Chapter 6
Intrusion
One week.
Seven days.
168 hours.
That much time had passed since she had been given her last meal, and her stomach was aching from the hunger. She knew today she was due to be fed, but she was desperate for Thomas to come down already.
She had made sure to be in her best behaviour that week – she hadn't talked back to Thomas the few times he had come down to check on her, and she had dutifully completed the chore he had given her: fold the clean clothes.
He had promised that, if she behaved, not only she'd be fed but she'd also be allowed to take a shower.
Her first shower in a month…
She felt (and was) filthy, and she couldn't wait to wash herself.
"Me either, Babcock," said a little voice from the back of her head as she finished tidying her cellar. Any moment from then Thomas would come down – she knew because he had given her a clock. "You know, deodorant is a wonderful invention! You should consider using it."
C.C. groaned, carelessly dropping the cooking book Thomas had ordered her to read on top of her little table.
"You again?!" she said aloud, plopping herself down on the chair. "I can't believe I get to hear your insufferable voice even down here."
"You didn't complain when you heard it on the phone the other day," the voice in her head snapped. "Quite the opposite, in fact."
She groaned in irritation, but she knew the voice was right. Even from where she had been that day, she'd heard Niles' voice as though he were right next to her. And it pulled on her heart like it could have been ripped out of her chest if he'd managed to say another word to her.
"You wish the real me was right next to you," beneath the layer of care, the voice almost sounded smug.
Again, she had nothing to say back because the voice was right. She did wish Niles was there. If not for the fact that it would mean another person who could help fight off Thomas every time he beat her, but for the fact that it would mean someone to talk to. Someone to...
Her thought trailed off, and the voice was back.
"Someone to what?" it asked. "Someone to hold at night? Someone to whisper caring words and tell you that everything will be alright?"
"It would be nice, yes," she admitted, sounding a little angry. "Certainly better than whatever this thing going on between you and me is."
"This little thing going on between us is what's keeping you sane, Babcock," the voice replied. "I'm a substitute. A placeholder, until the real Niles becomes available."
"Until," she echoed the word aloud. "That makes it sound like you think I'm gonna get out of here. And that when I do, he'll still be...that he won't have..."
There was silence. She didn't want to think about the fact that it could be years by the time she finally left, if she ever did. But in her mind, all she could see was her family, and the Sheffields, and Niles, all giving up the search and moving on without her. Maxwell would marry Nanny Fine, and they'd probably have more kids and be one big happy family, not remembering the tall blonde woman that used to come and work in the house.
And Niles...he'd probably meet some nice woman out somewhere, and-
"Don't even think that," the voice snapped again. "You heard the way he was on the phone. Do you honestly believe he'll forget you?!"
"I don't know," she hissed, burying her face in her hands. "By the time I get out of here many things could have changed."
"Don't be ridiculous," it replied, and she could almost see Niles rolling her eyes at her. "He won't move on. He won't forget you."
C.C. felt a strong urge to cry right then. The thought of her family and Niles was tearing at her heart, and it had been a while since the urge to run away was so strong. But she couldn't allow herself to dwell in those thoughts; she had to focus in surviving.
"I know positive thinking is somewhat foreign to you," the voice interrupted her thoughts. "But could you be a bit hopeful?"
"Easy for you to say, you don't even exist!"
Suddenly, the noise of the heavy trapdoor being opened silenced both producer and (imaginary) butler. Thomas was there, and he was carrying a basket full of food.
Her favourite meals at that.
She immediately got to her feet, leaving the seat to her captor. As usual.
"Since you have been good this week," he began, not looking in her direction but instead taking the chair and setting the basket down with a thud to make her flinch. "I have decided you've earned a treat."
He brought out a covered plate which turned out to be full of risotto, clearly fresh from the oven where it was still steaming. A baked potato, with what looked like sour cream and chives. Bread, already sliced and covered in butter. More food followed. A small bunch of green grapes, a red apple, an orange, a bar of chocolate. A carton of juice and a glass followed that. He set it all out neatly, his mouth twitching into a smile as he heard C.C.'s stomach growling loudly at the sight and smell of the food but not being able to get near it.
He – very slowly, to make her wait for it longer – took out the last item; a spoon, and he held up a hand to make her wait as she almost involuntarily twitched in the direction of the heavenly-looking and heavenly-smelling feast that lay before her.
"Don't make me take it all back," he at last looked up at her, and C.C. knew he meant it.
