Chapter 1
When I awake, I do so with a moan. My head is a kaleidoscope of colors, sounds, and aches, all nauseatingly twisted together. Bringing my hand to my throbbing head, I try to make sense of the series of blurry memories. I was at the mall with my friend...then I heard screaming, but couldn't figure out why...there were flashes of multi-colored light, and one of the, I search for the right word, light beams hit me. I fell backwards and then...blackness. But somehow, I ended up here.
Where is here, after all? A bedroom, I quickly realize as I take in the scratchy cotton sheets and the walls stacked with books. A dusty window looks out to an overcast sky and a barren patio lined with empty garden beds. Small, nearly identical brick houses are clustered around the area, each with a chimney. There's something about the scene that inexplicably strikes me as foreign.
But perhaps more importantly, I am not alone. The house is silent, but someone put me on this twin bed – who? I try to sit up, and I nearly throw up. Swallowing the bile, I manage to plant my feet on the floor, cradling my head in my hands. And then my right comes away with dried blood.
I search my head for more memories, anything to explain how I ended up here, injured, but just face a black void. And then I hear footsteps below. Glancing around for anything to use as a weapon, I come up empty. Not that I'm in any state to fend someone off, I remember abruptly when I try to get to my feet, only to get so light headed I fall back onto the bed.
Vision swimming, I look up as a man enters the doorway. He's tall, with shoulder length jet black hair, slender build, and a prominent nose. But it's his eyes that capture my gaze, unsteady as it was moments ago. His eyes are dark as ink but hard as flint. They sparkle with intelligence and impatience, and I feel strangely drawn to them.
"So, you're finally up. What's your name?" the man asks in a deep growl.
"I'm D-Daisy," I stammer, even more confused. Who is this man that he has me in this house but doesn't know my name? My thoughts whirl with various far fetched explanations: was I kidnapped and sold to the highest bidder? Went into a dissociative fugue state and ended up passed out on some street corner?
He runs his eyes over me, seemingly disapproving of what he sees. "You're American," he says with a hint of surprise.
That's when I realize his accent is different than mine. British, to be precise. "You're...not? Where am I?" I stand, moving toward the door to try to get down the stairs, but stumble.
This time it is the man who catches me, his hands, surprisingly strong for his lithe build, grabbing my forearms to stop me from falling. My vision swims once again while he guides me back to the bed. And with his hands gripping me hard, his bare skin hot against mine, I'm suddenly aware of how small this room is.
"You are still weak and injured. You were...unconscious for a long time. Let me get you some water."
He turns on his heel and leaves the room, heading into the dark hallway, and I hear a faucet turn. I realize for the first time just how thirsty I am and lean against the headboard while I wait for his return.
Who is this man – my savior or captive? My pulse is racing when he returns, glass in hand. Perhaps I should be suspicious of the water, maybe it is laced with poison or drugs, but I just greedily gulp it down.
He holds his hand out for the glass, and I pass it to him. Already I am feeling better. Enough that I take in more of the man before me, noticing he's dressed in an old-fashioned button-down shirt and trousers. And I'm in even more desperate need of answers.
"So...you don't know who I am. But do you know how I got here?"
"Vaguely," he says, tone sharp.
"Do you have some spare change, or a phone I can use? I need to get home. My parents must be worried sick about me, and I-"
He holds up one hand, a sharp gesture clearly meant for silence. I shut my mouth, my sense of dread growing.
"You cannot go home."
"I...I don't understand. You don't even know my name, but you're telling me I can't go home? Who are you? What is going on?"
"You don't need to know who I am, only what you are." He stands swiftly, and I fight an instinct to cower as he towers over me. "You are my prisoner," he declares.
I struggle to breathe through my panic. Nothing about this makes sense. I start pinching my arms, willing myself to wake up from this nightmare. "I don't believe...but why me...who abducted..." My thoughts are scattered. I should try to fight this man, but he's a foot taller than me, and I still feel lightheaded. "Will you at least tell me why you're imprisoning me?"
"Because I have to." His voice is placid, and my surprise at his answer brings my gaze to his. He must be a psycho, then. But his eyes are clear, his expression calm. And he's neatly enough groomed that he doesn't seem like he's an addict wacked out on hallucinogens or lost his mind.
Swallowing past the worst of my fear, I ask in a trembling voice, "Are you going to kill me?"
"No." His eyes glance over me again, and I notice that they linger for a heartbeat on my cleavage. My stomach clenches with dread. "You must be hungry. I have dinner downstairs. Come."
On unsteady feet, my mind still reeling, I decide I have no choice but to follow him. I'll eat, get some of my strength back, and then hatch my escape.