A Bedtime Story

by L. C. Moon

  “Oh… Yes, thank you.”

  “Ice?”

  She was confused by his considerate-host act but knew better than to let her guard down. “Hmm… yes, please. Thanks.”

  “Just like Olga. She makes me buy these things by the cases.” He shook his head indulgently. He brought her the mouth-watering plate and put the glass down next to it.

  “Here, bon appétit.”

  “Thank you.”

  He took a broom from the closet and cleaned her mess while she devoured her meal. When she was done, he took her plate. “Was it good?”

  “Yes, thank you.” She didn’t think anyone’s ever said those two words as often in this amount of time. She felt like a broken record, her vocabulary reduced to thank you, please, I swear, I don’t know… the last part made her eyes water.

  No one spoke for a while. She was tracing circles on the counter with the tip of her fingers. He was leaning back against the closet where he just put away the broom, openly watching her with an amused smile. She could feel his stare, but refused to look at him unless specifically told to do so. The felt silence was marked by the incessant ticking of the metal-plated clock on the opposing wall. Laura thought an eternity passed between each swipe of the pendulum, its ticking sound increasingly louder in her ears. Unable to bear the heavy silence any longer, she finally spoke up. “May I be excused?” She felt pathetic, like a child requesting permission.

  His smirk broke into a full grin. “Yes, Laura, you may be excused.” He had barely finished uttering the words and found her already up on her feet, rushing out of the kitchen. He watched her leave, almost breaking into a run. He’d let her run and hide, for now.

  Day-2

  That night Laura dreamt of Peter again, but not the Peter she remembered. He didn’t resemble himself, though she knew it was him. They were alone, surrounded by darkness as violent winds roared all around them. Nothing but empty black space except for a bright light illuminating their faces, as if a spotlight shone on them, its source, invisible. Peter was calling out to her, his face distorted in pain as he was being sucked into some kind of black hole. She couldn’t see the lower half of his body anymore. She was gripping his hand with both of hers and pulling with all her might. Her entire body hurt, but she refused to let go. She could feel him slipping away, his hold loosening. She kept screaming for him to hang on, but she could barely hear herself through the howling winds. He looked up at her, looking like himself again. He seemed serene, his face relaxed and his eyes kind. He smiled at her, tender and comforting, mouthed sorry, and let go. He was immediately sucked into nothingness. The force threw her back to the floor. She called for him, screamed his name, over and over again, breaking down into sobs.

  Her tears were still fresh on her face when she woke up. She opened her eyes, long enough to confirm the nightmare was still real, and cried herself back to sleep.

  The next morning, Laura rebuffed Olga’s few initiatives to get her out of bed. Not even the appetizing trolley lured her out of the sheets. Olga graciously gave her space but emphasized that Master Kayne had specifically requested she join him for supper, which would be served at seven. Laura dismissed her concerned efforts. She had no intention of leaving her bedroom, come what may.

  At six fifty sharp, just as the day before, Olga knocked at her door. When Laura didn’t respond, she opened it partially, her alarm apparent at finding Laura the way she had left her.

  “Miss Spencer… Please, you must get ready. You must eat something.” She tried to reason with her.

  Laura didn’t even move a muscle.

  “Master will not be happy…”

  For some reason, the words made Laura snap, with a fury that betrayed her previous apathy. “Master will not be happy! Master will not be happy?” In one movement, she was up on her feet, almost screaming.

  “Miss Spencer, please, I beg you, calm yourself…” Olga was beyond nervous.

  “No! I will not calm myself! Do you even know why I’m here? Do you even know who you work for? Who you’re asking me to have supper with?” Her voice faltered, as a lump rose in her throat.

  “Oooh, Miss Spencer… please…” Olga appeared to be on the verge of tears, her eyes flicking behind her constantly. Her fears realized as loud steps approaching echoed throughout. While Olga closed her eyes, Laura kept hers wide open, her posture firm and ready for battle.

