A Bedtime Story

by L. C. Moon

  He responded with a sardonic laugh, “No, Laura. In case you missed it, I’m not really the relationship type.”

  “Oh… I just thought… with the bedroom you set me in… and the clothes and all…”

  “The clothes were bought for you. The room was my mother’s. Does that satisfy your little curiosity?” he huffed impatiently.

  It wasn’t fair. He badgered her into answering all these personal questions, forcing her to scratch old wounds, not yet fully healed. Yet she noticed his mood change coincided with the mention of his mother. She would try to steer clear of that topic, though she knew her curiosity would eventually get the best of her. But then another thought came to her mind, and her face fell. He bought the clothes for her… That could only mean he had never meant to let her go. Her fate was sealed before she even went into that room, no matter what she would have said.

  He noticed immediately, still in his tempestuous mood, and asked, “What’s wrong?”

  Her voice was strangled. She swallowed before she finally looked up to meet his gaze. “You knew all along… from the first night, even before you brought me in that room… you knew you would bring me back here, you even had clothes brought… You said if I cooperated I could leave… You… lied.”

  His eyes narrowed in quiet fury; his voice was calm, dripping with venom. “And you’ve come to this conclusion because… I was kind enough to make sure you’d be comfortable? If I remember correctly, what I promised was that you would get out alive, which you have. The clothes were brought to your room after I made the call. Don’t you think I have the resources to get you a few pieces of clothing? I have contacts everywhere, Laura. And that’s not a lie either. Maybe you should remember that in case you get other brilliant ideas,” he hissed. “Never. Call me. A liar.”

  She was shaking with fear by the time he finished speaking. Before he even knew it, she dropped to his feet, her hands grabbing his jeans at the knees, sobbing erratically.

  “Please, please, forgive me, I made a mistake… I didn’t think you had it done the same morning. Stores are closed at this time… and there was just so much stuff… Please forgive me… I don’t want to go to the cage again. Please…”

  He felt confused, conflicted. Part of him still seethed with anger, wanted to leave her on the floor, drag her by her hair, and punish her for her careless words. The other part, even stronger than before, wanted to comfort and reassure her. Carry her in his arms and hold her until he could feel her tears fade away against his chest, and know he was the cause of it all, her tears and their death.

  He was thrown off by his own reaction, by the emotion she stirred in him. His comfort always came as a reward well earned. Even then, given only so he could further savor the fruits of his victory and bask in the euphoria reached through absolute control. Genuine compassion was a foreign concept to him, and most likely, a major factor in his success in the Organization. It was not a desired trait in his world. He ground his teeth irritated at his passing weakness and quickly collected himself. He grabbed her chin between his fingers and raised her head to face his. When he spoke to her, his voice reflected the iciness in his stare. She could have never suspected the thoughts that ran through his mind.

  “You will mind what you say and how you say it. Anything you do or say has consequences. Do we have an understanding?”

  “Yes… sir…” she sniffled.

  His eyes gleamed with an indiscernible emotion, between annoyance and excitement at the sound of the word, which came to her lips more naturally this time. He nodded his head. “Go to your room… before I change my mind.”

  ***

  He watched her as she made her exit, much like the first night, rushing to leave his side. He brought his hands up and rubbed his face, letting out a long sigh. He thought back to that first night. What had he gotten himself into? The girl was a mystery. He wanted to know so much more about her, he’d gotten some information tonight. Most, he could have guessed. So she was infertile, that he did not expect. He wondered if it was that fact alone that troubled her so or the loss of Eric because of it. Well, she wouldn’t have to worry about that with him, he thought with an ironic smile. The situation suited him just fine. He’d never wanted children… or a wife for that matter. What he wanted from her, he wouldn’t get by offering her a ring. She had no idea what he had in store for her, he thought, closing his eyes with devilish delight.

