Page 11

10

“ W hat did you want to be when you grew up, Nick?”

It’s just one of a thousand subjects Everly has been curious about since I woke up chained in this room a couple of weeks ago. Telling her that thinly veiled story about Sara was strangely cathartic, and after that, I began tolerating her conversations more often.

Now, this stolen woman trapped in a cell the size of a goldfish bowl knows me better than almost anyone alive.

It’s been a difficult adjustment, going from being an intensely private, constantly busy man, to this. Who’d have thought I’d have lasted this long? Not me.

I still have no fucking clue why they’re keeping me.

In preparation for my eventual escape, my days are spent exercising as much as my slowly healing body will allow, while absorbing all the information I can from the girl next door. Never spoken so many words in my damn life. Can’t say I’m great at it, but I’m learning to play nice. Mostly. It’s easy enough; a few words here and there from me equals another hour from her. She just doesn’t realize mine consist of vague truths and artful dodging, carefully crafted to protect my identity and keep anyone from getting too close.

Building walls is what I do best, after all. Ironic that when I finally begin to reveal bits of myself, it’s from behind one.

And yet, she still doesn’t know my name.

As for the question about my childhood aspirations, I take the excuse to pause a painfully slow set of push-ups, resting my knees on the floor while I give her a winded answer. “I don’t know…I guess I figured I’d either save the world or destroy it. Typical kid stuff.” Truthfully, the only thing I ever wanted to be was a detective. Sherlock Holmes was my hero. Also, Batman. “How about you? Did you always want to take pretty pictures for strangers to jerk off to?”

“You make it sound like porn.”

She laughs it off as a crude joke, but I remember that swimsuit ad from my research. Doesn’t take much for someone with a good imagination.

“Actually, my career was a complete accident,” she continues. “Right place, right time. It was flattering; I figured I’d take a few pictures, walk a runway or two, and earn some extra cash to help with college loans, but I guess big, frizzy hair is the ‘in’ thing. Shockingly, it took off.”

“A college girl, eh?” She’s still young, in her mid-twenties, I believe. I hadn’t really thought about her life outside of what I saw.

“Yeah, the excitement of modeling pulled me in, but growing up, I always thought of myself as a nerd. Science is my first love.”

“Beauty and brains. I approve.” I picture Everly with her big tits and floofy hair in a lab coat and hot-teacher glasses, and the feeling in my lower body reminds me I’m not that far removed from the teenage boy I once was.

Yeah… nerdy girls do it for me.

I roll over, doing a few straining sit-ups. My words come out in small puffs of exertion as I question her further. “What kind of science? Astronomy? Medicine?” In my head, the lab coat turns into a sexy nurse’s uniform.

When’s the last time I got laid?

“Spiders.”

I stop mid sit-up. “I’m sorry, what?”

A light laugh; she knows she got me. “I’m not kidding. There’s always been something fascinating about entomology. That’s what I was studying.”

Sitting all the way up, I rest my arms on my knees. Everly Cross is getting more interesting by the minute. “Okay, I did not see that one coming.”

“You should have seen people’s faces when I offered to show them my collection of pets. I had the cutest little jumping spider in an enclosure that was straight out of Little Miss Muffet .”

“I have to ask, what got you interested in that ?”

“Originally? I don’t know. Maybe I saw it as a challenge. Girls are expected to be afraid of bugs, and I just liked being different. Then I started learning more. Once you look past the surface and stop thinking of them as scary and off-putting, they’re really fascinating.”

“Well, that explains why you enjoy talking to me.”

She barks out a genuine laugh, then pauses as though pondering this profound truth. “It all makes sense now.”

While listening to her talk about the surprisingly interesting breeding habits of arachnids, I brace my palms on the floor, holding myself in a plank position. Between the bad ankle, sore shoulder, and ribs threatening to crack open and dump my chest cavity onto the floor, I collapse onto my face embarrassingly fast.

A physical therapist would be frowning at my rehabilitation technique, but I might have to snap an ogre’s neck at any time, so how many options do I have?

Holding my side, I carefully roll until my back rests on the cold tile. My physical recovery is inching forward at a snail’s pace. “This is bullshit ,” I groan. “At this rate, I’m never going to have the strength to break out of this place.”