  “What’s with all the commotion?” Kayne slammed the door open, passing Olga, and in a few steps, he faced Laura.

  “Is there a problem, Laura?” His voice was chillingly calm.

  “No, Master Kayne, no problem. I was just about to get Miss Spencer ready…” Olga threw to his back.

  He ignored her. His eyes were burning into Laura, daring her to defy him. She gulped but held his stare. She’d take the bait, gladly.

  “I would prefer staying in my room.” Her voice was just as calm, though her heart beat so frantically in her chest, she feared it might explode. She knew it was madness, but she couldn’t back out now, and she was in no mood to spend another supper as his obedient pet.

  “You would prefer staying in your room?” he hissed. He then sneered at her, a wicked gleam in his eyes as he lifted a hand to her face. She flinched, but he gently brushed her cheek with the back of his hand. “And here I was thinking we were off to such a good start,” he said mockingly.

  With no other warning, he grabbed her by the arm and dragged her forcefully out of the room as Olga watched silently, looking miserable, her head bowed. He dragged her down the hallway and through a small room in the western wing. He only stopped when they reached a door at the back of the room. Laura had maintained her composure until that moment, until he opened the door to reveal the downward spiral staircase it led to. Something about those stairs, the black iron ramp, the steep steps too close to one another, the damp air that reached her nostrils, raised every hair on her skin.

  “Where are you taking me?” she breathed, fear stricken.

  He looked her over very briefly, his eyes cold as ice. “You’ll see.” As they reached the sublevel, he pushed her to the left, stopping in front of a metallic door with a keypad on the side. He pushed a few buttons, and the door opened, revealing a concrete holding cell. It was tiny. There was a toilet, one roll of toilet paper sitting at the top, a sink, and one plastic cup. There wasn’t even a dirty mattress on the floor. He offered her a sinister smile as he urged her inside with his typical ladies first gesture, the same one he used when he lured her in the interrogation room.

  Laura blanched, beginning to shake her head violently. “No… no… Please… no, please…”

  Seeing his stoic face, she grabbed his shirt in anguish. “Please, you don’t understand… anything, but not this, please, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, please…”

  “It’s a little late for apologies, Laura,” he said coolly as he firmly removed her hands off him.

  “No… Please… you don’t understand… please… not the cage, not the cage! I’ll do anything!”

  Her desperate pleas fell on deaf ears. His eyes were cold as ever, as he pushed her in and locked the door.

  ***

  He could hear relentless banging and desperate sobs as he walked away. He had never utilized the cell in that fashion. Mainly, he’d used it for its intended purpose, bringing in countless men for interrogation and holding them prisoner when necessary. A few times, he had even locked away some of his submissives as punishment when they misbehaved. It was all part of the game though. Never had he forced a woman in against her will, let alone one he was intent on seducing. He shook his head, all too aware of how detrimental to his cause his action had just been.

  He couldn’t help it, he was still livid. He would not stand for such behavior. She had to pay for her impudence. However, he did not expect such a violent reaction. Did she just call it a cage? Interesting… He didn’t want to traumatize her, but he couldn’t soften up. Empty threats were death. She had to learn; her actions would have conseque
nces. Tonight had not gone according to his plans, and that alone was a very strong irritant. He did like her spirit though. He hadn’t thought she had it in her. He smiled to himself. The perfect combination of pride and submissiveness.

  ***

  Laura banged on the doors until her knuckles bled, screamed until her lips moved, but emitted no more sound. She let herself fall to the ground, wrapped her arms around her knees, and rocked herself, just as she had when she was a little girl. She cried and cried, pleaded and begged, but Peter couldn’t let her out of the cage this time. She called out to him nonetheless. Peter had always come and saved her. Regardless of the beatings that followed, he would find a way, and the door would magically open after she could hear her father’s drunken snores. Peter would crouch next to the open door holding up the key, grinning from ear to ear. They would chuckle silently, with their hands covering their mouths. It was a game.