And she knew what she had to do, too.
"Thank you, sir, thank you so much," she said quietly, still not moving. If she wanted the food, she'd have to wait for his express command.
Thomas' lips curled up into a smile. She was learning. "You are welcome. Now eat," he gave her the spoon and stood up so she could seat. "I've also decided to let you take a bath afterwards."
C.C. felt like crying, but she didn't know if it was out of happiness or anguish. The entire situation in which she was in was terrible, but he clearly was rewarding her good behaviour. Not to get her wrong, it sickened her to have to subject herself to his wishes, but she knew that her survival was intrinsically connected to his good mood and willingness to give her food.
She didn't really know what to expect from then onwards, but she'd try her best not to irk him.
"Yes, sir. Thank you sir," she looked down at her food and took a deep breath. Just when she was about to take the first bite, Thomas cleared his throat and she stopped, her heart racing.
"Did I give you permission to eat?"
C.C. wanted to cry. Please... please don't let him take away her food. Not now... she wouldn't be able to bear it. God... how could she be so stupid?!
She lowered the spoon and her head. "No, sir. Forgive me."
The kidnapper smiled once again and patted her head. She had to fight the urge to bat his hand away.
"Good, little woman," he cooed maliciously. "You are learning and I shall be forgiving this time. In retribution for my kindness, however, you are to cook my dinner tonight. But for now, you are allowed to begin your meal.
C.C. felt relief washing over her once again. "Thank you, sir."
Thomas nodded and leaned against the wall; he was going to observe her eating.
Meanwhile, C.C. very carefully took one piece of the buttered bread in her hands, cut it in half and finally took a bite. She ate slowly, savouring everything she could. After so much starvation, she couldn't handle eating too much at once, even if she wanted to, anyway. And there was always the fear that if she ate quickly her captor would take it away from her, for behaving like an animal.
Not that he was treating her like she was human.
"There, now..." the voice in her head was back, and she had to suppress her annoyance. She couldn't let it show. She didn't want Thomas to know what was going on in her head.
"You see? You find this interaction soothing," the voice was gentle, and it was calming her. "And you're right not to let him in like that. Comply with whatever else he tells you to do, but don't ever let him think he's won."
"How am I supposed to do that when he's stood there watching me eat food that he had to give me permission to eat?" she thought back. The voice was in her head anyway, so she might as well follow by example. She busied her mouth with finishing up the bread, and digging her spoon into the risotto to start eating that.
"As long as I'm still here, you'll know he hasn't," the voice said. "And as long as people out there care about you and are looking for you, you'll know he hasn't. And you know, whether you'll admit it to yourself or not, the real Niles will never stop looking."
"It's the least he can do," she thought back, taking another spoonful of risotto. "It's his fault that this happened in the first place."
There was a long and unsettling silence from the voice, and part of C.C. couldn't help but imagine the piercing look that Niles would have been giving her. She could almost see his bright, blue eyes staring into hers, hurt and angry – the same look he gave her after a particularly nasty zinger or prank from her part.
It was a look of pure pain and reproach.
"You know that is not true," the voice eventually said; it spoke so quietly she barely heard it. "You know that Thomas had been stalking you for a while."
"Shut up!" she mentally screamed, making a gargantuan effort to not let Thomas see her inner turmoil. The last thing she needed was him thinking that there was something wrong with the food and taking it away under the pretence of her being ungrateful or picky. "If... if he hadn't made that prank I would have never stormed out of the hospital or bumped into Thomas or gotten into his car!"
"He would have found another chance to take you, and you know it."
C.C. chose not to answer this time. It hurt too much and she didn't know what to say to argue back. She needed to blame someone, and the butler was an easy target.
"If he is so guilty, then why do you miss him so much and crave for his company?" the voice insisted.
C.C. took a rather large bite of her baked potato. It tasted great, but the anguish was preventing her from really enjoying her meal.
"Is the food of your liking?" Thomas interrupted, knowing the answer but wanting to hear the words coming from her anyway.
To be honest, C.C. was kind of thankful for him speaking up – he had interrupted her thoughts and had spared her of having to answer a more than difficult question.
She finished her mouthful, swallowing heavily.
"Yes, sir. Thank you, sir," she replied, trying to return to her meal at an ordinary pace. She had to make it look like nothing was wrong, even if the voice inside her head was trying its best to keep up its defence of the person it represented.
