& this is where it starts to get crazy! Thanks for reading and reviewing, hope you enjoy the update.
3.
A loud alarm pierces his brain and rings just long enough to bring him into consciousness. He's slumped on a sofa in an unfamiliar room. He can't recall getting here. The last thing he remembers is being in the cold, damp barn, fighting a mystery enemy in an attempt to escape. It feels like a nightmare but the fact he's aching all over his body proves otherwise.
A hand squeezes his and he turns to see Hanna beside him, looking every bit as spooked as he feels. He can see her properly now they're somewhere well-lit and she looks a mess. Her lip's swollen, hair matted and there's still remnants of mascara stains down her cheeks. Worse, are the scars he can see down her arms and legs and chest, the ones he wasn't able to prevent.
"Where the hell are we?" she whispers.
"I don't know." His eyes roam around the room. It looks like a hotel, closer to The Lost Wood's Resort than The Radley in its simplicity, but much more modern. There's a TV on the wall in front of them and a wardrobe and double bed the other side of the room. "And how did we get here?"
"He stuck a needle in your arm," she tells him. "Drugged you. He must have done the same to me, I don't remember."
"I don't either," he says. A sedative could explain the massive blank in their memories. He remembers nothing after being overpowered in the fight, Hanna watching on. "Why didn't you run?"
"I couldn't leave you."
"Well, you should have!" he says. It comes out harsher than intended.
"No," she says. "I should not." She looks down at the gap between them, at their clasped hands, at the cuts and bruises across his bare chest. "You're hurt."
"So are you."
She doesn't deny it. "I just want to get out of here."
He gets up from the sofa, trying to ignore the remaining pull of fatigue from whatever sedative he was injected with. "Come on, let's go," he says, with a nod towards the door.
He leads her across the room by her hand. He's halfway there when he realises it's almost certainly locked. He continues anyway, as if the confidence with which he tries it will impact on the outcome. As suspected, the door doesn't open. He rattles the handle but it's stuck firm. He barges the door with his shoulder. It hurts and the door remains shut. They're locked in.
A series of beeps echo around the room and they both jump violently. Hanna's grip on his hand tightens.
"Hello Hanna." A voice comes from nowhere. "Hello Caleb. And welcome."
"Look!" Hanna hisses.
He follows her gaze and see the TV has switched itself on. As if hypnotised by the flickering display, they move back across the room to stand beneath it and watch. On the screen is the profile of a person from the shoulders up, a black hood over their head and with no facial features other than a superimposed mouth.
"You've received a complimentary room upgrade."
He hears Hanna's breath hitch and he instinctively wraps an arm around her shoulders to pull her closer to him. But she doesn't stay still, twisting to look in every corner of the room. It doesn't take him long to see what's she's spotted. Red lights blinking at them. Cameras.
"No, no-" Hanna is saying but is soon drowned out by the faceless voice.
"Please get ready for-"
His attention is diverted as Hanna grabs his hand again and drags him into the ensuite bathroom. They act identically, scanning the room for cameras. There are none he can see but when Hanna turns the shower on and climbs in fully clothed, he gets what she's doing. She wants the noise of the water to drown out their conversation, just in case.
She beckons for him to get in too and he follows her instruction without question. Immediately, her hand clamps around the top of his arm and pulls him close.
"It's like the dollhouse," she says. "We're- oh my god, I'm back in the dollhouse." She grabs a fistful of her knotted hair. "I can't- I can't-"
Her knees buckle and he manages to grab her waist in time to lower her to the floor of the shower. She buries her head in her knees. He crouches beside her. The water beats down on his back and makes his burns sting with renewed vigour.
"It's gonna be okay," he tells her.
"Not it's not!" She looks up. Her face is wet from the shower but he's sure there's tears among the water too. "How can you even say that? We're trapped in some psychopath's lair. Again. You don't understand what kind of sick things it'll have planned."
He bites back his retort that he doesn't understand because she never told him. It's an old grievance, one that he'd learnt to understand many years ago, but he's always hated the unknown.
"It's different this time," he says.
"How is it?"
"Because I'm here. I'm not letting anyone do anything to you, okay?"
She looks at him, eyes wide, and he can see the fear shining within them. "Do you promise?"
"I promise," he says, though they both know it's one he may not be able to keep. He helps her to her feet. "Hey, now that we are here, perhaps we should make the most of having somewhere to shower?"
She reaches for one of the hotel-style bottles of shampoo. "Do you think this is going to make my hair fall out?"
