by Cee Smith
“Shhh, shhh,” he whispered against my ear. One of his hands released and he brushed my hair so it lay across his shoulder, granting him unimpeded access to my face. I’d felt a man before, but this was more intimate. This man made me feel stripped down, bared, despite the small scrap of clothes he dressed me in. My skin was scorched where his flesh met mine. The excited beat of his heart thumped against my back, mirroring my own racing heart. Up close, his smell was crisper—he had a citrusy scent like oranges mixed with something darker, something masculine. I wondered if it was his natural scent.
“That's better. I'm not in the business of hurting women, so if you're a good girl, you'll have nothing to worry about.”
“Please don't do this to me, please.” I began to sob—ugly tears forced from eyes clenched tightly closed. I wanted to close myself off to him, but he penetrated my every sense, until I felt like I was drowning in him, and I would never find my way back to the surface.
“Wha-what do y-you want?”
“You,” he said nuzzling the skin behind my ear while rubbing my hair between his fingers as if he was testing the texture of some unknown substance. He looked so comfortable. I half expected him to pull his face against mine and start rubbing against me like a cat.
I spat out my next question, anxious to get the words off my tongue before I changed my mind for fear of the answer, “What are you going to do with me?” I was surprised by my own voice. I sounded sure and strong, like I was asking my professor a question instead of some crazy man that seemed to get off on the touch of my hair according to the hard-on nudging my lower back.
“What would you like me to do with you?”
Tears flooded my face again. He was a predator playing with his next meal, all the while knowing the moment he would pounce. I felt helpless as I lay on a dirty mattress with every part of him pressed tight against me. The only piece of me not touched by him was the wrist pulled close to the wall. I wished the rest of me were as numb as my left hand. Obviously, he knew I wanted him to let me go, so this just showed me a side of him that I would become all too familiar with if I didn't find a way to escape.
“Please let me go. I promise I won't tell anyone. I don't even know your name or, or where I am.” I picked up steam, rattling off anything that I thought could help me convince him, “I have a family, people that will look for me—”
“I'm not concerned with your family or anyone else you think will be looking for you.” With a sudden movement, his hand wrapped around my jaw like a vice, and he pressed his cheek against my face. It felt like freshly cut grass rubbing against my skin. Out of my periphery, I could see him pull back to look at my profile right before he opened his mouth. His tongue curved against the side of my jaw, taking a snail’s pace up the right side of my face, tasting me from jaw to hairline. With closed eyes I felt like I could feel every taste bud on his tongue as his minty breath snuffed out the breath in my lungs like embers of a once raging fire.
His arms loosened as he licked me. If I struggled hard enough, I could probably free myself, but he was like a magnet pulling me closer, until the thought of physical separation felt like it would break off a piece of myself. A piece that would be his, forever.
Damn my traitorous body for liking the feel of his mouth on me, for the slight twinge between my legs that didn't seem to be aware of the predicament I was in. His tongue stopped against my hairline when there was nowhere else for him to go and I quickly wriggled an arm free. I slapped him. For licking me or for affecting my body the way he did, I wasn’t sure, but it was just what I needed to sort my mind out.
I avoided his eyes while I tried to calm my stinging hand. It was stupid of me to slap him, but he would have to strap me down and rape me if he thought for one second I was just going to lie down and let him have his way with me. I didn't expect to lose my virginity to the person I would be with forever, but there was no way I would be losing my virginity on some dingy bed in an abandoned house—a step above a shack—to a rapist that probably had a harem of women and STDs. He would have to rape my corpse before that happened.
“I think I like you with a little spunk. You're not as goody-goody as I thought,” he said, punctuating his sentence with a thrust of his hips, displaying his blatant arousal. One arm disappeared and I could hear what sounded like him patting his pockets. I watched from my periphery but couldn't make out what he was reaching for. I only knew when he found it because the rustling sound stopped.
