by Liz Lovelock
My father has turned me off men. I wish I understood why they treated me like they do. Dean offered to take me to the hospital, but I declined because I’d be in more trouble if I came home with my arm bandaged up. They want me to suffer—they enjoy seeing my pain.
I’ve read so many books lately about people who have come away from this kind of violence and have led great lives. They become amazing people and don’t let their past affect them.
I want to be like that.
How do I escape though? What if I ran away and they found me, I’d surely be dead.
One day, my chance will come.
Love,
Elle
Who’s this Dean? He’s shown up a lot in these last few entries. Perhaps he could provide me with some answers as to where her original kidnappers are.
Holding the notebook in my hands, I glance over Elenore’s teenage handwriting. This is the last journal. I want to know her story even if it’s like reading a nightmare.
I lie on my bed, waiting for death to take me. My body trembles, shivering with a fever. It’s been what feels like days since my captor has come back. I haven’t been fed since the day he left when he gave me one tray of bread and water along with a pen and paper. The showers come on occasionally. We’re back to square one.
I’m not sure what he wants me to do with the pen and paper. I don’t think I’ve even got the strength to lift the pencil—that’s how long it feels like since I’ve been fed properly. Now I’ve come down with what feels like the cold from the devil himself.
He has blackened my room from the outside. The little bit of sunlight that once shone in is now covered. Even the little light that’s usually on in my cell flickers on and off, and when it’s off I’m met with an eerie blackness that makes this situation like something from a horror movie. All I’m waiting for is to be slaughtered, carved into a million little pieces and scattered over the earth, with no one none the wiser as to what’s become of me. With the captor, who knows what he’s capable of doing.
I wonder if Roman is still looking for me. When I close my eyes at night, it’s him and Suzie that appear in my dreams. Only then they’re invaded by the lady in the rose garden. I’ve had that dream about five times now, but nothing new is shown to me—just the lady and little girl playing. I wish it would reveal more to me, but then my captor’s flaming red eyes take over and I startle awake.
My fight has taken a whopper of a punch since my captor came to my cell last and teased me. I should have done the knee-in-the-groin thing, I could either be free or dead now. I can’t give up though—it’s not me; it’s not who I am.
With what strength I have, I pull the pen and paper from under my bedding. Sitting up slowly, I put pen to paper.
Dear Captor,
Do you find pleasure in my tortured screams?
My darkened cell is my own living nightmare.
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. And now I’m seeing a side of you I never knew could exist. A side I connect with. A side I could grow to like.
Your touch on my skin… it ignites a fire within.
Only time will tell what will come of it.
With love,
Elenore
The words read true. These aren’t my deepest secrets, I keep those locked away from the world so people in my life don’t see the ugly in me.
It’s been four days since I’ve been back. I wonder if she’s dropped dead yet. A small, very small part of me hopes that she has, because it will mean I don’t have to do it. Yes, weak, I know. I think I need to kill again to work myself up to removing the biggest hassle I’ve ever faced. Guilt has been wracking me. How did I let things get to where they did the other night? Her soft blue eyes always swallow me up and make me feel things I shouldn’t.
Inside the house, it’s quiet. I look at the monitor. She lies still, unmoving. I catch a glimpse of something sitting on the tray I left there days ago. Another note. It’s neatly folded and resting in the middle of the tray, as if it’s waiting for me. I wonder if it’s another insult which stirs me up, but then I want to get close to her. Why can’t I be stronger?
She begins coughing, as though one of her lungs is trying to escape out of her throat. She’s sick…
Knowing this does something to me. Do I want to help her or not? With remorse getting the better of me, I pull out another tray. Placing another pen and paper neatly on there for her to use, I then turn and heat up some soup from a can. Then I place bread and a bottle of water on the tray. I leave it there while I retrieve the old one and see what she’s written.
When I’m down there, she faces the wall with her back to me. Not acknowledging me at all. It’s like a stab to the stomach. I’ve hurt her. I didn’t want to, and I still don’t. What am I going to do?
Once back upstairs, I check the monitor again. She looks over her shoulder, then goes back to the same position she was in. My hands tremble as I open the letter. The writing is so messy compared to her first one. She’s weak. I’ve starved her for the last few days and punished her with the cold shower going on and off. There’s also been a chill in the air which explains why she’s sick. I hear her coughing once again, and it pulls at my heartstrings. If only my heart wasn’t ice. Although since she’s come into my life, it’s ever-so-slowly beginning to thaw.
A lump forms in my throat as I read her words. What she describes in this letter—the fire within—I feel it as well. I have from the moment she put up such a brave fight to survive. We have something in common, this dark emotion, and I wonder if that’s there is to it. If that’s all we share.
I grab a pen and paper and begin writing a return note.
Dear Elenore,
Your screams were once a song in the night that I craved.
You’re a fighter, and I appreciate that. You amaze me.
I’m evil, even if I don’t want to be. My life is full of death. This is what I need to do to survive the guilt I feel every day you live.