"No," he says, firmly. He forces a smile. "Go on, I'll let you have first shower."
"Caleb. Don't leave me on my own."
"I'll stay here." He positions himself in front of the shower but with his back to it. "You can see me the whole time."
Afterwards, they return to the main room hand in hand. Although they hadn't heard anyone enter, two dress bags have somehow arrived in the main room, hanging on the outside of the wardrobe doors. He exchanges a look with Hanna. She's clearly as confused as he is.
The face is still showing on the TV and although it's featureless, Caleb feels as though it's watching them edge closer.
"Please get ready for this evening's special occasion," the voice says.
"Special occasion?" Caleb mutters in disbelief.
"Like kidnapping us isn't enough of an occasion for that bitch."
"Please get ready for this evening's special occasion."
He raises an eyebrow. "You think it's just gonna keep repeating itself?"
"Yeah, unless you hack in and shut it up."
"I can't hack without a device, Hanna."
"Please get ready for this evening's special occasion."
"I think it wants to put on whatever's in those bags," he says.
"I'm not wearing something new-A's picked out." She marches up to the wardrobe and yanks open the doors. "Oh my god!"
"What?" he asks, coming closer. At first all he sees is a wardrobe full of clothes, then notices they're divided into very distinct his and hers sections, and then he sees the red dress Hanna is holding out to show him.
"I bought this with my first ever paycheck," she says. She shoves it back on the rail and starts rummaging through. "And I was wearing this to the fashion show where that model had a breakdown, do you remember? Even this blouse… I used to love this blouse."
The top in her hands looks vaguely familiar. He hunts through his own side. There may be less distinct memories associated with his clothing, but he definitely recognises the items.
"You know what this means?" Hanna says. "A was watching us in New York. She never went away!"
A shiver travels across his skin. "Don't think about that."
"How can I not?" She slams the wardrobe door shut and turns to face him. "Caleb, I thought we were free from this but it's all been one fat lie."
"Please get ready for this evening's special occasion."
"Shut the hell up!" Hanna yells.
He pulls her against him and wraps her arms around her. "Don't let it get to you. Perhaps we should just see what's in these bags?"
She tenses against him. "We have to," she says in a small voice.
"What do you mean?"
"It's best to let it get its way."
He frowns, not quite sure what she's on about but not wanting to push Hanna over the edge by asking for her to elaborate.
She unzips the nearest bag, treating it much rougher than he knows she would the outfits for work. He's not sure what he expected, probably something ridiculous, but instead it's a tuxedo. She moves onto the second bag, only half way down the zip when he realises what it is. His stomach flips. She pulls the flowing, white skirt out of the bag.
"This is crazy," she says without looking at him.
"Yeah." It's all he can manage.
"Congratulations on your big day!"
"So, what?" Hanna asks, still avoiding his eyes. "It wants us to get married?"
"Why else give you a wedding dress?"
She spins around to face him. "A's not a matchmaker. It likes to tear relationships apart, not the other way around!"
He shrugs. "Maybe it's changed its motive."
"Please get ready for your big day."
"So, you gonna wear it?" he asks sceptically.
"You still don't get it, Caleb." She picks up his suit bag and thrusts it against his chest so that he has to take hold of it. She looks him square in the eye. "We have to."
He tries to pretend he's putting these clothes on because his jeans are covered in dirt and still slightly damp from the barn, rather because some nameless voice has asked him to. He pulls on the smart suit trousers. They fit perfectly. But by the time his fingers feed buttons through the buttonholes on the shirt, he wonders if he's still groggy from whatever drugs they injected him with, because none of this is making sense. Shaking his head slightly, he shrugs into the blazer, which also fits him far better than any store bought sizes normally do, and drapes the bowtie around his neck.
"Can you do me up?"
He looks up to see Hanna with her back to him, holding the dress in place and the complex ties undone.
"Sure."
The ribbon runs in a crisscross pattern from her lower back. He pulls each level until it's tight and secures the top in a bow.
She turns to face him. He knows this is a million miles from how she would want to look at her wedding, but even with no make up, knotted hair and a split lip, she still looks amazing. She reaches for the bowtie and silently does it up, then leaves her hands resting on his shoulders.
"You look beautiful," he tells her.
She gives him a sad smile. "You know it's not actually our wedding day, right?"
"Still beautiful."
"You're a liar. I look a mess."
"Since when did I ever lie to you?"