  Clearly, she wasn’t very experienced. He wasn’t surprised she’d only been with the two boyfriends she mentioned. He wondered if she’d ever had an orgasm in her life, probably not with the nice guys she thought she liked so much. She definitely had a submissive streak, calling him “sir” twice, without his asking her to. The last time, in a manipulative effort to pacify him, which slightly annoyed him, but worked. Didn’t it only speak to her submissive nature that she instinctively knew what to say to appease him? How she literally fell to his feet, appealing to his mercy? She craved the kind of power and control that didn’t come from nice guys. It was written all over her. He sensed it in her from that first night at the club as she clumsily tried to flirt with him. It was quite endearing really.

  She was a submissive, but she wasn’t aware of it yet. He reveled in all the promises that came with this particular combination. A self-proclaimed submissive lost her appeal to him. He’d usually leave his whores, bored to tears, by the time they were all but too eager to please. How delicious was the path to depravity, how he would love to show her.

  But there were other things that intrigued him about her, for one, her terror with the cage, as she called it. He guessed she was abused, but how? By whom? Clearly not by her boyfriends, or her brother. Was it her father perhaps? He had to know. He’d have to learn everything, from her deepest fears to her darkest desires, and only then, he could use them to his advantage.

  Day-5

  It was barely one in the afternoon when Olga rapped at Laura’s door. Laura had decided to stay in her room after the previous night’s incident.

  “Sorry to disturb you, Miss Spencer, Master Kayne would like you to meet him in the living room.”

  Laura’s heart skipped a beat, then pounded frantically in her chest. She had hoped against hope the incident would be forgotten.

  “Oh? Did he say why?”

  “No, he simply asked me to fetch you. He’s waiting for you.”

  “Like now?… NOW now?” Her tone raised a few octaves, as panic slowly crept throughout her entire being.

  “Yes, Miss Spencer.”

  “Okay…”

  Laura obediently followed Olga into the living room to find Kayne sitting on the couch she had fallen asleep on, his legs open wide, and his head thrown back. He was smoking a cigarette. His expression was impervious as he motioned for her to sit down, his hand pointing somewhere between the available space on the couch and the adjacent La-Z-Boy. She chose the La-Z-Boy. He didn’t speak to her right away as she sat nervously at the edge of her seat, playing with a loose strand in her jeans. He took his time, slowly inhaling and exhaling his last few puffs, before putting out his cigarette. Only then did he venture to speak to her.

  “Can I get you anything to drink?”

  She cleared her throat. Her mouth was dry from her faltering nerves. “A glass of water?”

  He nodded, getting up to get it for her, and grabbed himself a beer.

  He sighed, his expression grave. He didn’t beat around the bush. “Laura, I have to ask you something.”

  “Okay…” She had initially feared he changed his mind regarding the consequences to last night’s incident, but now she understood; it was about Peter. For how much longer did she hope to dodge further interrogation?

  “Were you ever abused?”

  “What?” Of all directions this conversation could have taken, she did not expect this.

  “Answer me.” His voice was quiet, his muscles tense.

  “I don’t understand… like… sexually?” She hated having to say the word, any w
ord containing those three letters, in front of him. “Have you?”

  “No!” Her answer was unequivocal.

  He closed his eyes as relief washed over him. He hadn’t realized his hands were in fists so tight the blood had drained from them and wondered what made him feel so strongly about the issue. Granted, sex victims weren’t ideal lovers considering his peculiar taste, too many triggers. He had neither the patience nor the mildest inclination to even hope to make it work if that had been the case. But it was more than that. Sheer rage blinded him at the thought of her being abused. The emotion was too strong to be explained away by his hope for sexual compatibility. Had she said yes, had she given a name, that name would have been carved on a tombstone not long after. He was surprised at how fast he had already claimed her as his. He was the possessive type, had never shared his whores with other men. However, even more than bare possessiveness, he recognized a strange feeling, one he hadn’t often felt: protectiveness. This girl had strange effects on him indeed. He pressed on.

  “Were you ever abused any other way?”

  “What do you mean?” she stuttered, utterly confused with his line of questioning. She couldn’t understand his reasons for asking such questions. Did he intend to sexually abuse her himself?

