by Liz Lovelock
“Why am I not dead?” I hesitantly ask. My trembling fingers reach his masked face. His eyes close briefly at my touch.
When they reopen, his focus stays on me. “Because I’m weak,” he grits through his teeth. “You hold something over me, and I can’t seem to bring myself to do it.”
My heart leaps with joy at this news, not only for the fact that he can’t do it, but also that he possibly holds some special place in his heart for me. “Then let me go, please?”
“I can’t do that either.” Slowly, he pulls away from me, turning toward the stairs, leaving me once again in this darkened cell which is now my own living hell.
A volcano erupts within me. “You can’t keep me here! What am I going to be—your whore in a cage? Kill me, thanks. I’d rather death than being locked in this pathetic place for the remainder of my days,” I scream at him through the bars.
I watch his head shake, before he turns back and races toward me. His hand pulls keys from the pocket of his black jeans.
Slowly, I take a step back from the bars. My whole body trembles, although I’m unsure what with—excitement or fear?
The keys rattle when my captor reefs the door open, stepping into my space. With only inches between us, I take a gamble and shuffle closer, my body flush with his. Raising his hand, he glides it down my cheek. Closing my eyes, I feel the emotion between us. The battle is only beginning, but who will win the war?
Dropping his fingers from my face, he begins removing the tape around his wrists, taking the gloves off. I watch fascinated. Dropping them to the floor, he takes my face in his bare hands, and my stomach twists into a million knots. He presses his masked face to mine, and I hear him inhale.
I cringe a little. It’s been a while since I’ve showered and I’m sure I stink like death.
“I want to devour each and every part of you.”
Bringing my arms up, I wrap them around his neck, pressing my body closer to him. I’m sure he can feel the pounding of my heart against his chest. This isn’t what should be happening. I’m supposed to be fighting to get away from him. Perhaps this is how I survive, but a different kind of survival. I could become someone for him to care about, to confide in. Maybe I might be able to show him kindness.
“Do it,” I find myself responding, so much longing in those two simple words.
One of his hands leaves my face, reaching behind him. Is he going to kill me instead?
When I spy the blade in his hand, I jump into fight mode. With everything I have in me, I shove him away. “No, don’t you dare butter me up only to stick a knife in my back.”
He steps toward me. I hold my hands up, limping backward.
“Do you think I’d do that?” he asks, with the blade still clutched in his hand.
I nod, fighting back the tears that threaten to flow. I can’t allow this to be my final chapter, me charming the captor and him sticking a knife in my back.
“Even after I told you I couldn’t bring myself to end your life?” he roars.
Startled, I continue to move back with each step he takes closer to me, descending on me as if I’m his prey. The fire’s back in those eyes. I’ve awoken the dragon.
“How do I know what you’re capable of?” I scream back. “You’ve kept me locked up here for I’m not sure how many days—they mold together now. You’ve beaten me, made me bleed. What do you think I’m going to do when you pull a knife out on me? Give my body to you willingly to slaughter?” I pant. My breath is ragged. Being so inactive and starved in this hell hole, even yelling has taken a toll on my health.
Turning away from me, I’m unable to see what he’s doing. All these ideas race through my head.
I could knee him in the groin, which would surely give me some time to get out and lock the door behind me. The keys are still in the door. This idea keeps dancing in my thoughts—I want to survive. I’ll do anything I can.
He turns around, the knife now gone, I can’t see it. I gasp, my hand coming to my mouth. He has cut a hole in his mask, revealing another part of him to me other than his eyes. “Why did you do that?” I ask, in shock.
Taking two large strides, he roughly takes my face in his hands again, only this time he presses his lips to mine.
My body ignites with newfound desire, wanting so much of this man who I know nothing about. Why do my feelings betray me? I could still escape.
All this bolts through my mind and is completely forgotten when he takes his mouth from mine, moving those same powerful kisses down my throat. I groan, craving the pleasure of his touch. I’m hungry for more.
