“Babe, please don’t cry. I always hated it when you cried.”
I looked up at him from where my head rested on his strong chest. Tension simmered thick between us, the oxygen in the air thin and stifling. For a long moment we both got lost in the blue of each other’s eyes, both of us remembering and struggling to distinguish the feelings that had started to seep into us.
But I knew it wasn’t real. It couldn’t be. What we felt was need for compassion. We looked for support and companionship, and refusing to see what our connection actually was would be lethal.
I pulled away but held his hand tightly in mine as I swiped at my tears with my other hand. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be silly.” He sighed and regarded me. “I need to say this Kloe, or I’ll regret it.”
I nodded, bracing myself for what was coming.
“Whatever has happened between you and the father, it doesn’t mean you can’t do this on your own. Well, I’ll be there every step of the way. You will make the most fantastic mother. And whatever happened in your past, it won’t inflict the love you will have for your own child.”
“I know that, Ben. This isn’t because of my past, or that I don’t think I’ll cope on my own. There’s so much that you don’t know, so much even I don’t know. I can’t make sense of anything. It’s all so damn hard. But this also isn’t my baby’s fault. So much has happened and I know that bringing a child into the middle of this is so very wrong.”
“You’re right, it isn’t the child’s fault. But you’re making it his fault. You’re blaming it for whatever is going on. It’s innocent in all this, Klo.”
“And that’s why I have to do this. Innocence is so fragile, so breakable. And I’d rather die than break something so precious.”
“But having a termination isn’t ‘breaking it’?”
It was all such a mess. And although Ben was being harsh with me, I knew he was only trying to make it all better. But no one could ever make this better. It was all so fucked up that I wasn’t sure I’d come out of it in one piece, and that was what scared me. It terrified me. If I broke, or Anderson kept his promise of using me for his revenge, then who would my child have? How would it survive? I had no one and Anderson was too broken himself to care for a child. Yet something in the back of my mind told me he would care for it, he would love it. Just as much as I would.
A child was our redemption. A chance for us to begin what others had ended for us. A purpose for all this love we had inside us.
Knowing he was getting nowhere, Ben shook his head. “End of subject.” Jumping up and making me start, he grabbed my hand. “We need a dance. It’s been years.”
And so that was what we did. We forgot everything. We forgot how shit life was.
And we danced.
Going back to work was like I’d never been away. The Three Ferns, the convalescence home I had worked in for the last four years was my diversion. The patients were some of the hardest I had ever worked with – other than Anderson.
Most ranged from severe depression after having an accident, to self-harmers that couldn’t find any other way to deaden the pain that lived inside them. For obvious reasons I connected with these cases more than others. Because I understood what a simple slice of the skin could do for the soul.
There’d been a time when I had mutilated myself, self -hatred conquering me until I could release some of that pent up revulsion that forever lived inside me.
When Robbie and Anderson had cut me during sex, I had been surprised by the differing feelings that had engulfed me. One simple slice hadn’t released the tension; it had built it. A single stroke of the blade across my skin had consumed me in sensations that made my mind shiver in ecstasy. Pain + arousal = fucking bliss!
Self-harming was a completely different distribution of pain. I was one of the lucky ones, if one could say lucky. I hadn’t cut for a long time. Now I only used food to comfort the nightmares that plagued me. I’d cared for many ‘emotional eaters’ - as the health authority like us to refer to binge eaters, anorexics, and bulimics – but I had never come across a case similar to mine. Well, not yet, anyway.
“Kloe?” Leroy, one of my oldest recurring self-harmers looked at me with a furrowed brow. “I must say, it’s nice to have you back, but I still miss that smile of yours.”
I gave him a smile, shaking my head to distribute my thoughts. “Sorry, Leroy. I’m tired today.”
“Tired?” He laughed. “After the long holiday you had?”
I wanted to scoff. “Because of the long holiday I had.” I winked.