There was a tiny, yet distinct, prick against my neck, causing me to jackknife in the bed. My thoughts snapped in my mind like a livewire to water, my body jolting from the memories of what happened. Adam, Jessa, and I were on vacation learning how to scuba dive. I remembered being underwater and feeling strange, like someone was watching me. Thinking it was just Adam teasing me, I continued swimming until I felt it. The prick of a needle. My eyelids started feeling…
“Sir, would you like me to take her in?”
“No Scout, I've got it. Please just open the door, and I'll handle the rest.”
“Of course, sir.”
Scout's eyes met mine in the rearview mirror before he got out of the car to open the door. Hailey lay curled up in the backseat, her head resting in my lap while her knees were pulled up next to my leg. For the flight, I had dressed her in something warmer—long sleeve pajamas that could shield her from the oppressive winter nights of South Dakota.
Scout opened the door, and I wrapped Hailey up tight in my coat before exiting the car, my body sheltering hers as I ran to the front door jostling her with every crunch of my steps against the snow-laced gravel. My tear ducts felt like they would freeze in just the few steps from the car to the door. The mist of our breath rose like plumes of chimney smoke. Scout rushed ahead of me, opening the front door. The warm air immediately settled my nerves like a warm glass of brandy.
I had always loved winters here. Before my parents’ disappearance, we used to come here for every winter break. Now, I came whenever I felt I needed to decompress from the stresses of everyday life, which seemed to be more frequently according to the hours logged on my private jet. The house sat on 20 acres of mostly wooded land. Aside from the stables of horses, wild horses, cows, and sheep shared the land.
On the tenth anniversary of the date my parents went missing, I decided to begin renovations. It was the first time I had allowed myself to believe that they wouldn’t be returning. The house still had the same shape but now it had new teak siding and walls made of large sheets of reinforced glass. However, most of the changes were in the interior. Bathrooms, kitchen, floors, lights—the house was now more me than any of my other properties.
When I first found Hailey, this house was the first place I thought to bring her, and when I laid her down in the guest room just inside the front door, she looked like she was meant to be there her whole life—not raised by her parents’ friends like some orphan girl. Not raised in that house with him. That boy. I'd watched him with her; I knew he harbored feelings for her and not the brotherly kind. The veins in my neck pulsed, and I clutched my fist thinking of them together. I took a deep breath and went to the kitchen in search of Clementine.
“Clema? Clema you in here?”
“Ah, you're here. I was just finishing up dinner,” she said, twisting her apron between her hands, before she embraced me in a hug that reminded me of summer. Besides the house and my company, Clema was the last remaining link to my parents.
“Come here. Come sit down,” she said gesturing me to follow her to the dinner table. She helped remove my coat and settled it on the chair next to the one she pulled out for me to sit in. Escaping to the kitchen, she came back moments later with two plates full of meatloaf, garlic mashed potatoes covered in gravy, and grilled asparagus.
“So, how did it go?” Clementine had been with me since birth, so if there was anyone I could trust with my deepest secrets and darkest thoughts, it was the woman who was more of a mother to me than my own mother. The woman who
sewed my clothes, made my food, helped me with my homework, cheered along at every soccer match. I was the son she never had, so she was the first person who knew of my plans to take Hailey.
“As good as can be expected.” I shrugged, picking up my fork.
“It'll take some time for her to adjust.” Her words were gentle, laced with an understanding that made Clema seem older than her fifty years. I knew very little of Clema’s life before she began working for my parents, but every now and then she held a solemn expression or said something that suggested her past wasn’t a happy one, and though it was long past, it wasn’t forgotten. It was something I tried not to dredge up for her.
“Just be patient with her, Dominic. She'll come around.”
“Is everything set up for her?” I didn’t need to ask but I felt Clema needed the reminder that I wasn’t a complete monster.
“I got all of the things you asked for, and her room is set up with all things she should need. Did you tell her why you took her?”
“No.”
“You do plan on telling her though, right?”
“It's not a secret. I just don't want to scare her anymore than she probably already is.”
