CHAPTER 5

Out of Sight Out of Mind

I don't know how long I'd been lying on the bed, my eyes following the jagged line of slimy green rainwater making its way down the block wall across the room. The water was coming in through a crack in the weakened mortar close to the ceiling. It must have been going on for years and would likely remain that way until one day the whole place crumbled in on itself.

The longer I lay there, the harder it was to convince myself the walls weren't closing in on me. Ever since I'd woken up in Constantine Stiva's silk-lined casket, fearing I'd been buried alive, I'd suffered from bouts of claustrophobia. As soon as those helpless feelings would surface, my heart would start to race, and I'd break out in a cold sweat. The only way to find relief was to head out in into a wide-open space, but that wasn't going to happen now that I was shackled down here.

Even though it didn't lessen the tightness in my chest or make it any easier to breathe, I counted myself lucky that Durant had started leaving the lights on when he wasn't here. It gave me a measure of comfort to be able to see what was crawling on my skin and not have to imagine what horrible monsters were going to come out from behind that curtain and get me under the cover of darkness.

With each passing hour, my hope of rescue dwindled. For the hundredth time, my empty stomach groaned painfully, and I did my best to ignore it. He was only bringing food once a day and I could already tell I was losing weight as well as strength. I knew if I just lay here doing nothing, my muscles would atrophy, and I might lose out on an opportunity for escape. I couldn't let that happen. I had to be ready.

I started with a few sit-ups and after I'd raised myself up for my last one, I turned over, struggling through five pushups. When I finished with the pushups, I got up and started walking back and forth across the room on my tether, searching for a weapon or a way out. I was on the far side of the room when I heard noises at the door. Not wanting him to find me up and moving around, I quickly ran over to the bed and sat down, shrugging the blanket off at the last minute. I didn't want to test his patience. Losing the blanket was a risk I wasn't willing to take.

My jaw dropped open when he entered. He was wearing a dark suit and red tie, hair slicked back with something that made it appear shiny, and he was carrying the same gray plastic box. I told myself this was a quick stop to drop off supplies before he went to an important meeting or maybe he had a date with some poor unsuspecting woman.

As soon as I smelled the savory scent coming from the box, my stomach took notice. It churned and growled, demanding to be fed. As if I wasn't shooting unfriendly daggers at him, he gave me a flirty smile and continued past me to sit the box on the table. He discarded his suit coat and rolled up the sleeves on his white button-down shirt. I bit my lip in dread when he started filling the usual pot with water to heat on the hot plate. When steam started rising, I envisioned grabbing the pot and throwing the boiling water in his face. I smiled at the thought of his skin blistering and melting away, leaving him with no mouth to smile his evil little smile.

After he poured the last of the hot water into the tub, he took the keys out of his pocket and knelt to remove my shackles. He slowly got to his feet and began unlocking the collar around my neck. "Stand up," he said as he stepped back, holding his hand out to help me up.

I'd barely made it through the last bath, I didn't think I could do it again.

But the consequences… ? I complied with his orders.

He helped me into the tub, this time not bothering to wash my hair. There was something different in the way he was touching me. Instead of drawing the bath out, he was quick and efficient. He was almost clinical in his task. Once he was done, and I was dried off, he led me back to the bed and walked over to the shelves, rummaging around in the gray box. I wasn't surprised when he pulled out the hairbrush, but I was baffled to find him also holding a porcelain doll wearing a red Victorian style dress.

He casually walked back over and held the doll out to me. "If I let you play with this while I fix your hair, you have to promise to be careful with it." I was afraid to refuse. I nodded my head, and reached for the doll, but he didn't hand it over. He appeared to be waiting for something and then I remembered he wanted me to use verbal answers.

"I… I'll be careful," I said even though I wasn't sure why he wanted me to hold it or why it was so important to him.

He took a step back and sat down on the bed, motioning for me to sit on the floor between his legs. While he brushed my hair, I studied the doll, noticing a remarkable likeness to me, including blue eyes and brown curly hair. It was also apparent that someone had taken very good care of, but the doll was old, maybe by a couple decades or so. It struck me then that this doll represented something from Durant's past—something important—something I didn't want to know about.

