Chapter Three

Wednesday

5:45 pm

Don Flack's apartment

Somewhere in NYC

Flack's apartment wasn't big. A small living space with a postage stamp of a kitchen just inside the door, a bedroom just big enough for the bed and a place to stand to get dressed, and a bathroom. By New York standards it was a palace. Still, it wouldn't take much to show her around.

"So this is the kitchen." She looked it over, picking up an apple, looking into the dregs of the coffee pot. "Kitchen, yeah, maybe, okay, and this is the bathroom." He opened the door and showed her the small space. She looked around like she hadn't seen one before.

And she left a gift in the commode at the hospital. Think the obvious, Flack, maybe she hadn't.

"All right look, this is the toilet." He flushed and she jumped back, startled, then looked over to watch the water go down. "You go in the toilet. You know, go? Go?" Oh hell, how do I explain this? "Okay, hold on." He turned her away, just outside the door and turned back, dropping his zipper. He could see her in the mirror over the sink. At the sound a strange, sad, hopeless look came over her face, and she dropped to her knees. When he turned back to see what that meant she was looking up at him, her eyes gone blank. And her mouth was open.

I am going to kill them, he thought. No, I can't, they're already dead. I am going to go down to the morgue and spit on their bodies for good measure.

"No, no, no, no, I am not like that." He took her by the shoulders and got her back on her feet, shaking his head to emphasize the point. "No, all right? That is not going to happen. Just," he pointed to his own fly, waved his hands over it, "no. You're safe here. Just stand there, all right. Stay." He stepped around the door again, and made his example, watching her confused face in the mirror the entire time. When he finished he pulled her back in. "Okay, come here." He pointed to the yellow water. "See that?" She looked where he pointed. "Good," he flushed and waved, "Bye, bye. You," he pointed, "do that. Got it?" They shared a smile as the light of comprehension came into her eyes. "Now, do you know what this is? And this?" He held up the toilet paper and the soap, and got smiles and nods to both. "All right, so we use the soap to wash our hands, like this." He started the sink, and watched her get nose to faucet with the water, clearly amazed that there was water coming out of there. "Yes, we have running water here. Now you do it." He passed her the soap, and watched her wash like she'd been doing it all her life. "So you do know how to wash. But I bet you never saw a shower before. Here." He turned it on and adjusted the temperature. She looked shocked at the water coming down. He picked up the soap again and handed it to her. "Okay, now get in there and do the rest of you." No response. "Watch." He started taking off his clothing, only to have those eyes go wide as she backed into the corner. "No, no, no, I am not going to do that. See, this is what you do." In his underwear he got into the shower, let himself get wet enough, and then went at his chest and hair with the soap. "See, you wash off, then you rinse it, then you get out and get dry with a towel. See?" He rinsed, got out, and started drying off, while she looked at him. Then her eyes just flicked at the door as she started to smile. "That would be get out, wouldn't it?" He got out.

He stepped out of the bathroom to give her privacy, just as someone knocked on the door. Muttering curses he yanked his jeans back over still-wet hips, checked the peephole, and cursed some more as he opened it. There stood Danny Messer, one hand full of bags, the other holding a pizza. Danny looked his now damp friend over. "What'd I miss?"

"Modern plumbing 101, introduction to running water. Get in here." Flack locked he door behind his friend and padded after him down the short kitchen hall.

"You're shitting me." Among the other things in the bags was a six pack. Danny helped himself to one after divesting himself of his load. "I grabbed some of Lindsey's clothing from the Goodwill pile, and she had me stop for a toothbrush and hairbrush. I also brought dinner. She's really not housebroken?"

"Nope, this is definitely a new thing for her." Flack picked up the bag with the clothes and toiletries and cracked the bathroom door enough to shove it in. "I'm not looking, I'm not looking, I swear." He came back to the table, and opened his own beer. "This morning she didn't know elevators or seatbelts, or cars I don't think. She knew soap but not running water, toilet paper but not toilets. Where the hell do you get that combination?"

"I have no clue. Think she'll figure it out?"

"If the steam level in there is any indication, she's a fast learner."

"Well, while she does that, want to watch the game?"

They settled in front of the TV, and waited. And waited. Eventually the water went off and they still waited. About the fourth quarter, when Flack was just about to go check, she finally came out.

She looked a lot better clean. She'd come out barefoot, in one of tank tops from the bag, clearly with no bra underneath, and a pair of jeans she'd neither snapped nor zippered. The bruises and marks of her recent captivity were still there, but in between was fine, creamy skin. But her hair was clearly her glory. It fell in thick, honey-brown ripples all the way down to her thighs. Both men stopped with their beer halfway up. I am officially bewitched, Flack thought, this could be trouble. "Hey, come here." He motioned her over, and snapped and zipped her pants. "You want those to stay up." She watched him, played with the zipper a few times, then sank to the floor next to him. "No, no, no, here, up here," he pulled her up onto the sofa next to him, and offered her a slice. She took it, holding it like he did, looking utterly confused. "Like this," he showed her how to bite the end first, which she copied, then watched as her eyes grew wide and her smile spread. "First pizza, huh? All right." He grinned back at her, and offered her a beer. "I kinda doubt you'll like it, but you're welcome to try." She seemed to know how to handle the bottle, sipping first and then drinking deeply, "Huh."

"So, she knows beer but not pizza. I don't know Don." Danny shook his head. "You have a genuine mystery going here."

"Yeah, I do," and it's captured me. Oh, Pop, I wish I'd listened closer to your stories. I'm in trouble now.