The desire to kill isn’t as strong as what it once was. That’s because of you. You are something new to me, and I like it a lot. But I can never allow my feelings to get the better of me.
Let’s make a deal. I’ll tell you about me if you tell me more about you?
With love,
Your captor
After folding the letter, I place it on the tray. Going to the medicine cupboard, I retrieve what she needs to fight the cold she’s come down with because of me.
What am I going to do? I can’t keep her here for much longer. She needs to go. To either be found dead, or escape.
I’m not ready to let her go, though.
He came back. I didn’t want to talk to him or even acknowledge him. Thankfully, he left me some food and medication. I’m feeling more human today, but can one really be human if they’re locked up like an animal? He’s also removed the cover over my window; now, the sunlight shines through again. I miss being outside. I want to be in the fresh air, to actually witness the birds singing in the bright green trees. Hell, to have a bath would be fantastic.
The letter he wrote me was somewhat touching, for a damn killer. I need to reply in case he comes back tonight.
Taking the writing equipment, I set myself up to write back to my captor.
Dear Captor,
Yes, I’m a fighter. I grew up in a home where I was the punching bag and the cutting board for my parents. No person, at the age I was, should have to go through that much pain. The pain you inflict on me, though, is another version. When you impose it on me now, it hurts more because I thought that something had possibly switched between us. Where do I stand with you? Will you ever let me go?
Why do you do what you do? I’ve never heard of this type of barbaric torture before. Don’t you have a family? A mom, dad, or anything… brothers and sisters? Me, I have no one except Suzie, my
adoptive mother. She is truly amazing, and it saddens me that you’re keeping me from her.
Please, if you have a heart, then let me go.
You want secrets? I have a few. But one I think might interest you, but you’ll have to do what I tell you. Go to my old family home. There you’ll find something about me that no one knows. That home holds my secret. Go figure it out.
With love,
Elenore
I found Dean. He wasn’t too keen to talk to me when I rang him, but I pushed, even to the point when I was ready to drag his ass down to the station and lock him up, just to scare him. He knows something, but I’m not sure what, although I intend to find out.
Standing outside his large workplace, I wait for him to leave. I plan to talk to him when he’s on his lunch break.
“You Detective Blackwood?” The voice behind startles me. Spinning around, I’m met with a big, burly guy with the voice of a teenager. He has tattoos up each arm and around his neck. Wow! Not what I’d pictured. “What are you looking at?”
“Sorry… Yes I’m detective Blackwood, Roman.” I clear my throat, I extend my hand, he takes it giving a strong handshake. “I’m Dean.”
“I need some information on your old friend Elenore.” The color drains from his face. He starts fidgeting with his shirt and buttons. Is he hiding something?
I step into his space. He tries to shuffle back. My hand lashes out, gripping the collar of his white button-up shirt. “Tell me what you know.”
Pushing my hand off him, he shuffles on his feet as he stutters to find the right words. “L-look, I’ve tried to p-put this behind me, and it’s n-not something I want t-to relive.”
“What is it?” I yell, becoming frustrated with his dance-around. “She’s missing and I need information,” I grit out between my teeth.
As burly as he looks, I think he may actually wet himself with nerves. “You need to go to her old house… d-down in the basement. There’s a reason that house didn’t sell until this year, because Elenore didn’t want it s-sold until she was ready.”
What is this guy on about?
“What? So I need to go to her old house and look for what, exactly?”
“You’ll kn-know it when you f-find it.”
I want to shake the guy, shake some damn sense into him. Maybe she writes about what happened at the house in her journals? Those last few entries?
“Thanks.” Without another word, I leave, racing back to the office.
I need the end of her books to give me a clearer picture and perhaps the answers I’m seeking. I can’t enter her old home unless we have probable cause. I have to find some first.
I wonder if Elenore will share her secrets with me. I want her to tell me all of them.
Arriving back at the familiar house, a thought comes. What am I going to do if I let her go? Court her? Make her fall in love with the other me? That shouldn’t be hard. Ladies love me—I’ve never gone without a woman when I needed one.
Inside, I hear coughing… She’s still sick. I check the monitor. She’s awake. I’m not sure if I’m prepared to face her after what’s happened. She’s like a temptress who I want to devour, but I can’t.
I gather a tray together, fill it with food, and this time I add a small chocolate bar I picked up today, and again I head down to the basement.
She’s up waiting. Her eyes are firmly trained on me. Elenore sits against the far wall, as far away from me as she can be. I don’t blame her.
“Finally decided to show your face.” There’s no kindness in her words.
“You ignored me last time.” I squat down to her level.
Pink flushes her cheeks. Yes, pretty girl, I saw. “So you’re watching me?”
“I’m always watching.” I unlock the latch, and she has another coughing fit. I fight with myself, but I don’t go in there and try to help her. If I do that, I know I’ll most likely end up with her in my arms and me relishing her touch once again. I can’t do that. “Are you all right?” I’m genuinely concerned for her health, and I notice that she’s been taking the medicine I left, the bottle appears to be half empty. Thankfully, I’ve purchased more.
