A Man of His Word

Chapter Four: The Cabin in the Woods

"All right, so he held a knife to your face, he shot a man in front of you; he kidnapped you," listed Doc as she referred to her notes in her lap. She sipped from a closed container, licked her lips, and then set the container on the edge of the bedside table. I listened to her list off the actions as I paced the room with leisure steps.

"So you want the juicy details?" I asked harshly.

"I'm sorry, I don't mean to minimize your experience..." Doc apologized. "It's just that what we know now, compared to what he was like then..."

"He was evolving, Doc," I told her. "He didn't show his darker side until much later."

"What is his history like? Did he tell you anything about his childhood?"

"I'm an accountant, Doc, not his psychiatrist." I sneered, tossing a hand up in the air.

"Probably more than that," said Doc. "But surely, he might have mentioned something even in a sardonic, condescending way, to pacify the questions." She sounded hopeful, even, with anticipation that she would discover more about my captor.

"In my opinion, the way he acted, the words he used, and what he knew, I thought, personally, that he might have been a member of Special Forces. He knew procedures, how to glib, to get a rise out of people, to manipulate. He had knowledge of firearms, incendiary devices, how to get people to rise with him."

"All traits of a psychopath," said Doc.

"He's not crazy," I told her blatantly. "Sometimes, when he would speak to me, the things he said, they made sense about how the world was dark; how society failed those who needed the help the most. He brought the complicated complexities of how people acted to the bare, most simple terms, as if he understood people more than any charismatic person could ever understand."

"You sound like you admire him," said Doc cautiously, but even when I spoke of him, she looked at me in awe, as if my account gave her second-hand adulation for a criminal she had never met.

"He was different than the criminals you see on the street," I dismissed her caution. "He wasn't a dime-store thug; he wasn't a brute. And even if he said he didn't have a plan, everything that he did was calculated and measured. And he was always in control, no matter what. He had contingency plans for things that didn't go his way."

"He killed people on impulse."

"He kills because it amuses him," I corrected her. "Chuck made a choice to deviate from the plan."

"Why didn't he give Chuck an ultimatum?"

I shrugged. "Chuck was dispensable. He was a pig. I guess he wasn't worth the time or effort."

"But you were," said Doc. "He saved you from Chuck."

"He didn't have to," I told her.

"One good deed doesn't erase the hundred other bad ones," Doc reminded me gently.

"I suppose it depends on the good deed, then," I muttered.

"When were you ever alone with him?"

"In the cabin."

"But what did he say to you when you were left alone with him?"

She was invested. So I told her the next part of our enticing little story.

The aforementioned cabin was as I had pictured: in the middle of a small forest, up north from the Gotham City, just far out of the way so that hitch hikers or campers couldn't just walk up onto the property while trying to hunt or find a bathroom. It was a small building, half-built from wood and brick, with old shutters covering closed windows; a porch deck, stairs leading up to the screen door closed in front of a thick wooden door behind it. It both frightened and relieved me to think that the cabin didn't look like it was used a lot, so I imagined not a lot of captives went inside, but also not a lot of captives were able to make it out.

The van stopped just short of the grassy walk way which led up to the cabin. Boss clapped his hands against his black trousers, "Well, finally. We're here. Let's go."

Boss leaned his weight on his back, hiked up his legs, and kicked the van doors wide open, presenting the view of the log cabin in the woods. I glanced at it quickly, and looked at him. He slid out like a snake, feet first, and turned to me.

"Well, come on, bunny, we don't have all day."

I made to get out; but the driver turned around in his seat, climbed into the back of the van with me, and he grabbed my arm. I suddenly felt very afraid—it was all right, in a weird way, when Boss was with me, but I let out a whimpered cry when this stranger ushered me out of the van. Boss clicked his tongue, waved a finger at his driver disapprovingly, "No, no, no, let her go."

I was instantly relieved when the assailant pulled away from me. He had smelled of whiskey—He was driving drunk?—and stale cigarette smoke. How close he had been to me in order for me to smell his breath, panting like a dog in heat. Did Boss not have any female cohorts to hamper me around? Why just men?

Boss held a hand out for me to take. Interesting. I hesitated. But I remembered what he said. "I will always give you a choice." This choice was between being pushed out by a lumbering drunk or being helped out by the leader of this weird rag-tag gang. So I opted for the latter, and took his hand decisively.

"Like I said," Boss cooed in that low whisper as my feet met the grass, "Always a choice, bunny."

I nodded in understanding. I half-expected his men to flounder around me, to push me inside the cabin; but instead, Boss walked me up to the porch as if leading me into a castle. What was I thinking? Until further notice, this was my domain. Boss placed a hand on the small of my back as I stepped onto the landing: whether it was to help me balance after sitting cross-legged for a couple hours or to make certain that I wouldn't escape (even though he said I had a choice), it could have been both for all I know.

I glanced behind me to see the two men who had been in the van with us. The driver was older; larger in size, gruff, crude, with a large nose and beady eyes. A very unflattering face for a man that size. I decided that I would call him Gruff. The second man whom had stayed quiet the whole time until he chuckled in the van was lanky and thin; he had freakishly bright blue eyes, a long nose, thin lips, and thick, bushy eyebrows. I decided to call him Blue.

Gruff and Blue approached slowly, like reinforcement on beck and call if Boss needed them.

"These two will be on guard when I am not here," said Boss.

