Things had become much clearer over the last few days. There was a lot of sleeping at first; sleeping and eating. The food was there, as promised, three times a day, placed on her nightstand, first by a guard, and more recently by a nurse. For a day or so, the food that looked truly appetizing, tasted like nothing but mud, but she refused to allow any of it to come back up.
"I know it tastes awful," she soothed the little life inside her without ever saying a word aloud. "But we have to eat, my sweet. Don't push it away."
And then sleep would claim her again.
Eventually, the drugs worked out of her system enough that she was able to stay awake for hours at a time and the taste of the food, that never changed, began improving significantly.
The exploration of her room had been necessary within the first day of her imprisonment; a bed, a nightstand with a clock, and a lamp. The lamp was made of plastic; no glass that she could break into shards and possibly use as a weapon. The same was true of all of the dishes and utensils that they gave her; all plastic. From the center of her bed, the left wall held the door to the rest of the building; the source of the comings and goings. The right wall held the door to the tiny bathroom. Within, she found a toilet, a sink, a washcloth and a bar of soap. This was all the hygiene they allowed her. The greatest despair, however, was the day it occurred to her to use the pipes under the sink to send a message. She had flung herself into the bathroom, her heart soaring with the thought of freedom, and Vincent. That light heart sank just as quickly when she discovered that all of the pipes had been encased in a welded steel box, bolted to the wall. She checked the toilet pipes; same. They knew that she had somehow contacted someone through the pipes in the previous building. Unyielding hopelessness coursed through her now at the mere sight of those awful boxes.
The wall facing her bed held her only comfort. It was all window, from the ceiling to her waist, with full length, white blinds to draw if she wished, but she'd never dream of it. It occurred to her that this was a comfort and a torture from her captor. She was allowed the window to look out on the world… a world that she could never touch. It was always just beyond her fingertips. That big, beautiful window was a constant reminder that no matter how hard she pounded, no matter how loud she screamed, the world she observed would never know that she was there. She pushed the notion aside, determined to have some semblance of joy in the miserable, stark room.
Pressed against the window, she took the strength and lucidity of the moment to daydream. She stared up at the impossibly blue and cloudless sky, her hand immediately going to the glass, as if she could reach right through and hold it. The scent of melting candlewax filled her senses suddenly, and a presence moved close as her eyes drifted closed, and she breathed in the rock dust and slight smell of leather. He wrapped his huge and powerful arms around her from behind, his massive hands set against her abdomen, warmth suddenly spreading there. She opened her eyes, gazing up at the perfect morning sky they were sharing. She swore it was the exact shade of his eyes, and she turned to confirm her theory.
Nothing. Only the infuriating white wall greeted her. The warmth that had grown at her abdomen, twisted suddenly. She bolted for the bathroom, falling to the floor, her chest hitting the porcelain of the toilet hard, forcing the sickness up and out of her. She didn't try to stop it this time. She just let it come, wave after wave.
Twenty minutes later, on shaking legs, she cupped water from the sink and washed the putrid taste from her mouth. In the doorway, she stopped. The window beckoned to her, but her heart balked. The dream had been so beautiful and the reality had been too shattering. Not again, not today at least. Her gaze fell to the nightstand where her tray of breakfast still sat, hardly picked at. The thought of food in her mouth made the nausea pass over her again.
Without much recourse, she sank to the floor, her back against one side of the doorway, her feet pressed against the other. She hugged her knees close, one hand falling between to rub her stomach.
"Well," she whispered softly, "I suppose that's a good sign. You're still making me sick even after all we've been through." She smirked half-heartedly, "They don't understand. They can't hurt you. You're much too strong for them… like your father." Her gaze drifted away, heavy and labored. A deep, cleansing breath and she smiled back down at herself. "That's your father's cue to tell you that you're much too stubborn, like your mother." She giggled to herself, working her hardest to not let it turn to tears.
The lock sounded and the door clicked as it was pushed open slowly. She relaxed when the Asian nurse entered and picked up the tray of food, but she grew uncomfortable when the nurse didn't leave. She just stood there and stared at the woman crumpled in the doorway of the bathroom.