  “Mistreated… Physically? Emotionally? Perhaps… locked in a cage?” He put emphasis on the last word. As expected, her face instantly paled.

  “Yes.” Her lips thinned, her face down, she breathed the word.

  “Your father?” he guessed.

  Her eyes shot up, round with surprise.

  It wasn’t such a difficult assumption to make from what she had told him. “Did he ever lay his hands on you?”

  “Why are you asking me all this?” she asked, distraught, her voice barely above a whisper.

  “Answer my question, Laura,” he warned.

  “I just don’t understand—”

  “I didn’t ask you to understand,” he interrupted her sharply.

  She was beginning to know his moods, know how far she could push before he would push back, and this was it. “No, he never laid his hands on me.”

  He nodded. “But he locked you… in a cage?”

  “Yes.”

  “How long did this go on for?”

  “The cage?” Her face twisted with repulsion as she uttered the word. “I don’t know, years… Since I was a child. I don’t remember exactly when… for as long as I can remember.” Her voice was detached, robotic.

  He could feel her retreat somewhere deep within herself. “What about your mother?”

  “She wasn’t around.”

  “Tell me about it.”

  She let out a long sigh. “My father was a drunk, my mother too I suspect, but she left when I was still a baby. We lived in a dump. Peter…” Her voice wavered at his name. She glanced back at Kayne uncertainly, as if the enunciation of his name alone would suddenly remind him of why she was there, that he would jump on her at the realization and begin torturing her for further information.

  When he didn’t react, she continued. “Peter said that Dad wasn’t so bad when my mother was around. He was still a drunk then… but I don’t think he put me in the cage when she was there. I mean, she wouldn’t have let him put her baby in the cage…” she said uncertainly, as if trying to convince herself. She looked up at him for approval, for reassurance in her shaky faith.

  He didn’t nod. Instead, he slid the cigarette pack over to her end of the table. Laura gladly took one. She hadn’t had any since she got to the house. She hadn’t even thought about it, but in this moment she wanted nothing more in the world. He held up the lighter but didn’t hand it to her, forcing her to lean in close to reach the flame, closing her hand right above his to catch it, feeling his warmth.

  “Go on,” he said finally, after giving her the time to enjoy a few puffs.

  “Not much to say. Dad would get drunk every day almost, but if you caught him sober, he was actually sweet. He used to buy me this chocolate cake I liked that they only sold in a shop at the other side of town. We didn’t have a car, so he’d walk all the way there just to get it for me.” She smiled tenderly at the memory, then quickly shook it off. “But most of the time, he was just upset with me. The worst time was when I got suspended.” She smiled grimly. “I got in a fight with this girl at school who kept picking on me. I think it was the longest time I spent in the cage. He had to miss work and everything to stay home with me.” She let out a bitter laugh. “It was just a stupid dog crate, you know? One of those big plastic ones for large-size breeds…” Her voice broke, the wound still fresh, her eyes gleaming with raw hurt.

  “He had a lock on it, and he always kept the key on him. Peter would always find a way though. I just had to wait. I’d count up as high as I could, and then Peter would come and sneak me out when Dad passed out. It was the only time he’d get in trouble, because of me, for me. Dad always beat him afterward. You know, it’s funny, we never once thought of sneaking me back in before he’d wake up… We were just kids I guess…” She shrugged her shoulders.

  He watched her, fascinated, studying her every move. She was reliving every moment as she told it, tensing up at some memories, her eyes softening at others. She had no poker face.

  “When I was ten, I don’t remember why, but my father got really, like really mad at me. I think he saw me holding hands with the neighbor’s kid or something like that? Anyway, he reached for his belt. He had never hit me before… I was terrified. Peter freaked out, he jumped in. Got the beating of his life. He left that same day. For three whole days he didn’t come home. Longest days of my life. He was sixteen then. I just couldn’t believe he’d leave me like that, you know? But he came back for me. In the middle of the night. Had packed my bags and everything. He snuck me out. I was still half asleep. He had gone out and bought a car. This old beat-up Tercel, you should’ve seen it…”

  She broke into laughter, tears rolling down her cheeks. “It made this horrible sound every time you started it…” She wiped her tears away dismissively with the back of her hand as she chuckled some more. “And that was it, I never saw my father again after that.” Her chuckle died down, her eyes dried up, her emotions settling, slowly returning to the present.

