Lisa was pacing, the chain on her handcuffs clanking against the headboard. She couldn't figure out why Jackson brought her here. If not for revenge or to kill her, then what? The thought of rape crossed her mind. But no, that wasn't Jackson's way. He wouldn't rape her. Either way, though, the thought scared her to the point of breakdown.
She peered around the room. A Lucille Ball doll was perched on the mahogany dresser. It was an exact duplicate of the rare collector's item she owned. On the wall was an enlarged picture of the ferris wheel at Navy Pier in Chicago she had taken on senior trip. That too had been in her bedroom. In the closet were clothes that looked extremely similar to her wardrobe. What kind of sick game was Jackson playing?
Lisa jumped at the lock opening. She hadn't even heard footsteps. She had hoped to see a different face - someone who might help here. But, of course, it was Jackson. She stood beside the bed, glaring hotly at him. Jackson walked in casually, closing the door behind him. In his hand was a tray.
"Are you hungry, Lise?" he asked. When she didn't answer, he shrugged and set the tray down on the nightstand. "Eat before your dinner gets cold, because I am not bringing it downstairs to warm it up again."
"What do you want with me?" she dared to ask.
Jackson rolled his eyes. "So many questions. Can't you just accept being here?" He caught her glaring eye, and glared back. "If you want to know so badly, I'll tell you." He stepped towards her, but she darted as far as the chain would let her. "I want to be able to trust you, and in turn, for you to trust me. Simple as that."
"Simple as that?" Lisa spat, unconvinced. "I could never trust you!"
Jackson sighed, dramatically. "Then you will be here for a very long time. It's your choice." He was gone, and Lisa was left alone.
"Bastard!" she screamed, plopping down on the bed and folding her arms angrily. She glanced at the tray of food. Macaroni and cheese with two chicken strips and a glass of water. It was a meal she was use to eating. Quick and easy, she made it at least three times a week after she arrived home from work. Jackson knew this, and it made her stomach sick.
She felt a new wave of tears coming, but tried to hold them back. Crying wouldn't help the situation. Ultimately, it'd make it worse with Jackson's disapproval of crying women. She ran fingers through the curls that had fallen in her face. Sharpness greeted her skin. Lisa pulled out what was in her hair. It was a bobby pin. She sucked in a breath then plunged the bobby pin into the lock of the handcuff.