My hands roam over his covered body. I wanted to touch him, his flesh, and have his body press against mine. His lips travel past my throat to my collarbone. Taking his masked face in my hands, I lift his head so my eyes can see his. The flame has gone, and pure lust fills those dark eyes. Although they aren’t really black anymore—there’s a shimmer of color to them, a greenish tinge mixes through them. I press my lips to his again, and he pulls me closer, as close as we can get.
“You taste so sweet,” he growls against my lips.
Another groan leaves me.
The anger and fear that was pouring through me moments ago dissipates. If I were going to escape, this would be my chance.
I wanted to rip her dress from her delicate body. I wish I could reveal myself to her. I wonder what she would do.
Would she report me to the police? Or would she keep this a secret? She’s such an enigma, a giant puzzle, and I need to know where all the pieces go before I reveal anything to her. Hungrily, I ravish her lips. My hands roam her thighs. Her skin is like silk—I can’t resist. I want flesh to flesh with her, and it’s every bit as good as what I thought it would be.
She hesitates briefly, and I wonder what’s going through her head. It’s as if I’m dipping my finger in the honey pot, and its sweetness is so pleasurable that I want more. I can’t get enough of her.
Her body shifts slightly. Lifting her up, I press her against the wall. The pressure I push against her with feels so right, yet so wrong.
What would my father think if he saw me fraternizing with the dirty, filthy girl?
Disappointment pours through my veins, as if an ice-cold bucket of water has been tipped over my horny body. I jump back, letting her fall to the floor.
“What the hell?” she curses. She gets up, and hurt shines through her pained eyes.
“I can’t do this.” My head is all over the place. I begin pacing—it’s what I’m good at. Feeling like a failure, I turn to leave, but before I’m out the door I’m pounced on, being hit and scratched, even bitten.
“You vile, disgusting pig,” she screams at me.
The hurt she must be feeling pours into every bite and scratch. I deserve it. I can’t show her any more weakness. I pull her over my shoulder and allow her to fall to the concrete floor, hard.
Her stunned face looks up at me. “You’re a pathetic excuse for a man.”
Her words stab me right to the core. Anger takes over every fiber of my being. Pulling the blade from my pocket again, I press it against her neck. I need to remind her who’s in charge, and it’s not her.
“You’re the filthy one here. You should be with the pigs. Unfortunately, I don’t have any of those. I might invest, so I can feed your remains to them.”
“You can’t kill me, remember?” Even with a blade to her throat, she fights me.
“You’d be surprised what I can do.” Moving the tip of the knife down her collarbone, I press harder. A drop of blood trickles out. Slowly, I move the blade. Her face pinches, and she begins breathing deeply, but though her eyes shimmer with tears they don’t leave mine.
Guilt is a new emotion for me, yet looking at her, it wracks my entire body. The blade keeps moving. Now she has a gash from her collarbone right to the top of her breast.
It’s such a relief for me—the need to inflict pain, to hold onto my father’s traditions, and to keep my head in check.
> This battle with myself is slowly becoming my greatest challenge, and also my greatest fear. Never have I ever experienced the type of emotions that are devouring me tonight. It’s like it’s not me. I’ve bedded girls before outside of this hell, and none of them have the effect on me that she does. She’s a drug that I keep coming back for, again and again.
Elenore’s sweet flavor sits on the tip of my tongue. I press my lips to hers, kind of like a final tasting before her demise. That’s if I can manage it. Somehow, I need to work myself up to finishing her.
“Your time is coming,” I manage to say through a nearly closed throat. Hell, it’s hard speaking those words. Never have I choked on that sentence like this.
“Keep saying that.” She hocks and spits at me, hitting me right in the eye.
I want to laugh, but I can’t. Instead, I smack her with ferocity across her perfect face. Within seconds, a red welt appears, and it pleases me. “Be careful, precious. You never know the kind of hell coming your way.”