"When you told me about your pretty red dress, it reminded me of Emmie's favorite doll." He hummed as he worked to arrange my curls in an updo. "Do you remember me showing you the car my dad gave me when I was born?" He didn't wait for my answer. "Every year for our birthday and Christmas, my parents would buy me a new car and Emmie a porcelain doll." He pointed to the doll in my hand. "This is her first one. The resemblance to our mother is uncanny. Emmie spends hours grooming them and telling me all about their imaginary lives. Then she puts them back in their special display case."

I sat quietly with the doll in my lap while he worked a particularly difficult knot out of my hair, listening carefully, feeling he was telling me this story for a purpose. When he yanked a little too hard, I winced and tried to move away, but he simply laughed and said, "Mommy's not here, so you to can't tattle on me for pulling your hair." My eyes widened. Does he want me to play along with his fantasy? Should I? Before I could decide the best course of action, he leaned around to see my face and asked, "Do you think my hair would look like yours if I let it grow?"

His closeness was making me uncomfortable. There was no way I could meet his eyes, but intuitively, I felt looking away wasn't the right move. I directed my gaze a little to the left of his face, focusing on the wall behind him, and said the only thing I could think of. "I think your curls are probably softer than mine." Once the words left my mouth, I realized how stupid they sounded, but I was hoping that any kind of compliment would be a step in the right direction. When he smiled, I let out a small breath of relief.

He got up and walked across to the room, pulling a medium sized suitcase out of one of the plastic boxes on the shelf. While his back was turned, I reached up and slipped one of the bobby pins out of my hair and shoved it under the mattress. I didn't know how to pick a lock, but I was going to give it my best shot.

My heart was beating triple time, afraid he was going to catch me. I'd just pulled my hand out from under the mattress when he turned around with the case in his hands. He brought it over and sat it on the bed. Inside was a professional makeup kit that looked like it'd been used before. "Here, let me have that back." He took the doll from me and carefully laid it on the bed and then he grabbed a small blusher brush and sat down. "Turn around and get up on your knees so you can look up at me."

His behavior was making me more nervous than usual, but I did as he said, getting on my knees between his spread legs. "We were lucky to find you that day in the grocery store." He held my chin between his thumb and forefinger while meeting my eyes. "Emmie knew the moment she saw you that you were destined to be my wife."

I gulped at his intensity and tried not to outwardly react. I knew it was in my best interests not to argue with him, but I couldn't seem to stop myself. "You're wrong." I gave my head a tiny shake, trying to convince him. His frown told me he pitied me because I didn't understand.

He brushed my denial off and began applying more makeup to my face, finishing with a tube of garish red lipstick. He leaned this way and that, scrutinizing the colors and the way he'd applied them. "You get more beautiful every time we do this."

I swallowed hard. Every time?

As if he hadn't just confused the shit out of me, he got up and went over to the shelves again, this time retrieving a package wrapped in delicate tissue from the gray box and bringing it over to me. "Open it." His smile was bright and full of mischief, waiting for my reaction. I stood on jittery legs, hesitantly taking the box, and slipping the lid off. When I pulled the paper back, I saw a red dress that closely replicated the one the doll was wearing, but in my size. I looked up to see him smiling expectantly, but I had no words. I could do nothing but stand there with my mouth hanging open.

"I had it specially made," he said, almost giddy now as he held the yards and yards of shiny red material trimmed in black lace out to me. "Go ahead. Put it on." I'd been wishing for clothing, but something told me putting this dress on wasn't going to be good for me. Knowing I had no choice, I swallowed hard, and carefully stepped into the circle of fabric, pulling it up over my hips. "Turn around," he said and began zipping the back of the off the shoulder dress.

After I was situated to his satisfaction, he handed me the doll and reached into the suitcase, pulling out a box with an old polaroid camera inside. As he lifted the camera, I saw stacks of pictures underneath, but couldn't make out who was in them. In the next moment, he had the camera at his face, clicking pictures of me. I didn't even attempt a smile. When he noticed that I was just standing there not responding to his impromptu photo shoot, he shook his head with mild disappointment. "Smile," he said, as he moved my arm, posing me with the doll, preparing to take another picture. I pasted on a smile, trying hard to keep up the pretense of happiness when all I wanted to do was rip the vile fabric from my body and shove it down his throat. He breathed out a heavy breath and I wondered if I'd angered him so badly that he was going to hurt me, but he simply narrowed his eyes and frowned. "The way you're acting makes me think you aren't happy to be wearing such a pretty dress."