Water trickles on the other side of the wall, a sign that Everly is over there taking her twice-daily sponge bath, courtesy of the washcloth and bar of soap I haven’t been given. Not that I can blame them. If I got anywhere near that ogre with a bar of soap, I’d shove it so far down his throat he’d be blowing bubbles out his ass every time he farted.

Of course, he’d likely die first.

“My noodle arms are allergic to planks,” she says over the water. “You should give yourself some credit.”

“Oh, come on, you used to pose in a bikini. Surely you had to exercise on occasion to keep your girlish figure.”

Everly’s modeling tales have been more interesting than I would have thought. As much as I like to bitch about the constant chitchat, I’ve been grateful she’s content to pass the time spilling all the details of her life. Thanks to police files, I already know more than the average pedestrian. But in here I’m just Nick Ford, some guy off the street, and not Detective Isaac Porter— former detective, that is. I’m constantly reminding myself not to mention anything she hasn’t told me herself.

“I did a lot of yoga. But as far as cardio is concerned, I’d rather stay home and count the hairs on my tarantula’s legs.”

“Is that code for something?”

“I’ll let you figure that out.” I can practically hear her eyes roll. “Though I do have a tarantula… Or at least, I did two years ago. He was a baby when I got him.”

“How long do pet tarantulas live?”

“It varies by the species, but some males can live up to ten years, or so. Females can live to thirty.”

Thirty-year-old spiders— damn . “In that case, logic says you likely still have a tarantula.”

“I appreciate that theory, thank you.” Her voice warms with gratitude. “Now, if you’ll excuse me for a few.” The water turns on full stream.

I wonder if she’s naked.

Would she have the guts to strip down with a camera pointed at her twenty-four-seven, or does a person eventually just lose their modesty and not care? On second thought, I can only imagine the problems it would create among these men with questionable morals if she were parading around, sans clothing.

Yeah. Definitely not naked.

Either way, I’m going to pretend she is, just to pass the time.

I let my eyes drift closed, my mind wandering for several minutes. The water turns off, replaced by a few rustling noises. “Everything all right?”

There’s no answer.

Then, right on cue, a soft, moaning sound comes from the next room, and I nearly burst out laughing. I realize it’s likely not what my male imagination is conjuring, but far be it from me to interrupt a welcome fantasy while trapped in a nightmare.

One at a time, I stretch my legs in front of me, ignoring the deep ache that comes with exercising newly healing muscles. If I were another guy—a nice, respectful one—I might worry I’ll embarrass her. I’m not, though, and I wonder…

If I made her blush, how far would it go?

Would the tops of her breasts turn the color of?—

Another moan reaches my ears. “Whatcha doing over there, B?”

“The downward dog.”

Wait, what?

My eyes narrow through a smirk. “Is that what the kids are calling it these days?”

There’s a pause, then the telltale creak as she settles onto her cot. “What?”

“I mean, I’ve heard it called a number of things…flicking the bean, petting the kitty, jilling off. But the downward dog, that’s?—”

Thunk.

“—creative.” I barely manage not to laugh through the word. “Are you sure you’re doing it right?”

“Are you kidding me?” It’s the loudest I’ve heard her speak since we became reluctant neighbors.

“Careful, Roger might hear you and catch you with your pants down.”

Thunk. And then another. “It’s a yoga pose. I’m trying to avoid atrophy, not—” She huffs. “You are unbelievable.”

“Listen, I’m a man, and there’s a naked woman on the other side of the wall. And what are you throwing at me?”

“I’m not naked.” She’s clearly exasperated, while I’m clearly turning into a twelve-year-old boy.

Jesus.

“That was The Lustful Lumberjack.”

She’s throwing her lady porn at me. I can’t stop laughing. “I counted three thunks . What were the others?”

“Moonlight Caress and Twelve Knights of Passion. I hope you’re pleased with yourself. I might have damaged them, and they didn’t even hit your hard head.”

I feign an exaggerated gasp. “Not Twelve Knights of Passion!”

“Chadwick and Alessandra are my favorite, too.”

“You should make sure they’re all right. Life in the sixteenth century is difficult enough without being flung at the wall.”

I realize I’m facing the camera with a ridiculous grin on my face. Roger must be wondering what I’m discussing with his favorite girl. I debate sending him a wink and a lewd gesture, but stop myself.