And then the door was pushed open further. The man who entered was tall with a pointed face. He had the look of constantly pursing his lips, and his eyes seemed to tear right through her body. His gaze never left her as he instructed the staring nurse to leave them alone. The door clicked closed (no lock, she noted) and the man took a step toward her, playing with the large ring on his third finger. She shrank under his gaze, and as soon as he spoke, she recognized him from the first day in the sterile room.
"Catherine Chandler; age, 33. Born September 26th, 1956; a Virgo on the Libra cusp. Graduated third in her class from Radcliffe, majoring in law. Do you ever think about the law; the contradictions and the hypocritical restrictions?"
She didn't move.
"At age 31, Catherine Chandler went missing. And, when she was finally found, she had no explanation for where she had been. Was it like stepping into a storybook?" He crept closer. "To be in its presence, day and night? Was it something out of a book from childhood?"
Her mouth gaped open, but no answer escaped, though she doubted he was looking for one.
"Have you watched? The killings?" He seemed to revel in her sharp downward gaze and her attempt to keep her face stone. "They're magnificent. Like a ballet that never seems to end." She winced at his words. "But, you've done more than watch," he realized slowly, his words washing over her like a sweet and terrible ballad. "Haven't you? You know what that is. You know that incredible power. You've felt it; in your hands, on top of you…" he tilted his head, watching her mind reel with his words, "inside you." She shuddered and turned away.
"There is nothing quite like the passion of a lover. It fills the air. It makes the breeze warm. A person can spot it from miles away… even if they've never known the sensation. The night in the warehouse, when it came for you," she cast nervous glances at his feet, "I could see it, in its eyes. I have never loved a woman, carnal lust never being a factor. I have always known that there is a difference between the two. But, I can't say that I have seen it, until I saw the passion in its eyes for you." He suddenly backed away, never ceasing his twisting of the ring. "Tell me about it." He leaned against the far wall and watched her. "What is it? Where did it come from?"
She wasn't sure if he meant the lover, or the love itself. Either way, she had no answer.
"How did it find you that night?"
She looked away, releasing a heavy breath.
"Does it stalk you? Randomly find you in parks and dark alleyways and slack its lust on you in the shadow of the night?" His nostrils flared in excitement when she ground her teeth and set her jaw tight. "And do you enjoy it? Does its primal power give you pleasure?" Her gaze dropped for a moment and then fixed on him, hard and unyielding. "Why do we hunt those we can never have? What is our desired effect? Do we think our prey will simply fall at our feet and beg to be devoured one day?" His eyes grew frosty and his gaze burrowed through her. "And what would become of the hunter the day that his eternal conquest gives herself to him? What becomes of the prey? That is where the fairytale ends, isn't it? But, what of the hunter and the prey when the binding is closed again? What defines 'happily ever after'? Is it the marriage bed? Is it the riches, not measured in gold? Is it a child?"
She pulled into herself tighter, her arms clinging protectively to her abdomen.
He grinned, watching her carefully. "So that's it, then? Your story, your everything, comes down to what's growing in that strangely vulnerable place. It begs the question; what if I were to take it? What happens then to the hunter and the prey?"
She shook, her whole body, from the crown-top to the ends of her toes, with utter terror and complete loathing. She licked her lips, and swallowed hard. Her voice was hoarse and no more than a whisper, but she made sure he heard her. "He'll find you. No matter what you do to us, he'll find you, and then you'll have your answer." Another swallow for courage. "But you won't have much time to wax philosophical about it."
He smirked, laughing shortly. "So… the cat does have claws."
She fought the urge to hiss at him.
"He," the word drifted from his lips, long and drawn out, as if floating on water. "He," he sounded as if he were testing the word, judging the sound of it. "He. So… it thinks it's a man. All right then… 'He'." He tiled his head and studied her, "Tell me where he lives. How does he survive?"
She sneered and shifted away, rolling her eyes.
"What do you find so amusing?" his tone flowed softly. "Tell me."