Sitting in the large, open office, I look out over the city. These people are made of money. Elenore’s biological parents sit across from Pierce and me. When I told them we had news of their daughter, they told us to come right away.
“Mr. and Mrs. Billings, thank you for meeting with us so quickly,” Pierce begins.
“Well, when you tell us it’s about our lost daughter, of course we want answers,” Elenore’s mother says, desperation in her voice.
My focus is on her, drinking in her features. Characteristics like her dark hair and bright blue eyes scream Elenore. I looked into Elenore’s eyes a fair bit before her kidnapping, and here before me is the spitting image of those exact eyes staring back at me.
Clearing my throat, I take over. “We are aware of the sensitivities of your daughter Rose’s case. In our files, it states she was walking home from school. She stopped by a store, to get a sweet treat. As it turns out that shop was one that was robbed and the owner was killed on site. It’s possible the people who killed them, took your daughter.” I read this from the notes I’ve made.
Tears brim Elenore’s mother’s eyes. She nods, and her husband, Andrew, puts his arm around her for comfort. “She was such a strong, independent child. Rose desperately wanted to be like her friends and walk to school, so we let her, and after a few days our princess was gone.” Tabatha’s sobs echo in the large open space.
A lump forms in my throat, so I clear it away again. I take the picture of Elenore Suzie gave us from my folder, and slide it across to Mr. and Mrs. Billings. “This young woman has been taken by a possible serial killer. There was some blood left at the scene, and the results came back revealing it belongs to your daughter.”
Tabatha picks up the photo and studies it. Her hand flies to her mouth. Tears stream down her face. “It’s her. I remember those rosy pink cheeks—that’s how we named her. She’s had them since birth.”
Andrew takes the photo, and we’re met with the same shocked reaction. “So, she’s alive?” Andrew asks. Tears stream down his face. He has dark hair as well, but unlike Elenore, he has dark brown eyes. I have no doubt that this man didn’t get to where he was by his wits alone; he’s obviously fought for what he wants. Hopefully, Elenore inherited that trait, and it could mean all the difference for her.
Pierce takes over. He knows that talking about this is challenging for me. I wish I could find her, save her from the monster. “Yes, she was, but now… we’re unsure. Usually, with this serial killer, we’ve found the bodies of his victims within seven days of their disappearance. Only your daughter hasn’t shown up.”
Tabatha and Andrew turn and look at each other. I can see the fear in their faces; I had that look myself when I discovered she was gone.
“Wha-what do we need to do? Do we need to offer up a reward?” Tabatha asks.
“No, I don’t think it would be wise for him to be aware of whose daughter he has hostage,” Pierce quickly responds.
I have to agree with him. Of course, this killer doesn’t realize who he’s got. He obviously assumes Elenore is just another girl.
“I can’t just sit by and wait to see if her body shows up! We’ve missed out on her life for the past fourteen years, and now she’s missing again. Where has she been?” Tabatha asks, releasing a heavy sign, her frustration evident.
“Well, she goes by Elenore Burrows now. Her apparent parents, who we now assume were kidnappers, disappeared, and she was left alone at seventeen. She was adopted by her neighbor. From what her adopted mother has told us, she was treated extremely poorly prior to her adoption,” I say.
“But why did no one recognize her? Why didn’t they call the police?” Tabatha continues. I can’t blame her for the anger in her tone. I would be the same as her, wanting all the answers. Since reading Elenore’s diaries my blood has boiled with so much madness. I want to catch her parents and make them pay.
“They altered her appearance, cutting her hair, and when her neighbor did call the police they kept Elenore hidden so the officers wouldn’t suspect anything. This is what we’re going off from reports we’ve read.”
Andrew stands from his seat and paces the cream carpeted floor. “Well, what can we do?” he asks. “We want to help.”