“Well I for one am glad you’ve finally decided to take some time off from work. You could use a break. Plus, it’ll be nice to have you around more often,” she said as she took a hearty bite of meatloaf. Somehow, even after years of being with my family, she still ate as though it could be her last meal.
After we finished eating, I said good night to Clema and went back to the guest bedroom to check on Hailey. I stood in the doorway watching her. Clema made it sound easy, as if I would only have to tell Hailey the truth to convince her to stay, but after spending over a year watching her, I knew she would be a tough one to win over—she wasn’t as hot-headed as her sister, but she definitely had some steam, and I was curious to see who she would become after being taken. Nobody experiences a life-changing event like this unscathed, and I was eager to see the metamorphosis, to watch my little caterpillar become a butterfly.
Her breaths were deep and even, her chest rising and falling with every puff of her lungs, and I watched mesmerized. There was something so fragile and innocent about her, something so naïve. As if the loss of her parents at such a young age taught her nothing about the fragility of life. Sure she was about to graduate college and her travels afforded her experiences that other kids her age would never experience, but there was still something missing. It was like her life was set on autopilot and every emotion she expressed seemed artificial. Even in her smile, I could sense it—she needed more. I wasn’t gullible enough to believe she needed me, not yet anyway.
As peaceful as she looked, I couldn’t leave her down there in the guest suite. I didn’t wait a year to take her to distance myself from her. Just the smell of her was intoxicating—her floral scent with a slight note of vanilla pulled me in, tempting me to sample a taste.
Just like that, I was transported back to that dingy room and the first time my lips touched hers—how soft she was, the taste of her warm skin on my tongue, how she let me kiss her. I fought those urges, simply lifting her out of bed and carrying her up the stairs. I let a snicker escape my lips as I remembered the smack of her hand after I licked her. Yes, she was a feisty one.
I passed through the master bedroom and closet to the adjoining room, setting her down on the bed. Grabbing a warm washcloth and some ointment from the bathroom, I tended to the lacerations on her left wrist and the broken skin on her right hand, covering them in balm and gauze.
I hated having to cuff her, but I couldn’t risk her waking up and escaping while I slept, so I removed the cuff from the nightstand next to the bed. This one wouldn’t leave marks like the other one; the inside was made of shearling, and the outside was leather, so the worst it could do was irritate her already chafed skin. I placed the cuff around her right wrist, securing it through the iron bars of the headboard. She looked comfortable enough, but I turned the fireplace on low so she wouldn’t get cold, then retired to my room for the night.
The sickness found me in my sleep. I felt disoriented and wondered if it was the drugs that the man had given me. I only had a moment to think—I don't even know his name—before I felt the rush of water down my cheeks and the hollowness in my stomach—an impending sign that food was on its way up to greet me hello again. Except, I couldn't remember the last thing I ate or drank. Ugh, I hated throwing up stomach acid.
I was in a completely new room, one with nice furnishings and pastel green painted walls. In a lot of ways, this room mirrored my own, minus the fireplace, seating area to the right of the bed, and the cuffs fixed to the headboard, of course.
“Ohhh,” I grumbled while rubbing my stomach in a circular pattern, hoping if I tried to soothe it on the outside, the inside would take heed. Moisture pooled in the lines of my palms, and hair stuck to my forehead, reminding me of a summer day in L.A.—humid and muggy. My head felt like a plane door opened mid-flight, and I was pulling my hair to keep everything from falling out, which contributed to my nausea.
When I was sure that my lap would be full of vomit if I wasn’t released, I called out, “Please, somebody he—”
I was trying to speak through the vacuum sucking at my throat, tightening the muscles of my neck, diaphragm, and stomach. Clutching my stomach as the first round of dry heaves assaulted me, I curled up in the fetal position, one arm still raised toward the headboard due to the lack of chain length. The dry heaving stopped, and I tried to call for help again. Why would anyone help? He kidnapped me for god sakes, but the mind doesn’t listen when you're sick. I would’ve done anything to have stopped the pain.
