Two months pass since Jaymie's arrival. She went back to America last week, and now I'm alone with Jim because Seb went on vacation without Jim. We're sitting on the couch, watching some stupid documentary about some famous killer. Something about research, Jim said when he put it on. He's now playing with my hair absentmindedly because he took my braids out. Very fun.
"Jim, I'm hungry," I say suddenly. He doesn't look away from the telly.
"That's nice, darling," he says in a monotonous voice.
"I want food."
"Go get something, then."
"We're out of food."
"Then starve."
"But I'm already starving. I want food." He sighs and puts the movie on pause.
"I'm not going shopping. Go make a sandwich or something." I pout but go in the kitchen anyways, only to find that there is no bread. I search through the cabinets, but the only edible thing is peanut butter. Which I'm allergic to.
"Jiiiiiiiiiiiiim, all there is is peanut butter," I whine as I head back to the living room.
"Then eat it with a spoon."
"I have a peanut allergy." He doesn't look up from the telly still.
"You can eat when Sebby gets back."
"But that's tomorrow!"
"You've gone longer without food. Come sit down, now. It's more fun when you get squeamish about the blood and guts." I cross my arms and sit back down on the couch, s far from him as possible. He shrugs and moves closer so he can resume playing with my hair. I smack his hands away and he raises an eyebrow at me.
"Sorry," I mutter, not wanting to get slapped.
"Darling, are you okay? You're all miserable and mad. It's kinda cute, actually." I scowl at him and he smiles.
"You're like a kitten trying to maul a lion. Absolutely adorable and hopeless and will end with your death and pain." I sigh and watch the documentary, grimacing at the violent depictions.
"Blood wouldn't spurt out like that, it would pour. Slowly, too," I criticize which earns me a surprised gaze from Jim.
"How do you know that?"
/? "I just do. Don't question it."
"No, seriously, how do you know that?"
"I write violent murder scenes. It's a necessity." He quirks an eyebrow.
"Can I read one?" I shrug and grab my laptop off of the coffee table and bring up one of my scenes. I hand the laptop over and Jim starts to read it, his eyes growing larger as he goes along. He hands it back with a look of bewilderment heavy on his features.
"That was… disturbing, considering it was written by a thirteen year old. Are you secretly a murderer?"
"Nope. I just spend a lot of time doing research before I write the stories. I have to ask, how realistic was it?" He answers immediately.
"Spot on. Especially the part with the knife in the girl's throat." I beam at him.
"Thank you, that means a lot." He opens his mouth to continue the conversation when we suddenly lose electricity. I groan. I hate the dark. Even if I won't admit it to anyone, I'm scared of the dark.
"Why isn't my generator turning on," Jim mumbles. Of course. It only makes sense he'd have one, he wouldn't want to go without electricity.
"Do you hear that," I ask when I hear the creaking of floor boards. Jim listens, too, as they grow louder, and starts looking for something in the dark, probably a gun. The lights flip back on and I see he hasn't found it, but a group of about six men have found us. And they're all pointing guns at Jim. I freeze in terror, hoping none of them see me. One of them does and points a gun at me.
"You said there'd be no one else home, boss. His boyfriend went out on vacation," the man with the gun pointed at me says.
"I thought he killed the girl last month. That was the word on the street," the bald man who must be the leader says, turning to look at me. I look over at Jim, who looks calm, but I can see the panic in his eyes.
"Jim," I whisper softly, my voice shaking slightly. He doesn't move.
"Do as they say and keep your mouth shut," he says in a hard tone. I nod and him and the men stare at each other for a long time before the bald leader speaks.
"I told you I was coming for my money, Moriarty. Do you have it?" Jim looks slightly more panicked, but only enough for me to see.
"And I told you that's not how it works. I planned it out for you, just like you paid me to, and you messed the mission up with your men. You don't get a refund for not following the plan I gave you." I'm shaking now. Maybe they're going to kill me.
"So you're not giving me my money," the leader asks. Jim shakes his head and all six of them move forward at once, five headed towards Jim and one over to me. He pulls me to my feet roughly by my arm and forces me to walk forward, his gun up against my back. I don't talk and I don't try to run. They push Jim and I out the doors and into the back of a van, where they handcuff Jim and I together. I don't think Jim is going to try to escape. They slam the door shut and walk around, climbing in the front, on the opposite side of a wood board. That leaves Jim and I in the back of a dark, dirty van while they sit in the seats and figure out what they're going to do to us.
I whimper as the van speeds away from the mansion. Jim hears this and holds me close, wrapping his strong arms around me.
"Darling, I need you to pretend that you're very strong and nothing they do hurts you. Just like you do when I do things to you. I need you to put on a brave face, no matter what it is they do to you. It's going to be fine."
"I'm scared, Jim. Really scared."
"They can't do anything to you that's worse than what I did."
"You wouldn't kill me." He doesn't respond to this, which only makes it more obvious that I'm in real danger.
"Who is it," I blurt out suddenly.
"Sorry?"
"I just want to know who kidnapped my kidnapper and I."
"It's a man who thinks I owe him money."
"Why don't you just give him money, then?"
"Because I don't owe him anything."
"So? If you'd given him the money, we wouldn't be here right now."
"Mistakes were made, bit late for that now." I sigh and bring my free hand up to tug on my braid, like I always do when I'm thinking, but realize Jim took them out earlier and groan in frustration.
"Thanks for taking my braids out, Jim. Now there can be blood all over my hair when they decide to shoot me through the head." He rolls his eyes and hands me two hair elastics, which I gratefully take before I start braiding my hair.
"Hey, my arm is attached to that handcuff. Be careful, it's digging into my wrist."
"Stop being a baby and let me braid my hair."
"I'll braid it for you," he says with a smirk.