"Tell me why," it seemed to demand, louder than it had been but still quiet.
She kept eating, and Thomas smirked.
"Good," he said. "You will wash and put away your dishes when you are done, and then you shall be allowed to have your shower."
"Yes sir," C.C. took in another mouthful of potato. "Thank you, sir."
"You know exactly why you miss him so much, why you crave his company, why you hear his voice in your head to remind you to stay alive," the voice was even louder this time. Almost as loud as Thomas could be when he got frightening. Only it was coming from within. "How much would it kill you, compared to all this, to say just once that he is the reason you're fighting so hard?"
"I'm not going to say it," she thought, finishing the potato off. She left the skin because she had nothing to eat it with, and anything that could make her look unmannered at the table wasn't something she could afford.
She then took the chocolate bar, peeled off the wrapper and took a few bites – her stomach was full (it had shrunk due to having been starved for so long) but she was craving to finish the meal; he first real meal in a long while. Besides, she didn't know how Thomas would react to her not eating the whole dinner, and she'd rather not find out.
She shoved the rest of the chocolate down her throat and then she continued with the grapes and the apple, using the juice to wash it down. But when she tried to take a bite of the orange, she simply couldn't stomach it. She was too full to eat anything else.
"If you are not hungry you can save it for later," the kidnapper said softly as he began gathering the remnants of her meal and putting them inside the basket.
C.C. tried to not look as surprised as she felt. She had thought he'd get mad at her or that she'd be punished for not eating all the food he had brought down for her, but it seemed Thomas didn't really mind...
This gesture of "kindness" made her suspect that him having something in mind.
"Thank you sir, I'll store it for later," C.C. scuttled to her drawers and tucked the fruit between two of the oversized sweatshirts that Thomas had given her as clothing. She had lost so much weight in such a short time that the clothes he had given her barely fit her anymore. They were too big for her, and she couldn't bring herself to ask for smaller garments.
The kidnapper had moved towards the ladder whilst she had stored the orange, and he soon motioned for her to come closer to him. She knew they were to go upstairs, towards the shower, and she couldn't help but heave a small sigh of relief. She needed this shower as much as she needed air.
How they'd do it, she still didn't know, but she could almost feel the heavenly feeling of the water running down her body, cleaning the filth from her days inside the cellar.
"Give me your hands," Thomas ordered, and C.C. obeyed. The kidnapper took a pair of handcuffs from his pocket and fastened them around her wrists. "Now climb up the ladder and wait for me," he grabbed her hair and yanked at it; C.C. had to suppress a whimper. "I warn you, I have a gun and I won't hesitate to use it if I have to. So don't try anything weird. Is it clear?"
C.C. nodded. She wouldn't dream about misbehaving right then. Even if the idea of escaping was tempting, she knew her chances of succeeding were almost null, and she wasn't willing to risk her chance of cleaning herself for anything in the world.
"Yes sir," she said.
"Good. Now move."
They climbed the stairs and went up the narrow corridor until they emerged to the garage through a hole on the garage floor. C.C. noticed it would normally be covered with a washing machine. Part of her soul died a little when she saw that – the chances of someone hearing or finding her were impossibly low...
She didn't have much time to dwell in her depressing thoughts though; Thomas was soon stood by her side and he practically dragged her into the kitchen through the garage door. She attempted to go to the sink so as to clean the dishes, but he stopped her and pulled her alongside him as he took them to the upstairs landing.
"You'll clean after your shower, and then you'll prepare dinner."
"Yes sir," she muttered, keeping her gaze to the floor.
The rest of the way to Thomas' bathroom was covered in silence, and he practically shoved her inside it when they reached it. He then removed her handcuffs and locked the door, leaving both of them inside the bathroom.
"Take off your clothes," he commanded as he opened the taps and started regulating the water temperature.
Take...off her clothes? With him still stood there?
She should have expected this. The guy was sick, and this was the kind of thing sick people did. She had hoped someone would come and find her, or she'd find some way to leave, before anything like this happened.
But no one was coming to save her, and she couldn't save herself without the risk of being killed.
But she couldn't move. Her heart was pounding, and her mouth was drying out as her breathing began to grow unsteady. She didn't want him there, not in the room with her when she did this...
"Do it!" he snarled, causing her to start. "Or I'll take them off for you!"
She reached for her shirt, preparing to obey, but still she hesitated.