Knowing I was treading on unstable ground, I got with the program, hoping it would all be over quickly. Once he'd captured all the pictures he wanted, he motioned for me to sit on the bed while he put the camera, makeup, and doll back in the suitcase and took it over to the shelf to put away. Then he proceeded to set the table with candlesticks, a rose in a bud vase, and a white linen tablecloth, making sure to light the long, tapered candles. He added fine china and silverware, instead of paper and plastic. Then he transferred two Styrofoam boxes of food onto the plates and added a bottle of wine and two glasses. When everything was ready, he came to me and held out his arm, like a gallant gentleman. I had no choice but to stand and link my arm in his as he led me to the romantic scene he'd prepared.

"You look lovely," he said before seating me.

He was waiting for me to respond to his compliment with a smile or a thank you, but I kept my face blank. The last thing I wanted to do was encourage him romantically. As I adjusted my dress in the chair, he pushed play on the CD player. Soft music filled the cellar, setting a mood that made me fidget with unease.

As he took his seat on the other side of the table, I had my eye on the bottle of wine, contemplating all the ways I could use it to knock him out or better yet, break it and use the glass to slash his throat. Before I could get up the nerve, he poured the wine and lifted his glass for a toast. "To the beginning of a wonderful life together." He held his glass… waiting. Reluctantly, I clicked my glass to his and took a sip. "I don't like the feeling of being out of control, which is why I don't usually drink, but I don't think one glass will hurt," he said as he picked up his knife and fork.

I thought that was a good idea. I'd rather he didn't lose control either. In my experience, mentally unstable people became even more dangerous under the influence.

After forcing thoughts of him murdering me in a drunken haze out of my mind, I looked down at the plates in front of us. Each of them had large portions of chicken cordon bleu with seasoned red potatoes and asparagus. Since I wasn't given a knife, I was forced to use my fork to cut into the succulent meat. I didn't waste any time sticking that first bite into my mouth. As soon as I closed my lips around the piece of chicken, wonderful flavors burst across my tongue. I opened my eyes to find him staring at me expectantly. I pasted a smile on my face appearing appropriately grateful. "It's good—thank you."

His face broke out in a smile. "I wanted this night to be special. I'm glad I made the right selection."

Ominous butterflies fluttered in my belly. I didn't want to ask, but the question just flowed out. "What's the special occasion?"

His soft smile had made him appear happy and carefree, but now his lips were flat and a little foreboding. "Tonight, marks the end of your old life and the beginning of our new one together."

Those fluttering butterflies turned into a full-blown cyclone. I had a hard time focusing after that cryptic statement. My thoughts were centered on all the horrible things he could have in store for me. Trying to appear unfazed, I directed my attention back to my food, knowing it would be my only meal of the day… and maybe my last. I surreptitiously kept watch on his knife, hoping he'd get careless and I'd be able to grab it.

Once we'd finished our meal, he leaned back in his chair, giving me further orders. "Clear the table, and we can have ice cream." I didn't waste a second. I got straight up and came around to his side. I was going to take the knife and slip it in my dress, but before I could reach for it, he grabbed it up and stored it in the box.

I deflated both physically and mentally. It was as if he could sense every time I was getting ready to make a move. I was almost sure there was smoke coming out of my ears, I was so angry. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see that his back was still turned away. I grabbed for the wine bottle, but just as I was about to put my hand around the neck of the bottle, he turned around. I busied myself stacking the plates, hoping he hadn't noticed I'd been about to brain him over the head.

After everything was cleared away, we sat and ate the Chunky Monkey ice cream. He attempted to make small talk, but my stomach was so wound up with worry over what he had planned, I couldn't respond. When we finished, he put the table and chairs away and held his hand out to me, stopping short of taking a bow. "Dance with me?"

He phrased it as a question, but we both knew I didn't have a choice. I let him sweep me up in his toxic embrace and twirl me across the cold concrete floor. As we danced, my mind was occupied trying to understand his motivations. He proclaimed his love for me, but so far, he hadn't forced himself on me and that was puzzling.

Without warning, his mouth descended, gently moving back and forth across my lips. My heart jack-hammered in my chest. He took my stunned silence for acceptance and forced his tongue inside my mouth. I kept myself still. Finally, he pulled his mouth off mine and I fought the urge to wipe his spit away. He smiled timidly and then buried his face in my neck, hugging me to him. "Did you like that?" he asked, uncertainly.