Leroy was lead guitarist in a world renowned rock group. He found the stress of being in the limelight suffocating, and his only release was to cut and get high. There were other factors to his SH (Self-harming), I knew there was, but he had buried them so tightly inside that even after eight months of him in and out of Three Ferns, I was still trying to uncover them.
“You fancy a walk?”
“Sure.” I smiled, thankful for his need for some fresh air.
He smiled, nodding as he pushed himself out of the huge, soft chair he had in his room. He called it his ‘writing chair’. It was specific to his request, but Genesis Convalescence prided themselves in catering to each individual client’s wishes.
The stiches on his arm pulled and he winced.
“You okay? Do you need some pain relief?”
He quirked an eyebrow at me and then rolled his eyes. Rolling mine back, I followed him out of his room and onto his personal patio. But today he needed more visual stimulation so we both meandered down into the gardens.
The grounds were divided into six exclusive areas, each surrounded by either a wall, hedges, or trees. The privacy each of the several unique gardens supplied cost the company a small fortune to maintain. But they were an essential part of the healing process.
Leroy headed for the Japanese garden, one of my favourites, and the most secluded; towering trees and various clipped high hedges enclosing each small private spot within the oriental section. He led us to a bench that sat to one side of the fountain and was surrounded by a trickling stream, a tiny bridge, and numerous cherry blossom trees.
“I have to tell you something, Kloe.”
I nodded, shifting on the bench so I was looking at him and giving him my full attention. “Go on.”
Turning away from me, he concentrated on the fountain. I had a feeling he didn’t want to look at me and I prayed he was finally going to open up to me.
“I missed you. Frank is okay, but he isn’t the same.” Frank was the therapist who had filled in for me while I was gone. He was good at his job, but hearing that from Leroy gave me a sliver of pride in myself. “It made me realise that if I want to get better then there’s only you that can help me.”
“And you,” I told him. “Both of us can help you, Leroy.”
He shrugged, not sure if he believed in himself as much as I did. “Whatever, but…” He closed his eyes and swallowed. As I reached for him, he slid away from me and shook his head. “I need to do this; your compassion won’t help. Please don’t.”
“Okay.”
I placed my palms together and slid them between my thighs, showing him I had no intentions of touching him.
For a long time he just sat quietly, staring at the water that leapt from the mouth of the large fish in the fountain. I allowed him patience, and I sat as quiet as he did.
A cold shiver raced up my spine and the hairs at the back of my neck suddenly stood to attention. I swung round, searching the area for company but Leroy and I were alone. Putting it down to my pregnancy hormones, I turned back around and waited again.
And eventually, we had a breakthrough.
“I did a bad thing, Kloe.”
I slowly nodded, leaving my eyes fixed on the gardens. “You do know that whatever you tell me, Leroy, is completely between us? It doesn’t go in any record, only in my own head. I am not obliged to report any crime, and I won’t. This is b
etween you and me.”
He nodded, gulping as he ran his tongue over his teeth. His face was pale and he looked like he was going to vomit.
“I hurt someone.” He threw it out so bluntly that I couldn’t help but flinch. That had not been what I expected.
“Okay. Was it an accident or planned?”
“Definitely planned.” He turned to me. “I’m a druggie, Kloe. I will do anything for a hit, you know that.”
“So you hurt someone to pay for drugs?”
He screwed up his face and wobbled his head in consideration to my question. “Kind of. I owe someone a lot of money. This was the only way I could clear my debt.”
“This?”
“This,” he repeated. There was a look in his eyes that made the blood in my veins chill.
When I sensed movement behind me, I closed my eyes and realised exactly what ‘this’ was.
“I’m so sorry, Kloe,” Leroy whispered before he stood up and walked away.
“Hello, Samantha.” The soft tone of Terry Asher’s voice whispered in my ear.