And suddenly the voice was back again, "Just do it. I don't like it any more than you do, but you mustn't risk finding out what will happen if you don't."
It was right... but the urge to cry was almost overwhelming her. She didn't want him to see her naked – she didn't want to be humiliated like this! But what could she do? She certainly didn't want Thomas to snap at her again; she'd had been enough beatings and starvation as it was.
She took a deep, calming breath and carefully peeled off her shirt, looking away from her captor. He was smirking, and it was sickening. She knew he loved to have this power over her – to have her at his mercy – but she wouldn't give him the satisfaction of letting him see just how uncomfortable she felt.
"It's going to be alright," the voice said as C.C. continued removing her clothes. She was only in her panties now. "We are going to be alright. Remember that time when you caught me dancing in my underwear?"
C.C. had to choke back a sob. Of course she remembered... it had been one of the best afternoons of her year! He had been caught off guard, and she had milked the event for all its worth. Niles had been mortified, and it was a memory she treasured.
"Think about it," the voice continued as the last piece of clothing slipped down her body, leaving her completely exposed. She tried not to glance at herself in the mirror – she knew she was underweight, but she'd rather not see it. "About Niles dancing to Old Time Rock n' Roll."
"Get into the shower and sit down," Thomas ordered.
C.C. did so very slowly, a melody beginning to play inside her head.
Meanwhile, Thomas spurted shampoo on his hand and began cleaning her blonde locks.
"... just take those old records off the shelf..." the voice sang.
"Lean your head back so I can clean it better," Thomas ordered and she complied.
"... I'll sit and listen to 'em by myself..."
She closed her eyes. She didn't want to see him over her like this, running his fingers roughly through her hair.
"Today's music ain't got the same soul..."
"Lean forwards," came the next command.
She bent her head, and his hands worked at the hair near the back of her neck.
"I like that old time rock and roll!"
She kept her mind focused on that. On the image of Niles; the white shirt and boxers, the socks with suspenders, the feather duster being used as a substitute microphone...
It didn't make everything better. But it did keep her from screaming.
"Don't try to take me to a disco..."
She knew it was only going to get worse from here on out. Now that Thomas had done this, he was obviously going to want – and expect – more. But with the image of Niles in her head, she might just survive all of it.
It almost made her want to admit to the thing she refused to in the cellar. But now wasn't the time. She had to focus on the words, and on the image of the man she missed so much doing something which had made her happy, even if he hadn't meant to.
She wondered, if she ever saw him again, if they might dance together.
"You'll never even get me out on the floor..."
But she had gotten him out on the floor. That time when he had been her date for the Broadway Guild Awards they had spent the night dancing, and the same had happened when she had accompanied him to his friend's wedding.
They really liked to dance...
God, how she missed dancing with him!
"Remember that time at my friend's wedding?" Niles' voice whispered – it was almost as though he was right there with her. "When we danced to 'Into Each Life Some Rain Must Fall'?"
She did. The day of the wedding had been pouring, and they had actually danced it just before they had left back for the mansion.
"Into each life some rain must fall. But too much is falling in mine. Into each heart some tears must fall. But some day the sun will shine. Some folks can lose the blues in their hearts. But when I think of you another shower starts. Into each life some rain must fall. But too much is falling in mine," the voice sang once again.
She was lucky that the shower was running; otherwise Thomas would have noticed her tears. She wanted to stay hopeful and to believe that the sun would eventually come out from behind the black clouds that were surrounding her, but right then it was so hard...
And she missed him so much!
"Lean your head back again," Thomas ordered as he took the conditioner in his hands.
C.C. did so.
The shower had been on for five minutes, at most, but to her it felt like an eternity. She wanted it to end already; to be downstairs, completely dressed and with his hands far away from her body. One he had rinsed the conditioner from her hair, he handed her a sponge and a bar of soap.
"Clean yourself. You have two minutes and I'll turn off the water. I won't care if you are done or not."
C.C. felt as though a huge weight had been lifted from her frail shoulders. She had dreaded the idea of Thomas cleaning any other part of her body apart from her hair. As long as he didn't touch her, then she wouldn't complain.
"Yes sir," she replied, scrubbing the bar of soap against the sponge. She then began cleaning herself, trying to ignore the fact that he was observing her every movement with rapt attention.
Once she had finished cleaning herself and washing off the soap from her body, Thomas closed the taps and gave her a towel and a set of clean (and smaller) clothes.