I wasn't worried about Blue guarding me. But Gruff didn't look like a person that I wanted to have hovering over me, say, if I had to take a shower or change clothes. I turned to Boss quickly.

"Why won't you be?" I whispered tensely.

Boss enjoyed the slight neediness in my voice and he smiled.

"Already miss me?" he teased me.

"I just mean...that..." I wondered how to phrase my fears. I pointed my gaze at Gruff. Boss followed it surreptitiously. He seemed to understand it, and he mouthed "Oh" and then he shook his head,

"You don't need to worry about the goons. They do as they're told."

"Your man in the vault didn't," I said through gritted teeth.

"And you saw how I fixed the situation," said Boss, opening the screen door. It squeaked at his intrusion.

"Yes, but, what is to stop them while you're away?"

"Don't tell me that you like company," Boss chuckled.

"I'm just saying that you're the better choice," I hinted.

He accepted my premise, but regardless, he opened both doors and, by the small of my back, pressed gently to usher me inside the four walls.

Stepping in, I noticed that while the inside of the log cabin appeared not to be so well-maintained, the interior was well-put together. As if it had been spruced up quickly, and I wondered if the effort had been made before my arrival. All four of us entered the living room—couch, table, no television, a fireplace (Isn't that nice), bookshelves, a small radio. The kitchen had a refrigerator, microwave, stove, countertops, a dining room table and four chairs. Boss led me to each room of the cabin until we walked down a small hallway where he gestured for his men to stay put. Pointedly, he looked at Gruff and Blue with a stare that I couldn't quite pinpoint as to what it meant, but Boss grabbed me by the wrist and pulled me into a room that he hadn't named what it was.

He closed the door.

For the first time, we were completely alone.

With a quick glance, I understood why.

"This is your bedroom," said Boss.

My heart raced apprehensively. Boss strode full-bodily into the room and then plopped himself onto the edge of the red-bedded mattress. I looked away from him—wardrobe, night stand, another book shelf, another radio, a vanity mirror and desk. Boss held his arms out wide as in "How do you like it?"

"Why are we...?" In here? Alone? How do I finish that sentence without indicating intentions?

"Costlee," he said my name with an alluring purr.

It was nice. No, Costlee it's not nice, this guy killed somebody right in front you!

"I will not make you do anything that you don't want to. But, given the fact that you clearly don't want me to leave, and I'm flattered—Eventually, you'll warm up to me."

"No," I said coldly.

"No?"

"No...ooo." I repeated, though I couldn't say it with as much bitterness as the first time.

I couldn't keep up the brave front, not unless I was angered. I wish I could be as defiant as hostages I saw on television or in movies; but he was both intimidating to me and uncommonly kind as a captor that it was like I couldn't decide the appropriate response to Boss.

"Have you ever thought that it could always be worse?" Boss asked next, surveying as I stood on the opposite side of the room.

He patted the seat beside him with his hand.

"Come on, bunny. Just sit beside me. I promise," he drew an invisible heart on his chest, "that I won't do anything inappropriate."

I hesitated.

"I'm a man of my word," Boss insisted.

He had asked twice; I didn't want to test his patience for a third time.

I acquiesced.

I crossed the room to sit beside him, and his eyes followed me the whole time. Boss watched me sit down slowly. Even as the mattress shifted weight, I expected him to throw himself on top of me with little warning, but he didn't. Boss raised a hand toward me, I startled and pulled away,

"You said..." I exclaimed angrily.

"Shh." Boss instructed sternly.

I pursed my lips. You will do what I say; you won't ask, you'll simply do.

His raised hand reached for a stray hair in my face; he took it and curled it behind my right ear. A very light touch of his fingers against the shell of my ear made a shiver run down my neck, spine, and—What the fuck...?

My breath hitched. Boss made a knowingly wide smirk, his scars etched into his face deeper, but I wondered why he smiled at me that way if he wasn't going to do anything heinous. That confidence he showed made my stomach drop, as if knew.

"There are worse places you could be right now. The mob, for example." Boss suggested. "I know how they deal with people who defy them."

"I didn't do anything for the mob," I said, clearing my throat. "I never participated—"

Boss chuckled in amusement, reached into his pocket, and dropped the lockbox keys into my lap, "Sure. That sounds rehearsed. Except you remember what their lockbox number is, and you alone remember every single detail of their accounts, and your family history, oooh," he purred. "Family secrets. They're a pain in the ass, aren't they?"

I stared at him.

"I could hand you over to the mob for a good price, Price." Boss suggested.

What fate could await for me in the hands of Sal Maroni or Carmine Falcone? Prostitution, human trafficking, drugs and drug dealing, hit men, sex trafficking—

"As I said," Boss said into the heavy silence. "There are worse places that you could be."

What should I say to that? Thank you?

I nodded.

Boss leaned in, and he said within inches of my ear; I froze as he came so close, and I wanted to pull away; but I remembered the gun on his hip, and the pocket knife that he kept on him. I sat there with his scarred lips within inches away from my ear, his voice dropped to a low baritone, rolling the words,

"I won't touch you...unless you want me to."

With that, he rose to his feet.

"I'll be back before nightfall to see how well you have settled in; if you run, I'll know. Oh," he said loudly, "And the boys know that they're not allowed inside your bedroom. That's a rule. So, I guess if you don't wanna make friendly with them, you should probably stay in here. But remember, girl's gotta eat. Fridge is stocked, bathroom works—Ta."

Boss walked out of the room with little else, closing the door behind him.