ROBBIE GRUNTED AS I HELPED him through my front door. He had one arm around my shoulders and a crutch tucked under his other arm. “Fucking hell,” he grumbled, the loss of independence grieving him more than the pain. “I’m already sick of this shit.”
I chuckled, kicking the pile of post that sat on the rug to one side so Robbie wouldn’t slip on it. “Give it time, man. It’s gonna take a while.”
He blew out a breath as I lowered him on to the sofa. “It’s already been three weeks; I should be healing by now.”
Anger made me clench my fists. “Don’t worry, Rob. You’ll get your retribution.”
He quirked a brow at that. “I thought Terry was yours.”
Laughing loudly, I nodded and headed into the kitchen to fix us a drink. “He is, but I’ll let you watch.”
“You’re so fucking generous,” he shouted after me.
“I am.”
After passing him his coffee I went to pick up the mail. Red came trotting down the stairs, finally sensing mine and Rob’s presence and deciding we were worth a look in. True to her form, perception one of her strongest points, she gently climbed onto the sofa beside Rob and proceeded to lick his ear.
He brushed her away but smiled and started to stroke her head. He loved her as much as I did.
The first few letters were junk, and throwing them aside, I frowned when I saw a padded but thin brown envelope in between the usual white ones.
Tearing it open, I stared in confusion as I pulled out a memory stick and a thick knot of long, copper hair.
Every part of me froze in fear. My hand shook when I took the hair and lifted it to my nose. Air rushed from my lungs and my jaw started to vibrate when the soft but unique smell of honey and coconut – Kloe’s exclusive shampoo – struck every one of my senses.
“Anderson?” Robbie knew too, the wary way he said my name had me trembling harder.
Rage poured through me, my heart struggling to cope with the influx of adrenaline soaring my system.
Silently, I grabbed the laptop and inserted the USB. My hands shook harder, my fingers hovering over the play icon. I didn’t want to watch, yet every part of me begged to.
The screen was dark as the video came into focus. A dungeon.
My breath caught and my heart stopped beating when Kloe’s limp and naked body came into shot. She hung from a chain, her arms stretched high as her fingers clung to the links of metal. Blood trickled down her chest and her stomach, dripping onto her thighs and down her legs. Her hair had been hacked off, and short and matted curls clung to her damp face.
Ice flowed through me instead of blood. Shocks of electricity beat for my heart. And pure undiluted fury filled my lungs instead of air.
Robbie looked from the screen to me, but, wisely, he didn’t say anything.
My beautiful woman looked dead. And as if linked to her I could slowly feel my soul crumble and die within me too.
“She tastes delicious.” Terry’s cold voice filled the speakers but he didn’t appear in the video. “Her blood has such an exquisite aroma, don’t you think, Judd?”
Blood filled my mouth and trickled down my chin when I bit into my lip.
“We’re waiting for you, son. You know where to find us. And if you don’t… well, I don’t hold out much hope for our lady.”
“She’s mine,” I growled as the video ended and it asked me if I wanted to play it again. “She was always mine, you fucking cunt.”
“Anderson, do you have any idea where they are?” Rob asked cautiously, his own fear loud in his quiet voice.
I laughed. “I’ve always known.”
He looked puzzled. “What? But why have you waited?”
Why had I waited? That was a question I’d asked myself time and time again.
“It doesn’t matter. The wait is over.”
MY BABY WAS DEAD. AND inside, so was I.
Blood seemed to pour from every inch of me. My skin, my womb, my heart. Pain was no longer part of me. The nothing had taken over days ago.
Anderson had told me that his father had loved me. How very wrong he had been. Just as I’d always told him. Yet now it was too late for him to see exactly what his father had thought of me.
Hours had merged into days, and days into a week. I knew I wouldn’t get out of there alive, not now. Terry’s evil had morphed into something way beyond depraved. I had thought what he did to me as a child couldn’t ever be outdone. How fucking wrong I had been.