"Dry yourself and get dressed," he ordered. "You have three minutes."
"Yes, sir," she stepped out of the shower, and wiped herself down with the towel as quickly as possible. She didn't know how long she usually took to dry off and dress herself after a shower, but she doubted if she'd ever done it in three minutes or less.
Well, she had to do it now. She knew she wasn't fully dry, and that made slipping on the clothes difficult, not to mention uncomfortable.
But all the while, she didn't complain.
"Good," the voice was back again. "You're doing just fine. Remember; you're still alive. He's not winning. He will never win. And I'm right here."
How she wished he was right there. All the feelings she'd been trying to avoid in the cellar were coming back, full-force. She didn't know if it was because of what had just happened, if she had changed her mind about trying to avoid them, or what, but she couldn't think about anything else.
"Better than thinking about what just happened," the voice told her.
That was probably it. Niles was a much nicer thought than everything else going on around her...
Finally, noticing she was done, Thomas unlocked the door.
"Go out first, and wait on the landing. We're going downstairs, and you're going to clean up from your meal and you're going to prepare my dinner."
"Yes, sir," C.C. muttered, scurrying out of the bathroom and going towards the landing. She noticed there was a window right before it, but the curtain was drawn, preventing her from seeing the outside world. Part of her wanted to jump to the window and attempt to scream for help.
But it would be useless... she could hear her captor's fast approaching steps – if she attempted anything then she'd be a dead woman.
Well... she only hoped she'd survive her next task. This would her first time cooking, and she could only hope she wouldn't ruin it. She knew what would happen if she did. She had been reading cooking books and learnt some recipes. C.C. could only hope it was enough to satisfy him.
There was something oddly painful about the thought of cooking. She'd give anything to be in the mansion, working herself to exhaustion (as usual) and having Niles bring her freshly cooked dinner. He'd always deliver a zinger when he did so, but now that she thought about it she couldn't help but notice just how attentive he was to her eating and taking a break from time to time.
She blinked back the tears. She had to be strong...
"Let's go," Thomas commanded, grabbing her by the arm and interrupting her thoughts.
As she moved, though, she couldn't help but wonder if Niles was thinking about her.
Niles had to blink a few times, not quite knowing if what he had seen was a trick of the light or what he thought it was.
After that disturbing phone call, he had taken to drive past Thomas' house once or twice a day, just to see if he found anything suspicious. He had never seen anything or anyone apart from the shady stage manager.
That was until a few moments ago.
He didn't have a clear view of the window, but he could see it well enough to notice the drawn curtains...
And the tall and extremely thin shadow stood almost unnaturally still behind it.
Surely, he'd recognise that shape anywhere...!
It was her! It had to be her!
His heart started racing. He had to tell Lane, and fast. The longer it took, the more dreadful things would be done to C.C.. If he could tell the police and they went in searching properly, they could very well find her! The bastard would be arrested. C.C. would be taken to a hospital for treatment, and then she'd be allowed to go. Anywhere she chose.
He hoped very much that she would choose to go with him. He no longer had anything stopping him from wanting to tell her that he loved her. All of this had made him realise that life was far too short for that. He wanted to be able to see her home from the hospital, a light fuelled by relief in her eyes as she allowed herself to be wrapped in his embrace...
But he couldn't guarantee that she would. It was still his fault everything had ended up this way. She might be angry – no, more than angry. Enraged, and rightfully so. What if she never wanted to see him again? He almost didn't want to be himself any more for causing all of this to happen. He wanted her to know how sorry he was, but there was no guarantee she'd forgive.
Another part of him told him that didn't matter. As long as she was safe and well. He already knew that her loving him back was a long, if not impossible, shot, so why would it change after this? The best he could hope for was that everyone would move on, out of danger, happy and free.
And that would happen as soon as he called Lane.
But something else was nagging him, too; was a shadow behind a curtain really enough evidence? The more balanced part of his rational mind told him that Thomas could have anyone over at his house. Unlikely, because the man gave off the creepiest vibes Niles had ever experienced from another human being, but that didn't mean someone else couldn't be there.
And Lane would almost certainly tell him that, too. A shadow meant nothing. Unless he actually saw the blonde, he had nothing.
So what should he do?! There was a big part of himself almost screaming that the shadow belonged to C.C., but what if he was wrong? What if he caused an inconvenience? What if Lane decided that he shouldn't be part of the case anymore?
There were too many variables to consider.