“Let’s see…” Everly hums, rifling through pages, while I picture her standing on the other side of the wall without pants on. “Oh, here we go…” With an audible breath that functions as a dramatic entrance, she launches herself into a character from another time, another place:

“ ‘Chadwick—’ Wetting her lips with the tip of her tongue, Alessandra’s gaze flicked to his mouth. Her insides clenched with need. ‘Have you ever been kissed?’”

Curious as to where this will go, I settle back and let the cadence of her voice pull me along.

“His Adam’s apple bobbed as his eyes fluttered closed. When he reopened them, his hand began gliding up her arm, past her shoulder, landing in her crown of chestnut curls. Tightening his fist in her hair, he pressed his forehead to hers and rasped out, ‘In my dreams, I’ve kissed you an infinite number of times.’”

“Please tell me this isn’t what women are looking for in a man,” I groan.

My storyteller shushes me.

“Choking on a small cry, Alessandra leaned forward and crushed her mouth to his, desperate to bring his dreams to life. She’d never acted so boldly before, but when it came to love, there was no place for cowardice. There was no room for holding back.”

“Don’t hold back, Alessandra.”

Everly clears her throat.

“Groaning with wild abandon, Chadwick parted his lips instantly, his tongue seeking and hungry. Urgent. Alessandra crawled her way into his lap, straddling him, her arms linking behind his neck as their mouths made beautiful love. She kissed him with passion, with tenderness, moving to clasp his cheeks between her palms and cherishing him like he wholly deserved. His arousal, hard like a steel pipe, teased the juncture between her thighs, causing her to moan with wanton need.”

“Did you really just compare his dick to a steel pipe?”

“Don’t interrupt. I’m making sure they’re okay.” Barely contained amusement dances through her reprimand. “And those were Alessandra’s words, not mine.”

“‘Alessandra,’ he hissed with lust, pulling back for a breath. ‘We’re being foolish. This will destroy us.’

She kissed his bottom lip once, then twice. ‘If I had to choose between this, or anything else in this world, I’d rather be a fool in love.’”

I interrupt the cheesy dialogue with several slow claps. “Look at that; they seem to be doing just fine. We should give them some privacy.”

Okay, so listening to her is kind of entertaining and I might not mind letting her go on longer—though I will not be admitting that. Just like I would never say that her laugh reminds me of the gentle tinkle of wind chimes on a breezy spring day.

My eyes close.

With my ear pressed against the wall, I barely process the series of beeps preceding a quiet click at my door. It opens, and before I have time to orient myself, the embodiment of Satan wrapped in purple satin, silvery hair, and pure, sadistic evil invades my space with a flourish.

All the air is sucked from the room.

Instantly, I switch to defensive mode, narrowing my gaze on the man keeping us prisoner.

“Well, you seem to be settling right in.” His voice leaves an oily film everywhere it touches. That one dark eye roves over me like a black hole, an unfeeling void, while its icy opposite holds secrets I don’t want to ponder long enough to process.

“I’m sorry.” My focus homes in, every muscle tensed and ready. “Visiting hours are over. I’m afraid I’ll have to ask you to leave.”

There’s a flatness in the way he observes me. Different from the smug glee he showed during our first conversation. Like I’ve done something to annoy him.

Maybe he’s just not a morning person.

“Oh, come now, it’s barely breakfast.” The smile he gives me oozes promises of death as he fiddles with the ornate hourglass dangling from his belt.

I mirror his expression. “We’re closed.”

“I won’t stay long; I just came to bring you a little gift. Your new friend can explain its meaning.” He gestures at the wall flippantly, while reaching in the breast pocket of his suit jacket and pulling out?—

Well, fuck.

Another small hourglass sits in his palm like a prize. It’s only a few inches tall, but I haven’t forgotten the conversation with Everly about the former residents of this room.

When their time is up, they receive an hourglass.

My heart kicks up with a surge of adrenaline. I’ve been passing the days with plans of a grand breakout, but sometimes I forget that my life is as fragile as any of the others.

I school my face into the picture of boredom; I’ll be damned if I let him see me crack now. “That’s cute.”

“You are difficult to fluster, aren’t you?” His mouth stretches in a grim smile. “Or maybe you’re just well-trained.”

My mind falters. Well-trained?