  She didn’t know how long she’d been there; she’d never been in the cage for so long. She was numb, cradling herself in the corner, her fingers gliding over the concrete wall forming random patterns. She wondered where he was. She thought back to the interrogation room and, with a manic twinkle in her eye, chuckled quietly to herself, her hands covering her mouth, just as she had as a kid with him. The game was still on, still outwitting, outrunning the villain. By this time, Peter would be long gone. He never stayed in one place for more than two weeks. She had been expecting a postcard the very next day. But what if this time he had, what if they found him? With only time on her hands, her thoughts quickly turned against her, swaying back and forth from arrogant optimism to utter despair.

  Day-3

  Olga wouldn’t let up; she had pleaded the girl’s case incessantly since the previous night.

  “But she is just a terrified little girl… what did you expect?”

  “No, Olga, she is a twenty-three-year-old adult,” Kayne said, refusing to yield.

  “Exactly. Twenty-three, do you even remember how you were like at that age?” She made her point.

  He let out a long sigh. “Did you check up on her?”

  “Of course I did. I brought her a meal at two, just as you asked. Soup and bread.” Her voice was polite, though barely masking her disapproval, if not blatant hostility.

  “Did she eat?”

  “No, Master Kayne. She hasn’t moved from the corner since last night. She didn’t look well.”

  “What do you mean?” The hint of concern in his voice wasn’t lost on Olga, an emotion he tried to pass off for irritation.

  “She seemed… I don’t know… disconnected… like she wasn’t there. She was very pale. She hasn’t eaten in two days…”

  “And whose fault is that?”

  The scowl she threw him hit its mark. His eyes softened. “All right… what time is it?”

  “It’s almost six.”

  He sighed. Without another word, he got up from the dining table and made his way down to the holding cell.

  Olga hadn’t exaggerated as he suspected. The girl looked pitiful, scooped up in the corner, with her head resting on her knees and her arms hugging her legs. He had a sudden impulse to pick her up and hold her in his arms, which he dismissed just as suddenly. With his voice low, his tone measured, he finally spoke to her. “Supper will be served at seven. I will expect your company.”

  He left right after, leaving the door wide open behind him. Olga appeared not long after, rushing to Laura’s side. “Oh, Miss Spencer…” She shook her head sadly. “Here, let me help you.”

  She helped her to her feet, gently up the stairs, and into her room. She smiled compassionately to her, a kind heartbroken smile. Laura obediently sat as Olga fixed her hair, picked her clothes, and helped her into a nice dress with a matching cardigan. She felt like a doll but didn’t mind. She just went through the motions as an unaffected spectator. She did think a shower would have been in order, but Olga didn’t bring it up, so she let it be. She barely had the strength to form cohesive thoughts, let alone full-on sentences.

  At five to seven, Olga clasped her hands. “Well, we should get you to the dining room. You look beautiful, Miss Spencer.”

  Laura nodded, offering a faint smile. She followed Olga down the corridor into the dining area. He was already sitting at the table. He stared her up and down, his expression unreadable.

  “Glad you could finally make it…” he said after a while, his eyes remaining on her, as a cryptic smile formed on his lips.

  Laura was feeling weak and light-headed. She smiled back at him, a genuine smile, devoid of malice or sarcasm. It was the kind of smile good-hearted people offered strangers, sweet and impersonal at the same time.

  Her smile both surprised and concerned him. He leaned forward in his chair, as if physically trying to get closer to her, sensing a danger. He barely finished the thought, when he saw her eyes slowly roll backward, her muscles going limp. In an instant he was at her side, catching her as her frail body went slack in his arms.

  He carried her to the couch in the adjacent living room, calling out for Olga. He laid her down gently, fluffing the pillow Olga had brought along with the covers. He tucked her in, took a seat on the La-Z-Boy next to her, and watched her sleep.