Urine trickled down the inside of my leg and the sensation of the warm liquid between my legs was, for a short period, relaxing, washing away the grime and blood that caked my sore skin.
I had been so hungry, but exhaustion now overruled anything else. I didn’t think my stomach could have sustained anything other than acid and bile now anyway.
As usual, soft music played in the background. It had been a constant since I had woken in this dark and cold room many days ago. I prayed for silence, begged silently for my mind to hear something other than the stupid orchestral pieces that plagued my waking hours, and now my fraught sleeping ones.
Terry occasionally removed my cuffs and allowed me a few hours’ rest on the hard concrete floor, my strung muscles screaming in both gratitude and agony. But today, once again, I hung limply from the chain, my body depleted of anything other than exhaustion.
There was a pool of dried and fresh blood beneath me, a wide circle of red liquid that I craved to curl up in for warmth and the very slightest hint of softness. It looked so appealing against the harsh expanse of grey, the deep hue of my own life tempting beyond anything.
The room was roughly twenty-foot square of nothing but bricks and cement. An old single iron bed sat in one corner and various sized chains hung against the flat of one wall. Thick loops of metal were secured into the wall and into the floor beneath, with a length of chain connected to each one, and a cuff connected to the end of each. Rickety wooden steps led to a door where, sporadically, Terry would enter. There was no routine to his visits, no regular sequence that I could build myself up for. He came when he wanted, and he only left when I was broken beyond the previous time he came to me.
I knew exactly where I was. And why I was here.
The Dawson’s farmhouse where Anderson had been held hostage for over twenty years was now the place where I would die. Somewhat ironic, really. As if haunted by some paranormal presence, I could feel the weeping soul of Judd Asher around me, as if the walls held the echoes of that boy’s cries and the floor was a sponge that had soaked up his many tears. My blood now mixed with his, and the infrequent beat of my heart played in perfect symmetry with a ghost’s.
The music paused and I tensed in the shackles. His footsteps grew louder, and if I’d had the energy, I would have lifted my head and glared at him when his cold chuckle chilled what little air was in the room. The hairs on my arms snapped tightly and my already dry throat swelled, making it di
fficult to breathe.
“Good morning, Samantha.”
I couldn’t give him a reaction. I was too far into the recesses of my mind to even contemplate answering him. It was warm in my head; a sunny place where bluebells swayed in the soft breeze. My father stood before me, his arms outstretched and his wide grin welcoming me into his heart. Although I’d never met him, never learned anything about him apart from the lies my mother told me, I knew in my heart that he was dead. I knew without a doubt that the only person who could have ever loved me had been taken away before he even had a chance to whisper his words of love in my tiny ear.
“Samantha,” my father whispered. “I’ve been waiting for you for so long.”
I smiled. Death was now so close, so real. And I begged for it. I pleaded with my heart to stop, to take the break it so longed for, for it to give in and grant both me and my dad the time we never had the chance for.
“Samantha!” Terry’s voice broke through my pleas and my mind struggled on which to concentrate. Life or death. The choice was easy, but accepting it was harder than just letting go.
Pain struck my cheek and I finally opened my eyes. I couldn’t see. I had been in the dark for so long that my irises screamed in pain as a blinding light broke through the darkness.
Squeezing my eyes closed once again, the darkness a welcome relief, another voice brought my consciousness slamming to the front.
“What the fuck have you done?”
“Anderson?” His name was slurred and quiet as it left me and I knew he hadn’t heard me. But Terry had.
“I brought you a little gift, Princess.”
There was a scuffle, and then Terry’s vicious sneer. “Careful, Judd. A simple exchange. Her for you. Keeping promises is something I would have thought you’d abide by. Seems I was wrong.”
“I always promised to kill you,” Anderson spat. I wanted my eyes to work. I wanted to see his face, see the raging storm in the depths of his eyes, the only thing that could calm the raging storm in the core of me. But blindness still crucified me.
Chained (Caged Book 2) Page 7