The more he stared at it, however, the more he doubted himself. Perhaps it was just a trick of his mind – he wanted to find her, and the man was creepy, so wouldn't it be possible that he was just blaming him because he needed to have someone to blame apart from himself? Maybe this was just a trick of his imagination...
Maybe it was his desire to see her what was making him believe that the shadow was C.C..
Besides, the producer wasn't that thin when she disappea-
And it hit Niles like a ton of bricks. He clearly remembered the kidnapper starving her! God... that could really be her! And by the sight of her shadow, she looked dreadfully skinny. Suddenly, he noticed another broader shadow – Thomas' shadow, he reckoned – approaching the thin one; the latter almost jumped when the Thomas appeared. It was obviously afraid of him.
Niles then saw how Thomas yanked at the smaller shadow's arm and practically dragged it behind him, not caring if the other shadow stumbled or lost its footing. He frowned. C.C. or not, something was definitely wrong inside that house. But, because of the curtain, he still had nothing definite, other than the fact that something was moving in a very odd fashion behind it.
The veil the fabric drew between the interior and the outside world was just too thick, and it created too much doubt. There was no way for sure that he could claim anything bad was going on inside. All he had to go by was his feeling.
And that was nowhere near enough to be considered evidence.
He could feel the frustration boiling up inside him. If only that curtain wasn't drawn across! He was mostly, if not entirely, convinced he'd see C.C. stood right there if it wasn't. And surely, the man had to have something to hide if he had drawn that curtain so early in the evening.
Again, Lane would say that didn't constitute proof.
He'd have to dig a little deeper. Maybe a lot deeper.
He'd have to get some evidence for himself.
How he'd do that? He didn't know yet. But he was tired of playing by the police's rules. They weren't doing anything useful! They needed proof of everything, and the procedures were disgustingly bureaucratised...
At the rate that they were going, they'd never find C.C., and he couldn't allow that to happen.
He needed a well formed plan; one that he knew wouldn't fail. But, as much as he loathed to say so, right then his hands were tied. He couldn't kick the door down (even if he wanted to) so there was no other possibility but to leave and start planning what he'd do.
He reluctantly turned on the car engine once again and he began his way back to the mansion.
He could only hope that she'd be alright by the time he was able to do something.
C.C. was shaking. Why did she have to be so stupid?! Why couldn't she cook a decent meal?! She had followed the recipe to the line and yet here she was…
How on Earth was she going to explain this to her kidnapper?!
She had not only burnt one steak – she had burnt three. All the steaks that Thomas had bought that week. He had ordered her to prepare him steak with mashed potatoes for dinner, and although she had been able to prepare the mashed potatoes with ease, the steaks were ruined.
"Claire?" Thomas called out, his steps coming closer. "What is that awful sme-"
He trailed off as he entered the kitchen, and his surprise at the ruined meal soon turned into anger. He glared at her, crossed the kitchen in three big strides and gave her such a hard slap that she fell to the floor.
"You stupid woman!" he screamed, gabbing her by the collar of her shirt. "You are dumber than a dog!"
And another slap.
"Three perfectly good steaks are now ruined!"
And a kick to the stomach.
He dropped her collar, sending her back to the floor again with a yelp that quickly became tears.
"I'm sorry, sir!" she sobbed. "Please, forgive me...! I don't know how I-"
Another slap, taking the words from her before they left her mouth.
"Quiet!" he barked, pacing right by her as he seethed. "No one wants to hear your excuses, least of all me. You can't even cook meat right, useless bitch."
C.C. stayed down, sobbing. She still didn't know how she'd managed to do it, and the insults were hurting her deeply. She was feeling just as useless as he said she was.
"Don't," the voice was back again, softer in her state of fear. "You just had the oven up a little too high."
"Well, look who just came back to prove himself a gourmet," she thought bitterly. Why now, of all times, did he have to be bothering her?
If he'd been there, she was almost completely certain she'd see his face morph into a frown, "I'm trying to tell you that there is nothing wrong with you. You are not useless, no matter what he says."
She honestly didn't know how to reply to that. She felt useless, worthless, and honestly, every day that went past found herself wondering how was it that she – The Bitch of Broadway no less – had been reduced to a bruised and crying mess.
Had she really been that strong in the past? Now confronting someone was the last thing she felt she could do...
"You are strong," the voice insisted. "He is a monster, and you are fighting bravely."