"Never again. Last thing we need, them cutting off your fingers because they're stuck in my hair. No way." I tie off my second braid and drop my hand back down.
"Do you have some kind of plan, Mr. Criminal Mastermind?"
"Yes."
"Go on."
"They're going to torture me, possibly you, as well, to death. We wait for Seb to come and rescue us. I left a note at the mansion."
"But I don't want to be tortured!"
"Suck it up and be a big girl. It shouldn't be too long."
"But it's gonna huuuuuuuuurt."
"It will. Very much. But you're strong. You'll live."
"I'm scared. What if Seb doesn't get the note and I die there?"
"Then you'll get to see Jamie and your parents and your Aunt again."
"Can you just lie and tell me everything will be alright?" He holds me again and cradles the back of my head in his hand, making it so my face is up against his chest.
"It'll be alright. It's gonna hurt, but just pretend it's not happening and stay strong." I nod and blink back tears just as the door opens. One of the men sneers at us.
"How cute. Moriarty trying to comfort a little girl. Let's go, up, up, up. Get out. Get a move on. Try anything and I'll shoot ya." Jim and I hop out of the van, Jim turning icy again and sneering at me when I fall down because of how badly my legs are shaking. I don't let it bother me because I know he's trying to not appear weak. We get marched into a bright office building that looks too cheery for a place I might die in. It makes more sense when we get led down to a basement/dungeon and the handcuffs are taken off. There are two cells, and Jim and I get put in separate ones. It's silent, so they're soundproof. Which means Jim won't be able to tell me it's alright and I have to rely on myself 'til Seb shows up.
An hour passes and nothing happens. I'm just left to sit on the small metal bench in there and hope for this to all be a nightmare. The door opens and I can't decide if I'm relieved the waiting is over or dreading what's about to happen. A man walks in, the same one who mocked Jim for comforting me, and smiles menacingly. I stare back at him with a straight face. Nothing is scarier than Jim, and I don't let fear show around him. He slams the door shut.
"Hey, girlie. What's your name?" I think for a minute. Jim said to do what they say, and there's no harm in telling him my name.
"Adalia." I'm proud my voice doesn't waver.
"Pretty name for a pretty girl. Your face won't be very pretty by the time I'm done with you." I scrunch my nose up.
"Are you going to give me a bad makeover? Because I can show you how to use the makeup if you'd like." Great. Why can't I ever keep my sarcastic comments to myself? He runs forward and punches my nose. I don't flinch or scream or wince, only raise my sleeve to try to stop the blood flow.
"That hurt. You should say sorry." The man looks at me like I'm crazy.
"Why would I do that? And why aren't you screaming?"
"You should say sorry because that was mean and it's the socially correct thing to do after you punch someone."
"Why aren't you screaming?"
"Dunno. Jim does this all the time, I've learned to control my pain." The man slaps me across the face and I barely blink.
"Meanie."
"What's wrong with you?"
"A lot of things. How much time do you have?" The man shakes his head and walks out of the room. I shrug and rub my stinging cheek, dropping my hand when the door opens again. This time, it's the boss with the bald head.
"Girlie, your nose is broken and you didn't even scream?"
"Nope." He walks slowly towards me and punches me repeatedly, in every place he can. Tears stream down my face and I let out the occasional groan or hiss of pain, but I still refuse to scream. He gives up after a while and pulls a knife and cuts me on my shoulders a few times, very deep cuts, and I finally give in and scream. They hurt so bad. He walks out after that and the first man comes back in, carrying a large jar of something. Salt, I realize. I panic and try to plead with him, but he grins menacingly again and pours a palmful. I try to back away from him, but I'm pinned against that wall. Cornered. He dumps the salt out of his hand and onto my cuts, and I scream as black dances across my vision. Oh, God, it hurts. He dumps even more on, until the jar is empty, and leaves.
Moaning, I rip off the sleeves of my shirt and use them to try to clean out my wounds. Not ideal, but it'll do. I sit in pain, waiting for the next round of torture. The door opens again and a blonde man with features that are less menacing and a kind look in his eyes comes in.
"What are you going to do now," I moan to the man. "I don't think I can take much more."
"Boss says you're done for now. You can sleep." He turns around to walk out, but a whisper from me stops him.
"Jim," I say quietly.
"Moriarty? What about him?"
"Jim," I repeat.
"Yeah, what about him?"
"Need him."
"You need to see him?" I nod weakly.
"I'm sorry, I can't."
"Please. I won't be able to sleep without him." Turning to Jim for comfort. A whole new low.
"I really can't."
"Please, I'm so scared and in so much pain." The man looks at me for a long minute then jerks his head towards the door.
"If you can walk to his cell, you can stay there 'til tomorrow morning." I struggle to stand and walk unsteadily the few feet it takes to get there. He opens the door and Jim looks up with a cold expression. His eyes soften when they see me, but he continues to glare at the man.
"Why did you bring her here," he says in a hoarse voice and I notice the bruises on his neck. Strangled?
"She said she couldn't sleep without you."
"She can sleep perfectly fine without me."
"She told me it was very important. She can stay in here until morning." The man pushes me forward, into the cell, and I stumble and fall onto the floor, moaning as fresh waves of pain roll through my arms. The door slams shut and Jim rushes over, kneeling next to me.
"What did they do?"
"Punched me. A lot. Made some pretty deep cuts on my arms and poured salt all over them. It hurts so bad." He strokes my hair.
"I know it does. It's going to be alright, Sebby should be here soon."
"My arms feel like they're on fire."
"I bet they do. Come on, you silly girl, you can sleep on the bench."
"Where are you gong to sleep?"
"I'm not." I don't question him as he helps me lay down on the bench, humming a lullaby to me until I fall asleep.