Pierce interjects. “Mr. and Mrs. Billings, we understand the hurt and confusion you must be experiencing right now. We’re doing everything we can to find your daughter, and we’re also searching for the people who took her in the first place.”
Tabatha nods while dabbing a tissue at her now blotchy face.
“The people who took her must have taken her as she was in the wrong place, wrong time,” I say. Both the Billings’ faces mirror each other’s as the shock of what we’ve told them begins to sink in.
“It was so long ago—I remember giving her some money because she had finished all her homework and I wanted to reward her with a treat,” Mr. Billings says from his standing position. I nod.
“We understand this situation is hard. We’re so sorry this has happened. We will keep you informed with what’s going on in the cases as we’re able to,” Pierce answers.
“Cases?” Tabatha asks a puzzled look comes across her face.
“Yes. There’s another case we are investigating that’s connected to a piece of evidence we found in your daughter’s possession.” I choose not to let them in on the information regarding the gun. Less information is best at this time, regarding how their daughter was brought up.
Back at the office, Pierce and I are going through our notes. Pierce hasn’t read the diaries, and I’m not sure he wants to because he hasn’t asked. I’ve given him a run down on things I’ve read so far. Also keeping a few things to myself.
“I’m going to watch this video on the shooting,” I announce, as I get up and go to the TV and set about getting it ready to watch. I know this isn’t our case, but the captain has allowed us to look over both since we’re already handling Elenore’s case.
“Good idea. We need all the answers we can get. I’m assuming we won’t get much from it if it didn’t provide any clues to the officers who were in charge of the investigation previously.”
I know he is right, but I need to check anything and everything possible. The most insignificant details might give us a clue. I know all of this doesn’t give me much or anything to work on as to where Elenore is now, but we need to find the people who abducted her from her home in the first place so we can rule them out as her kidnappers now.
“Yeah, I know, but I need answers. Even if it holds nothing, at least I’ve checked. I also want to track down that witness who was apparently across the road at the time. That’s if he’s still alive.” I’m not holding much hope; let’s face it, he was a drug user.
As predicted, the video gives us nothing. There are blurry images of a man and woman; they try to rob the shop owner and when he stands up for himself, pulling out his gun, they raise their hands in defeat. Everything pauses on the screen before the man leaps and begins stru
ggling with the owner and then, kills him. Moments after the killing, they walk out, then return leaving with a lump of something over their shoulders. Elenore?
I look up from my computer screen. Pierce is gone again. Turning to an officer standing near me, I ask, “Did you see where Pierce went?”
He shrugs, shaking his head. “Nah man, he just hopped up and was gone.” He rises from his seat shrugging, then walks away. Picking up my phone, I hit Pierce’s name, and he answers after the first ring.
“Where are you?” I bark.
“Tracking down the drug addict you mentioned.”
Well, at least he’s doing something helpful, but I don’t understand why he didn’t tell me. I want to get to the bottom of this extremely messy puzzle. Leaning back in my seat, I take the journal I’d been reading and pick up where I left off.
Dear Diary,
Another day in the black room. I do try really hard to stay in my parents’ good books, but I fail all the time. Today’s reason was I didn’t get all of my daily chores done by lunchtime. Well, how could I when they wanted me to take every weed out of the garden and plant a new garden, then do laundry, dishes—basically clean the house from top to bottom? Of course, I have no hope of succeeding. And again, I haven’t had a chance to stash my supplies back in here, they’ve kept me in here that much and been hanging around home so much more. I haven’t been able to sneak down and stock up.
I can’t keep going like this. My father is becoming more violent.
One day, I’ll have the strength to do what I need to.
One good thing that happened yesterday was I got to hang out with Dean again. We meet in the library on a regular basis and talk books and school. He shows me what’s being worked on at school so I can keep up with my learning. He’s turned out to be a great friend. He’s hinted that he likes me, but I don’t think I want to be in a relationship with him. I’m not ready for that.