That smile turns sinister. “Alas, while I would love nothing more than to begin your countdown, your buyer has been delayed.”

Exhaling with mock disappointment, I make a production of pondering his dilemma. “Well, I suppose you could count them as a no-show and just let me go. I won’t tell anyone, of course. And I definitely won’t come back and kill you with a blunt object. Or a sharp one.” I hold up my foot, ignoring the pain as I wiggle it enough to rattle the chain against the floor. “Now, if you wouldn’t mind unchaining me, I’ll be on my way.”

“You really are set on being a pain in my impeccably clothed derrière, aren’t you?” His lips pull back to bare his teeth, and I’m not entirely sure whether he’s smiling or preparing to bite my head off. “Quite frankly, I would prefer to call this a wash and dispose of you right now. I even went to the trouble of procuring an alternate selection of challengers for my client to choose from. But, as it turns out, they’re rather enamored with your resume and won’t accept substitutes.”

“Well, don’t I feel special.”

“I’m sure you do.” Holding the hourglass between two fingers, he admires it longingly. “ Unfortunately, no matter how grating I find you, I’ve been offered a price far too tempting to refuse.”

With his feet behind the invisible line that keeps him out of reach, he splays his hand like a magician performing a vanishing act. The hourglass plinks to the tile and rolls.

My muscles coil, preparing to spring, snatch, dismantle, and use it to my advantage.

But it’s not close enough. Not quite.

His foot comes down with a stomp that shatters the hourglass beneath. I get the distinct feeling he’s pictured doing the same to my head.

“Message received, cocksucker.” My tone stays even. “I know what you’re capable of.”

His shoulders stiffen. “Oh, but that’s the thing, my friend… You have no idea. ” With the arrogance of a man who doesn’t appreciate being underestimated, he takes a step forward.

My body tenses.

“I know this, because if you did…” The sole of his shoe crunches splintered glass, his temper rising to a boiling point.

Come on…just a little closer.

His face twists. “You would have the sense to show?—”

Crunch.

“—a little?—”

Crunch.

“—RESPECT.”

The word explodes from him, echoing around the room. I half expect the fires of hell to rain down on me at any moment.

I poked the snake, but I may have awakened something much worse.

If he were any closer, I could yank him over that invisible line and snap his neck. But he knows. Every move is calculated, down to the centimeter.

“You see, my dear, helpless man.” The tone is part kindergarten teacher, part loose cannon. “ You have no power here.”

I drop my eyes to the tile where shards of glass glint in the light, taunting me. Tiny, delicate looking slivers. The things I could do with just one…

Fingers laced, he slowly paces that intangible boundary. “I know you think you’re smarter, that you can sit there with your careless attitude and goad me until I make a mistake.”

Watch me, asshole.

He sneers. “But there’s a flaw in that plan.”

With raised eyebrows, I wait for him to enlighten me.

“I don’t make mistakes.”

“Impressive,” I reply coolly.

“See, I feel you fail to appreciate the scope of my capabilities.” With a swivel of his foot, he grinds the glass into powder under the soles of his overpriced shoes. “I could, for instance, steal a high-powered lawyer from his penthouse suite, simply because his rare blood type matches that of an aging billionaire who needs his organs.”

Thinking back through the missing persons cases, I realize exactly who he’s referring to. My jaw clenches.

I knew it.

“Or I could acquire a particularly stunning would-be celebrity and use her to make beautiful babies for those willing to pay for the right genetics.”

There’s no sound from the other side of the wall—of course, there isn’t—but she’s there, listening.

“She should be grateful, you know.” He levels a cruel smirk at the wall, as though he’s looking straight at her. “I could have used her as a proper brood mare and sent men straight to her room.”

An unexpected protectiveness rises in me. “That’s enough.”

There’s an insidious twinkle in his glare, and I know I’m not going to like what’s coming.

“I could even take a pretty little musician off the sidewalk while she waits for a ride from a man who’s too obsessed with his work to show.”

The air empties from my lungs. “What did you say?”

“That one was disappointing…she ended up being useless to me.”

My vision tunnels, and through it, I see that night.

It’ll have been two years next week.

Sara slings her guitar over her shoulder, her favorite blue dress billowing out behind her as she breezes by. “You should come see me play. It’s been ages.”