She breathed, unsure of whether or not she wanted to answer him. But, her temper won over and her eyes fixed on him, with a smirk on her face. "You think you're the first. You think you're the only one who has ever caught us, discovered us? You're sadly mistaken. You are not the first, not by a long shot. I have been kidnapped, questioned, tortured, and even killed, by men a thousand times more threatening than you. Don't, for a moment, think that you can do anything more to me than any of those men haven't already done. This…" her voice was beginning to rise into a passion that she couldn't and wouldn't stop, "this is my life. I breathe the fear and the hatred; I'm faced with it every day. But, every day we grow stronger, and I love him more dearly than I think my heart can contain. Don't ever make the mistake of thinking that you're the first."
He watched her, her nostrils flaring, her eyes wide, the grit of her teeth, and the ever-present smirk on her full lips. "I may not be the first, little prey," his eyes were cold in her glowering face. "But I may just be your last." He watched with satisfaction as her pulse quickened, her lips separated, and the smirk fell away. "Oooh," he breathed, "and so it is that false superiority is stripped away." He moved away, sliding his back along the wall until he reached the doorknob. "Felines are fiercely protective of their young. One could marvel forever about the similarities between humans and felines when it comes to their children. But, contrary to what the mother and father may believe, the kitten can be taken from its mother's milk as soon as it escapes the womb; as long as it is properly cared for, of course. And after some time, neither the kitten, nor its parents know the difference. It's as if that bond of breeding never even existed. It's curious, just how similar felines and humans are." His hand was turning the doorknob as she rose unsteadily to her feet, her hands bracing her body on the doorframe. She shook her head, her eyes wide while his words cut through her heart like knives. "It was a pleasure to meet you," he whispered sincerely, that sinister purse of his lips etching itself deeper as he pulled the door open.
"No!" she suddenly cried out, pulling strength from some unknown place, and simply bolting for him, and that open door. She was over the bed in two sliding steps, and her torso hit the door, hard, as it closed on her in that second. The lock clicked, and she fought with the doorknob simultaneously. Finally, she just began pounding and kicking, screaming all the while.
Exhaustion took over quickly, and her tantrum subsided as she sank to the floor, her back against the door, her legs curled up to her chest. "No. No, no, no, no, no, no," she only whispered now, but it never stopped. Eventually, the tears calmed, and her head fell back against the door with a thud. "Vincent!" her heart ached.
She thought of the warehouse, what she could remember of it. He'd found her, they'd been so close; so close that they could have touched. She had felt him that night; she remembered that. Some remnant of that sweet, cherished bond had been electrified, and just for a few moments, she could feel him. Perhaps it had been the distress of the situation that had caused it, or perhaps it had been their close proximity after so much time apart. Why? Why wouldn't it come back to them now, in the time they needed it most?
"Vincent!" her heart screamed to that small place inside her that had always held his essence. "Vincent! They're trying to take the baby! Our baby! We have a child!" Her body convulsed in sudden sobs. "Why didn't I tell you? Why didn't I just stay Below?" But that still, small place held no solace or explanation. "Answer me, damn it!" She kicked at the nightstand. "Come back! Please, just give it back to us. Please give him back to me." She breathed hard and heavy. "Vincent…" she whispered aloud, her eyes drifting closed, "hear me!"
She reached for her neck, the collar of her gown they had put her in was long ago pushed away and open, and she instinctually clawed at that spot somewhere between her neck and breasts. Only her own skin greeted her hand and she tore at herself even more furiously. Gone. No chain, no crystal. No more talisman against the evils of the world. No more love seemingly encased in reflective glass. But, still she searched her body, scratching at her chest until she drew blood, as if it had somehow been hidden under her skin.
There was a mechanical whirring sound and she looked up quickly to find the surveillance camera just above her. She launched herself upward, wobbling on unsteady feet, and jumped into view of the camera, a wild, manic feeling coursing through her veins.
"I hate you!" she hissed at it. "Do you hear me?" she screamed and slammed her fist against the wall. "I HATE YOU!"