"I can't do this..." she thought back, wanting to feel Niles' arms around her more than ever before. "I am not strong enough."
"Yes you are!" Niles' imaginary voice insisted. "Who made grown made cry? Who made Sheffield productions be what it is today? Who became my sparring partner after that first time I put salt in your coffee when you were just hired as a secretary?"
The words were comforting – more comforting than she could possibly explain. She didn't feel strong, but his words made her realise that maybe she was.
"Who did all those impressive things?" the voice asked again.
"I did..." she muttered to herself.
"What the hell did you just say?!" Thomas snapped, going back to her. He grabbed her by her shirt and slammed her against the wall. "Don't you dare talk back to me!" he snarled and gave her another slap. "Thanks to your idiocy I will have to go have dinner out."
The kidnapper let her go, got back to his feet and grabbed the three burnt steaks. He turned to face her again and threw the food to her lap. "You are going to eat them all! And when I come back, you better have finished them."
He then yanked her by the hair and dragged her back to the cellar. He pushed her through the hole on the garage floor, dragged her down the narrow corridor that gave to her prison and he finally threw her into her cellar, closing the trap door behind him.
C.C. crawled to her mattress, sobbing and whimpering in pain, and began to eat the steaks, not willing to risk what would happen to her if she didn't. She could attempt to hide them, but there was too great a risk of him finding them, and then she'd be in worse trouble.
And as she gagged on the overly cooked food being sent into her stomach, which was still more than slightly full from earlier, she wondered how things could possibly get worse.
On his way back, something had forced Niles to turn around.
Something just hadn't been feeling right. It was like his instincts were telling him to turn back.
He'd tried to ignore it at first, but it eventually became too strong for him to push to the back of his mind, and he'd just had to turn the car around. He was surprised by the sight of Thomas, scowling behind the wheel of his own car, as he headed in the opposite direction.
He didn't know where the stage manager was going, but he didn't care. This was his opportunity to go in and take a look around! In a best case scenario, he'd find C.C. alive and well. They'd escape together, and could give a testimony that would incriminate Thomas and make sure he was jailed.
In a worst case scenario...well, in his mind, there were actually two. The first would be that there was no evidence whatsoever that C.C. was there, or had ever been there. That would mean they'd have to start the search for her all over again, which would give her kidnapper time to hurt her more, or take her even further away.
The second scenario tied for worst case involved finding her as well. But it was a situation in which only one of them would be able to give a testimony. The other...he couldn't even think about it.
The idea of finding a body was too awful.
He stepped on the gas and covered the few blocks that separated him from Thomas house in barely five minutes. Seeing as he didn't know when Thomas would be back, he knew was running against time. He had to be quick if he wanted to check the whole house.
Form the outside, it looked like any other suburban house in New York – the only difference being that both the front lawn and the fence that surrounded it were unkempt. But otherwise, the house was unpolluted; the windows were clean, the facade was well painted and kept in perfect condition and there was even a disturbingly clean doormat that read "Welcome".
It truly wasn't a place that someone would expect to find a kidnapped millionaire, but something inside Niles just knew there was something off about the house. It was as though its perfection and neatness was a cover for something much darker and dangerous – something to which C.C. could be exposed to right that moment.
He parked the car a few meters ahead of the house and scuttled to it. He didn't know how he'd get in yet, but he'd have to find a way to do so without leaving any traces behind. Considering it was a common practice in America, he checked for a spare key underneath the doormat, then underneath the flower pots on the porch, inside the mailbox...
But to no avail.
"Bloody Hell," he muttered as he made his way towards the garage. If the latter wasn't open, then he had no way of sneaking in without calling the attention. He couldn't risk breaking something and then having C.C. pay for his intrusion, like what had happened the time he had been called.
Taking a deep breath, he tried to manually open the garage door...
And, much to his relief, it worked!
Thomas must have left it unlocked when he left in a haste! That was what he called a stroke of luck. He looked around; everything looked relatively ordinary...
Everything except the washing machine.
It was considerably bigger than any other he had ever seen, so he carefully made his way over. But as he was about to get to it, something caught his attention from the corner of his eyes. The door that gave to the kitchen was open, and the room was a mess. There was an awful smell of burnt food wafting out of it, and there were a number of used pans and kitchen utensils scattered across the counter.
He felt a shiver running down his spine when he noticed the few red droplets that were staining the floor near the over. It looked like blood...