She's so close that he can see the flecks of different colours in her iris. He holds her gaze, waiting nervously for the moment her eyes drop to his lips just like they always do. And they do, but just for a fraction of a second before she releases him and turns away.
The bars of a familiar wedding song start to echo around the room.
"I guess that's our cue," she says.
"Please take your places."
He looks at the blank face on the TV screen. "In front of that?"
"Let's get this crap over and done with," she says.
He follows her over, careful not to tread on the long train of her dress. After everything she's been through over the years, he can understand Hanna's anger. He's angry too, angry at whoever's behind this for hurting her, but fake-marrying the love of his life isn't going to make him mad.
They recite all the vows as they're instructed to. It feels like they're in a sinister version of a school play, not that he ever participated in them, but reading lines because they're told to, without fully understanding the meaning behind them. Except it's with Hanna, and if he were saying the words with his own volition, he'd mean every single sentiment behind them.
He thinks he feels the same, for she misses his eyes a few times when she speaks and there's more than a little attitude in her tone as she repeats some of the lines. For better for worse. In sickness or in health. The irony is not lost on him that these vows are being put to the test at the very moment they're spoken.
"You may now kiss the bride."
He waits to see how she reacts. He searches her face with his eyes and can feel her doing the same to him. He hopes she can read on him that whatever she wants, or doesn't want, is fine.
"Kiss the bride."
He sees her inhale deeply and give him a small nod for the go ahead. He takes a step closer and places his hand on her jaw. His lips touch hers. It's a light kiss, as chaste as he can make it, but his whole body is tingling, wanting more. Slowly, she starts to kiss back. It takes all his self control not to deepen it. It's Hanna who pulls away first but he knows from the tiny curve of her mouth that she's okay with what just happened.
"Please proceed to the restaurant."
There's a loud click of a door latch. Caleb whips around. The door to the room, the locked door that's been keeping them prisoner, is slightly ajar. Contrary to how he thinks he should feel at the sign of an exit, his instincts are telling him he doesn't want to go through that door.
"Please proceed to the restaurant."
Hanna slips her hand into his. Together, they edge out the door. It's just a corridor but Hanna draws closer to him and her grips on his fingers tighten. He chances a look at her, she's pale and wide eyed, clearly seeing something that he's not. There's door after door, mostly labelled with a number, just like they really are in a hotel.
"What wrong?" he asks.
She hesitates and that, in favour of a snarky retort at his stupid question, is enough to worry him.
Eventually she manages to answer. "I'm getting serious dollhouse vibes."
"That place was destroyed, Han."
"So the cops told us."
Goosebumps creep across his skin. "You think this is the same place?"
She frowns and then shakes her head, but it's as if she's trying to convince herself she's wrong. "It's probably just my PTSD playing tricks on me."
"Yeah," he says, although he's starting to consider it himself now. "That could be it."
Even at their reluctant pace, they've arrived at a door labelled 'restaurant'; the only door they've passed that's been ajar. He takes a deep breath and pushes it open.
The room in front of them is much larger than needed to accommodate the solitary table in the middle. Across the back wall, a banner congratulates them on their marriage. Music tinkles in the background, playing a love song that Hanna used to like. There are two chairs at the table, both facing forward, and cutlery positioned like in a fancy restaurant.
"Please take your seats."
As soon as they're a couple of paces from the door, it slams behind them and the latch clicks shut. He heads towards it, but Hanna stays put and their joined hands stop him in his tracks. She gives him a sympathetic nod towards the table. He knows she's right; there's no point angering whoever is behind this when the door's not going to open however hard he tugs at it.
With a shared look of resignation, they sit on the adorned chairs. From the ceiling, a tray is lowered down in front of them. Two glasses of champagne and two starters.
"Please enjoy your meal."
"This is ridiculous," he says, snatching the items off the tray so roughly that the champagne slops over the edge of the glass.
"You're not going to eat it, are you?" Hanna asks.
His stomach rumbles. He can't remember the last time he ate. He shakes his head. "There's no way it's safe. It'll be full of rat poison."
"I know a rat I'd like to poison," she replies, looking directly at the nearest camera.
"Please enjoy your meal."
"What if we don't?" he challenges.
An alarm tears through the room so loud that it hurts. He clasps his hands over his ears. Hanna's doing the same. It feels as though his eardrums are about to burst. It feels like he could go insane. And then, just when he doesn't think he can tolerate it any longer, it stops.
He looks at Hanna. She has a tear running down each cheek.