  She looked peaceful. He wondered if she was dreaming. He had to restrain himself from touching her, not in a sexual way. He just wanted to caress her face, brush away the strands of hair causing the little beads of sweat slowly dripping to her lips. She was beautiful when she looked serene, she was beautiful when she looked sad. She was striking when she was furious. He had gotten a taste the night before. Something told him there would be many more of those to come. A devilish grin formed on his lips. His mood shifted at the thought; long gone were the sweet caresses he yearned for a few moments ago. But his fantasies were wasted on an unconscious body, as enticing as that body was. He had never been the type to force himself on a woman. He never had, not out of a misplaced sense of morality; it was just not his thing. Granted, he understood, felt, the exhilaration that came with a beautiful woman’s tears, the terror in her eyes at the realization of her powerlessness, despite her vain efforts to resist. But the similarities ended there. To overpower a woman physically was no great task, even less so if she was unconscious; what a bore that would be. They say rape is about power. The truth was all sex is about power. The power he sought was just of a different nature. It was a battle of the mind, of the soul, where his ecstasy could only be found at the deliberate and complete surrender of the object of his desire. Her tears would taste sweeter as he pushed her toward orgasm, the horror in her eyes not directed at him, but at her body’s reaction to him. Her powerlessness, only understood after a long battle lost within herself.

  ***

  Laura awoke sometime after. She opened her eyes, looking around silently, taking in her new environment. She was on a comfortable couch. The lights were dimmed, but she could make out a large rectangular table with a glass top just in front of her and a big screen TV hanging on the wall surrounded by the usual yet imposing TV stand. She didn’t venture to move her head to check out the rest of the room. She had a splitting headache and her limbs refused to move, as if weighing a ton each.

  He had noticed her slight movement. He was still sitting on the La-Z-Boy next to her, a laptop in his lap, illuminating his face.

  “Well, good morning, Sleeping Beauty,” he greeted her in a playful tone. His stare, however, was still reproachful.

  She nudged her head barely an inch to see him and instantly brought her hand to her forehead, a cry of pain escaping her lips. “Don’t move.” He slowly put the computer down on the table, throwing her another look before he disappeared. He returned with a glass of water and two pills, which he offered her, crouching on the floor by her side. “Take this.”

  “What is it?” she whispered apprehensively.

  “Cyanide.”

  Her eyes instantly shot up to meet his.

  He rolled his eyes, smiling. “It’s aspirin, Laura
.”

  She hesitated for a second, then reached her hand out. He watched her swallow her pills, like a parent would to a rebellious child. Satisfied, he disappeared again. He came back a few minutes later with a hot bowl of soup and some crackers.

  “Eat this, it’ll help.”

  She pulled herself up, resting on her elbows, eyeing the platter in front of her suspiciously. She knew she was famished but had no appetite, and a part of her didn’t want to eat simply because he had said to.

  “If you want to defy me, Laura, at least make it worth your while,” he said as if reading her mind, while he stood over her with his arms crossed casually, an amused smile on his face. Then in a commanding tone, he added, “Eat.”

  Begrudgingly, she brought herself to a sitting position and obeyed. It did make her feel better, the headache faded, and her strength returned slowly. When she was almost done, he returned to claim his seat. With a veiled expression, looking in her eyes, he softly said, “Good girl.”

  Her stomach turned at the words, at the way they were said, and she blushed. Never once, since that night at the club, had she thought of him as anything but a monster, but he was also a man, she would do well to remember. Very much a man. She could feel his predatory eyes linger on her body, and she shifted in her seat uncomfortably. He went back to his laptop and didn’t even look in her direction after that. She remained seated, quiet, too afraid to remind him of her presence, desperate to get back to her room, wondering if that was even an option.

  At last, she cleared her throat, her voice tentative. “May I… Would it… be okay… if I go back to my room?”

  He stopped typing to look at her. “I understand you don’t leave your room in the day?”

  She didn’t answer.

  He sighed. “Have Olga give you the tour tomorrow, okay?”