“Help, please,” I sobbed. The first tears crashed against my cheeks, tracing a horizontal path across my face before disappearing in my hair.
“Hailey?” He came through the doorway like an apparition, only revealed by the glow of the fire and blurred by the tears that had yet to fall. It wasn't until he was seated, hip pressed against my bowed back, that I realized he was half naked. His muscles stood out against his frame, clearly built from hours in the gym. When he moved, they jumped as if taunting me to touch his warm golden skin. He wore pajama bottoms that were thin and did nothing to hide the fact that he wasn't wearing any underwear beneath. My stomach clenched in response to his naked body in this close of proximity, but the inside of my stomach protested my reaction to him, forcing me to relax.
“I think—” I dry heaved again. He reacted by pulling me up, resting my body against his chest and torso, and I found myself sinking into his weight while he smoothed my hair back. The heaving stopped, and the words rushed from my mouth as I tried to get everything out in one breath, “I think I might be allergic to whatever you gave me.” I took a calming breath, biting back the bile I could taste in the back of my throat.
“Tell me what's wrong, aside from you vomiting.” When I didn't immediately answer, he said in an impatient yet concerned voice, “Where does it hurt, Hailey? I can't help you if I don't know what's wrong.”
He continued holding me, soothing me with calm words as I struggled to assess everything I felt.
“My head feels fuzzy. My elbow hurts, and my face is starting to itch.” He grasped my chin pulling my face back so he could look at me. Our eyes met briefly before he looked across my face, inspecting me with a look of concern that left me confounded. Quite honestly, it startled me. It didn't make sense because why would he care about someone he abducted, unless he was trying to sell me or something. Was I no good to him sick?
“Please don't hurt me. I'm sorry. I just want to go home.” I began crying like a child, rocking in place, voice hitching with every sob—a look unpleasant on anyone over 12.
“Hailey, I want you to calm down. Calm down, do you hear me?” His command brooked no argument. I felt, more than heard, the vibration of his voice moving like a whirlwind through me. I stopped abruptly, and he continued, “I'm going to step out of the room fo
r just a moment. I’ll be right back, OK?”
“P-please don’t leave me.” I hated how broken I sounded—that I didn’t care who it was that was with me, just so long as I wasn’t alone, showed my desperation. Something about seeing his reaction to my distress made me feel somewhat calm, though I still wasn’t sure what exactly it was he wanted.
He moved to leave, but then stopped as if he thought better of it. He took out a key and unlocked the handcuffs. I touched my wrist where the cuff had been, trying to erase the memory of the metal on my skin. He turned and lifted me up, carrying me through a grand closet to another bedroom beyond. This must be where he sleeps.
He carried me to the largest bed I'd ever seen with curved wood slabs for the headboard and footboard, both with intricate carvings engraved across them. The sheets looked like black water and felt like silk. Where the room I was just in had been dainty and ultra feminine, this room was the exact opposite, with dark blue walls and turned-down lighting that glowed from sconces lined around the room. I kept thinking “villains lair” as he set me down on top of a bed that felt too soft to be in a room such as that.
His sense of urgency was something else that surprised me about him. When I wasn’t bowed over in pain, I watched as he quickly retrieved his cell, punching in numbers before rushing through a litany of words that I could barely make out between my fraying mind and lurching stomach.
“...call Dr. Reynolds....decompression...oxygen...now. Yes, water thanks” his words were clipped, even when he was saying thank you. Nothing about him seemed abrupt in my interaction with him thus far, and the way he was acting made me feel slightly panicked. Like maybe I was sicker than just a simple bug or a slight allergic reaction. My skin began to vibrate.
A woman came in carrying a tray with a few bottles of water and a couple glasses. She placed them on the nightstand, nodded once, and left just as swiftly as she arrived. My sternum started throbbing in pain, and all I wanted to do was get to a bathroom where I could force something up.