After she finishes her fit, she replies, her voice raspy. “I’m fine. What do you care? Do what you have to do. You know, family traditions, and all.”
Ouch! That stings.
I stand to leave her once again. I wish I could let her go, but things are becoming more and more challenging.
Back upstairs, again, I unfold her letter, and I’m left speechless. Now I’ve got to find out what she means regarding her old house. Before I get back to work, I pen another letter to her.
Dear Elenore,
I was a punching bag also. My family tradition is something I now wouldn’t wish on anyone else. If I ever have any.
I did have a mother, and she left me in the hands of a monster. For that indiscretion, she became dead to me.
I killed that monster, and it was the best kill I’ve ever done.
With love,
Your captor
I’ve never told anyone that secret. I wonder if that will change her perspective of me. It couldn’t be any worse than what’s already in her head.
Folding the page up, I put it on the tray with some soup, medicine, water, and a chocolate bar.
She’s thawing my heart so much faster now. I wonder what her secret is.
Back on Suzie’s street, the sun beats down on us. I raced over here once I read what she’d written as her last entry. I had to skim through all the other pages first to make sure I didn’t miss anything.
Suzie stands beside me, clasping a tissue, dabbing at her red-framed eyes. Someone else lives here now, and I’m not sure how they will react. I’ve placed a call to my supervisor, and he’s sending over a team. I’ve rung Pierce and left a voice message for him as well, so hopefully, he shows up soon.
“Are you sure that’s what she meant?” Suzie’s voice shakes with emotion. She really didn’t know Elenore’s darkest secrets. I’m confident I know them all now. I hold out the last journal to Suzie, open at the closing entry. She takes it from my hands and starts to read, sobs take over.
Dear Diary,
Today it all ended. My parents are no more, and I’m free. It feels good.
Love,
Elle
Nighttime has come around again, and he hasn’t come back yet. His last letter opened more of him for me. Again, I’ve written a reply, and I can only hope that he softens. I’ve seen a glimmer of what appears to be happiness in him, then it changes. He’s broken, like me. His father was a monster, and he killed him.
Seems we have something in common.
Something upstairs startles me. It doesn’t sound familiar, though. I can usually pick if it’s my captor—not that it’s ever anyone else. But his steps are generally heavier.
Footsteps hit the stairs to the basement. Standing up, I move to the back of the cell. Something’s wrong. I wrap my arms around my waist and wait for whoever it is to appear.
I don’t have to wait long before a masked face appears, only this person isn’t my captor. This is an intruder, who knows about my captor and what he does. He’s taller and slinkier than my captor. This man doesn’t look as if he’s here for anything other than trouble. I have nowhere to run or hide. I’m trapped like an animal.
“Well, well, well, look who we have here. I should’ve known.”
He has a different voice; he isn’t my captor.
Panic sets in. I begin looking around for something to use as a weapon. The only thing that would even offer any kind of help is the metal tray. As quick as I can, I race the few steps to retrieve it, and move back to my corner.
Does he have keys? I scan his body and notice none, but it doesn’t mean they aren’t in his pockets. He’s dressed all in black, like my captor, with tape around his wrists, neck, and even his ankles.
“Who are you?” I ask with whatever strength I can muster.
“Your worst nightma
re.” His hand reaches into his pocket, and I hear the jangle of keys.
My heart hammers in my chest. Now I’m sure I’m going to die. I have nothing, and my captor isn’t here to help me.
As he unlocks the door, I watch him, focusing everything I have on this intruder. I must look like a scared mouse. His mask is different from my captor’s because he already has a hole in it for his mouth, whereas my captor only has his eyes showing. I’ve learned to read my captor’s eyes extremely well, and this intruder’s eyes tell me he’s here for blood.
The door creaks loudly as he opens it, stepping into my space. I’m ready to fight; I won’t go down without one. The one night I wish for my captor to be here, and he’s not. I need him.
“He’s going to pay for what he’s done. You’ll suffer for his past.” Speaking those last words, he lunges at me. I use as much force as I can and slam the tray down, connecting it with his shoulder. He cries out but I don’t stop. I swing the tray, left, right, up and down, with as much force as I can muster. Every which way possible, I continue to smash it into him. As I do so, I move around my cell toward the open door. I’m almost out when he bends down low, and head butts me right in the stomach. I fall to the floor, winded.
“You’re a feisty one. I can see why he kept you. Now you bleed.” Throwing me over his shoulder, he takes me to the room I haven’t been in for a while. I’m frightened of what this man will do to me. He’s so much darker than my captor; his eyes tell me that he’s out for blood, and he’s not leaving until he gets it.
He drops my body on the gurney. I try getting up and running. I fail. With a closed fist, he punches me directly in the cheek. Tears fall and pool in my ears. I don’t want to show weakness to this man, but he’s already going to inflict pain that I know I may not survive.
My eyes follow his every movement. He searches drawers until he finds what he’s seeking. Turning around, he greets me with a smirk, one that you can tell isn’t the good kind. In his hand is a blade, like the one my captor used on me when I first arrived here. A pocket knife of some sort.