With love,
Elenore.
With Love
Letters in Blood Book Two
is available here
Amazon | Amazon UK | Amazon CA | Amazon AUS
Lost Series
The Lost One
The Missing One
Unforgiven Series
Dangerous Love
Canyon Bay Series
Someday
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I’m a wife, mother, reader, blogger, and now an author. I’m always busy doing something as I have so much going on, and my three little ones keep me on my toes.
I’m from bright and sunny Queensland, Australia. I have always been a reader. When I was little, I would be up late reading Garfield and Asterix comic books and also Footrot Flats. When I hit high school, they gave us Tomorrow When the War Began by John Marsden, and from there my love of books continued to grow.
I keep a notebook and pen beside my bed for when those late-night ideas pop into my head, plus I’m a stationery addict and love pens, notebooks, and, well, anything stationery.
I’ll say sorry first in case I miss anyone. I’d like to thank my editors, Kaylene Osborne from Swish Design and Editing, and Lauren Clarke from Lauren Clarke Editing. Without you girls, I’d be thoroughly lost; you’ve pushed me with this one as well. Thanks for all your advice and guidance and for putting up with my timing problems.
Special thanks to Tami from Integrity Formatting for helping make my work look beautiful. You do such an amazing job.
To my fantastic team of betas: Amanda and Rachel, your input is so valuable. Thank you for all your feedback—you’re all amazing. And thanks for being patient with me and pushing me to do better.
A huge thank you to Marisa-Rose from Cover Me Darling for designing the perfect cover, and working with me until I was happy. It is everything I wanted it to be. I love it!
Thank you to Give Me Books for your help with the release. A MASSIVE thank you to all blogs who participated in the release, and to everyone who shared anything, I truly appreciate it. We authors would be lost without your assistance.
These next mentions are my other halves of the author world. Without their constant support and pushing, I may have given up a long time ago. They’re my cyber sisters spread far and wide around Australia and America, so thank you to Jemma Brown aka JB Heller, Stephanie Smith, Emma Fitzgerald, Felicia Tatum, and Belle Brooks. These ladies are truly amazing. I’d be lost without our chats.
To Anastasia, your help has been truly amazing. Without you and your input I’d be all over the place.
To my Luscious Ladies group, I love you, girls. Your support is truly nothing short of amazing. I know I have a safe place in my group with you all. Thank you.
And to my readers, I feel blessed to have your continuous support. Thank you.
To my family, my husband, you’re truly wonderful. You’ve never given up on me. You sit and listen when I need to vent out my frustrations, never once complaining about it. I love you. To my three beautiful children, Millie, Cale, and Finn, you all test my patience, but I’m so grateful to have you in my life to love. Families are forever.