I hit Send on a text to Tanner, arranging for him to join me for a witness interview, since no one wants me taking the lead on those. “Can’t get away tonight. You know how it’s been lately.”

The public was in a panic after a recent, high-profile break-in ending in a shooting and abduction of someone well known. The media were like vultures. I couldn’t afford taking time to watch a concert, even if my favorite musician was playing.

“I know those missing people need you, I’m just concerned you’re going to work yourself straight into a breakdown. One of these days, you need to take a day off. Normal people call it a weekend.”

“I’ve never been normal. Work is all I have.”

“No, Isaac.” Her face turns serious. “It isn’t.”

“Call me and I'll pick you up. I don’t care that it’s a few blocks; you’re not walking home after dark.”

She laughs. “You’re being a helicopter brother again.”

“Better than becoming a statistic. Promise me.”

“Fine. I promise.” Hoisting the guitar higher, she reaches for the door handle. “Love you.”

I toss a cheese puff, which she artfully dodges. It’s as close as I come to sentiment, but it’s fine; she gets me.

Before the door closes, her head pokes back in, giving me what I had no idea would be my last glimpse. “If you can get there by ten, I’ll save ‘Wild Horses’ for you.”

The hours flew by, and I put my phone down. Somewhere. By the time the owner of the venue called the department, concerned when they found her guitar case abandoned outside, I had four messages saying she was still waiting on that ride.

When I arrived, she wasn’t there.

She wasn’t anywhere.

“Then again, I suppose she wasn’t so useless, after all.” The man’s chuckle yanks me from the memory and back into the cell that trapped us both. “She led you to me, didn’t she? Eventually. And you turned out to be worth far more.”

My eyes snap to his. “What did you do with her?” It’s a hoarse whisper.

“I told you, my dear Isaac .” He watches every emotion reflect on my face as the revelation sinks in. “I have the power here. I control what happens; I determine your fate. If it suits me, I’ll put an end to your meaningless little life right where you sit.”

A weight crashes down on me. Ten tons of a reality I thought I’d been hiding behind a fake ID and a false sense of bravado.

He said my name.

Not Nicholas. Not Nick. He said…

“Isaac?” Everly repeats. It’s so soft I can barely hear.

But the psychopath hears, and slowly his eyes raise, focusing just above my head. “Or maybe…” His smile grows into something I’ve only seen in horror movies. He runs his tongue along his bottom lip, contemplating. “Maybe I’ll take hers, instead.”

I open my mouth, but for the first time, I find myself speechless. There are too many things to process. Too many revelations bombarding me in the space of seconds.

Before reality catches up with me, he’s turning on his heel. Pushing past Roger, who appears in the doorway holding a dustpan and broom like he was on standby for cleanup duty following his boss’ tantrum.

Time slows like I’m underwater. Like the black hole of his left eye sucked me in and spit me out into space.

I can’t breathe.

The man Everly calls The Timekeeper makes a hard right into the hallway, heading toward her room.

I should warn her, but I can’t form the words.

Glass tinkles as Roger sweeps shards of hourglass into the dustpan. I sit there in a daze as the door to the next room opens.

She sees him coming.

Yells.

That’s what sends me crashing back into my body and jumping to my feet.

“Hey!” The side of my fist connects with the wall, and again, as she shouts at him to stay away. Nerves quiver through her warning.

I pound three more times. “Hey, you motherfucking coward. Come back here and deal with me .”

She’s screaming now. Trying to fight him. Is this how it ended for Sara? Did Everly stand there, a last witness to my sister’s final cries, while this murderous bastard played the role of a mad God, deciding who lives, and who dies?

Something inside me snaps.

Sound warps.

The world is cast in a shade of crimson.

I don’t even process the words coming out of my mouth, or how long I pound on that damn wall, but when I pause to catch my breath, my hands are bruised, my throat burns, and I’m seriously considering tearing my own foot off to get out of this cuff.

Then I realize I'm not alone.

Near the open door, a hulking shadow stands, glowering at me, broom still in hand.

Being I haven’t yet heard a word from the ogre, let alone seen an emotion, I’m caught off guard by his glare.

“Got something to say, Rog?” My voice is a dry rasp.

His jaw tics, eyes narrowing with disdain. “I didn’t think you were that fucking stupid.”

He exits, leaving me to marinate in my failure.