He felt sick. More than sick. If that was C.C.'s...
The minute he had full proof of his guilt, he was going to kill Thomas.
But the pessimistic side of him reminded him of the important factor in that. He had no proof. There could be any number of reasons the kitchen was in the state it was; Thomas could have been angry because he'd burned the food, not paying attention, and cut himself on something. Then he'd left the house to go to the emergency room.
A little blood and messy kitchen did not prove a kidnapping.
If only it did. His anxiety was growing worse the longer he had it.
It was making him do things he'd never thought he'd dream of doing. Breaking into another person's home, for instance. He had to keep looking around. He couldn't touch the room in any way, lest C.C. was really there and could be punished for any slight error on his part. He slipped past, into the living room.
Nothing out of the ordinary, even if the place did give him chills. He supposed that was the idea that C.C. could be being held somewhere so ordinary, suffering in a place that was supposed to comfort people...
He checked everything over carefully. The bookshelves, the furniture...everything was frustratingly in order.
By the look of the two rooms he had visited, there was nothing out of the ordinary in that house (apart from the fact that it give him the creeps). But he still had to check the upstairs landing, he reminded himself. For all he knew C.C. could be locked inside one of those rooms, and the only thing separating her from freedom was a locked door.
Keeping this hope in his heart, Niles made his way upstairs. The house counted with two rooms (one of them en-suite) and a second bathroom. The first room he visited was Thomas' study; inside it he only found documents related to work (such as sketches for the different plays he was working in), old books, a TV set, among some other trinkets.
Nothing special, really.
He moved to the master bedroom, feeling his frustration growing. How could it be that there was nothing! There had to be something...
Those blood droplets were something, a stubborn part of his mind kept repeating, but he forced himself to shove those thoughts to the back of his mind as he scanned the room. The bedroom was as big as Maxwell's, and it was spotless. The bed was made, there wasn't dust over any surface, and everything sat on their rightful place...
It was infuriating.
At least, until he went into the bathroom. Inside it he found a little heap of filthy clothes lying in the far left corner of the bathroom; the T-shirt was far too small for a man like Thomas and it was stained with God knows what. There was also a pair of underwear that made Niles hair stand on end – it wasn't female underwear, but the size was XS. Too small for the stage manager.
That's when he also noticed the odd pick for hair conditioner and shampoo – it was a brand mainly used by women. And it was a shampoo for straight hair too…
It didn't add up. None of it did.
Someone else was living inside that house, but where were they?!
Thomas had definitely been alone in his car. And a person wouldn't go out and leave a guest behind. And a guest wouldn't take off their clothes in the bathroom, or use the shower...
His knees almost gave out at the thought that it could be C.C., having to take off everything and expose herself to a monster...
But no sight of C.C. still meant no proof, and that made him want to scream, and cry, and rage until he'd torn the house apart. If pounding the walls until they fell like the walls of Jericho was what it took for him to find the producer, then that is what he would do.
But if she wasn't there, and this was all just a sinister coincidence, then he had no right to be there. Not that he did right then anyway, but his sense of justice and yearning to find her was far outweighing any sense of guilt at the prospect of having broken into someone's home.
He kept looking, leaving everything right where it was. It was another annoyance that he couldn't take anything with him in case it could be useful, but if anything went missing, Thomas would know.
There was nothing... absolutely nothing.
He felt like a time bomb about to explode – how could it be?! She had to be there! But, even if she was, the man clearly knew how to hide her.
There wasn't anything exactly wrong with the house per se, but there were so many details that didn't add up! The messy kitchen, the almost abnormal impeccable state of the house, the small clothes in the bathroom, the hair products...
He couldn't quite put the puzzle together. Niles felt like there was one missing key piece, but he had no idea what it was or where he could find it.
Maybe he had her hidden somewhere else?
That could be a possibility... Thomas holding the producer in some kind of secret prison outside the house.
It was obvious what he had to do.
He had to follow him around – to spy on him and his daily routine. He knew that neither Thomas nor Lane could find about his plan, but he was good at being secretive. After all, he had years of practice.
Heaving a defeated sigh, Niles hurried out of the house, passing by the strange washing machine once again but completely ignoring it.
Completely ignoring that only a few feet beneath his feet, was the woman he was so desperately looking for.
AN: Thank you all so much for your reviews! Your support is truly what keeps us going! Here we give you another chapter. We hope you like it and we are always happy to hear your comments.
H&L