  He had lit another cigarette and, for the first time, offered her a kind, sincere smile. He put out his cigarette and went over to the bar again without saying anything. He came back holding a glass of whiskey in each hand. He put one down in front of her before reclaiming his seat. He raised his own glass to her, a shadow of compassion softening his stare. “Cheers.”

  “Cheers.”

  In that moment, she almost forgot he was her captor. She had shared things with him she never had with anyone else, not even with her boyfriends. But then again, they had never locked her in a cage and forced her to open up about it. They hadn’t even suspected what lay buried deep underneath. She had made it a point to play normal girl, for once not to be the victim, to act playful and carefree, to be that girl, and they all fell for it, even Eric. He never called her out once. Not when her stories were off or her responses suspiciously evasive, especially when it came to her family, or fear of closed spaces. He didn’t want to scratch the surface; even he didn’t want to expose the ugliness underneath. He loved Playful Laura.

  Some part of her resented him for it, but with her pride came the burden of silence. No one besides Peter ever knew her, ever fully knew her, until now. She didn’t feel vulnerable and exposed as she would have expected. She just felt relieved, like a huge weight was lifted off her shoulders. She was almost thankful for the coerced confession.

  She looked at her unlikely confident and considered this fragile bubble of intimacy they had just created. Maybe because of it, she found the courage to voice the question that had been tormenting her. She cleared her throat, her fingers tracing the rim of the glass. She hesitated a few seconds.

  “Can I ask you something?”

  He nodded, his expression somber.<
br />
  “Did they find Peter?” She rushed the words in a breath, her eyes fixing a spot on the floor.

  He remained quiet for a while before answering her. “No.”

  She let out the breath she’d been holding in. She couldn’t help smiling at him, half expecting him to smile back, sharing in her joy. He didn’t.

  “They did trace him back to Boston.”

  She mouthed Oh. Her relief was short-lived.

  He leaned forward in his seat as if to tell her a secret, and she unconsciously mirrored his movement. In a conspiring tone, he added, “Want to know what I think, Laura? I don’t think he’s in Boston. I think he’s already far, far away…” He leaned back in his seat, spreading his arms over the couch, a dark twinkle in his eyes. “But don’t worry, your secret is safe with me.”

  Instant dread invaded her. She remained as still as a deer in headlights, powerlessly waiting for the blow to strike. It didn’t. He leisurely took another sip from his drink and smiled knowingly at her panicked, questioning stare.

  She blinked a few times, shifting uncomfortably in her seat, unsure of what to respond. “I didn’t lie to you.”

  “I know.”

  She breathed a little easier. How she regretted ever bringing it up. “Are you going to kill me?” she blurted out, surprised at her own bluntness.

  He stared her right in the eye, his voice betraying no emotion. “Only if you make me… But don’t worry, I won’t let you.”

  Her eyes watered, with sheer terror, with the relief and conviction that he was telling her the truth. She felt exhausted. Though the sun was still shining bright in the sky, she just wanted her bed. “May I be excused?” she asked, depleted.

  He nodded. She got up, her movements slow and pained, and left his side.

  ***

  He spent the day thinking of her. Time was running out. He’d received a call that night from Dimitri. The big boss himself wanted an update on the progress. Peter had betrayed them. He was seen talking with the police, but the worst offense was that he stole the file with all the information, damning information. He thought he’d use it as protection. How wrong he was. This act alone had cost him a high priority on Dimitri’s hit list. Dimitri would not rest until he had his head. It was more than getting the file back; it was a matter of principle. He had to die. Traitors could not be allowed to live. Kayne knew Dimitri could wait, as long as it took. He would spend all the resources necessary, but he would hunt him down. He would never forget, never move on until justice was obtained.