There was no way I could verbally agree, but I was afraid of what he would do if I spurned him completely. When the silence became awkward, he pulled back so he could see my face. I took one look in his eyes and made the only gesture I could. I nodded slightly, forcing a thin smile that I hoped looked sincere. Pleasure transformed his face, and just as quickly, it turned to confusion. "You're different than the others. They all cried when I touched them."

Others? My heartbeat ratcheted up another notch. "Who… who cried?"

He placed his hand on my throat, running his fingers over the skin where the collar had rubbed me raw. "I don't want to talk about them," he said. "This is our time."

I could do nothing but stand there heaving as my breasts stretched the stitching at the bustline of my dress while his fingers moved lower, tracing and teasing. In the next instant, he pulled the bodice down, exposing my breasts to his hungry eyes. My breathing came faster. In. Out. In. Out. I turned my head from side to side, looking for a place to go.

He stared at my breasts—transfixed, cupping the underside, lifting them to feel their weight. "They're heavier than I thought." He bit the side of his lip in thoughtful wonder and squeezed. "They're so soft, too."

My mind was reeling. I didn't know what to do or how to respond. While I was debating the best way to get him to stop touching me, he grabbed my hand, placing it over his crotch, forcing me to squeeze him through his pants. He continued manipulating my hand, kneading and rubbing his soft cock, but no matter what he did, it wouldn't get hard. Finally, his frustration grew to be too much. He gave his hips one final thrust and threw my hand away.

I took a breath, relieved his body wasn't reacting, but my relief was short lived. "Undo my pants," he said, hands clenched into fists at his sides. Even though I heard the unmistakable demand in his voice, I gave a terrified shake of my head and started backing away. He didn't try to stop me. There was no need. I backed myself right into the center support pole and he wasted no time closing the distance. He pushed his body against mine, his crotch notched in the V of my legs. "Do it," he growled.

My heart was pounding, and my breathing was erratic, but I just stared at him, unmoving. He blew out a frustrated breath, unclasped his belt and opened his pants. My stomach tightened, the room started to spin, and I thought I was going to be sick. He quickly grabbed hold of my wrist and shoved my hand inside his underwear. I kept my hand limp and tried to pull away, but he was too strong. He bent my fingers around his clammy flesh; the backs of my knuckles brushing against his wiry pubic hairs. "Make it hard!" he said as he thrust his pelvis into my hand.

There was no way to keep the revulsion from showing on my face. "You don't have to do this." I tried to reason.

His face turned red with fury and he tightened his grip, almost crushing my fingers. "What I need is for you to make me hard," he screamed and loosened his hold, suddenly disgusted by me. I quickly yanked my hand out of his underwear, holding it away from my body, sickened by what he'd made me do. He stepped closer, chest touching mine as he looked down at me, seething. "You're just like all the rest of them. You smile at me and make me fall in love, and then you turn on me. All I want to do is make love to you, but you can't even stand to touch me."

His hand was a blur, as the back of it landed across my jaw, smashing the back of my head into the pole. After a swift intake of breath, I blinked—stunned at first—and then put my hand over my jaw, protecting it from another blow. He stepped back, breathing hard and turned around, trying to collect himself.

I slid to the floor, ignoring the splinters being driven into my back on the way down. I tucked myself into a ball, making myself as small as possible. Suddenly, he grabbed a handful of my hair and yanked my head off the floor. I screamed and reached down to support my weight as my hair was being ripped out by the roots. "I'm… sorry," I said in between ragged breaths as I came up on my knees to relieve the burning in my scalp. He pulled harder until I was fully upright, my back against the pole, my toes barely touching the floor. Tears were streaming down my face. I needed to diffuse his anger, or he was going to kill me. "You're… hurting me." I put my hands on his forearms to appeal to him. "If you love me… " I let the words fall away.

His eyes widened and his mouth fell open. I was finally getting through to him. Suddenly, he loosened his hold on my hair and stepped back, breathing heavily as he paced and whispered to himself. I slumped against the pole, trying to stay on my feet for fear he'd come at me again. I thought I'd seen crazy in the past—Ramirez, Abruzzi, Vlatko—they were all insane, but Durant was on a whole new level. Every visit unveiled another layer of his insanity. I wasn't sure how much more I was going to be able to survive.

He suddenly stopped, coming to some sort of decision, and faced me. I met his eyes head on, waiting for the verdict. When I noticed how much his face had softened, I expelled the pent-up breath I'd been holding. "You're right," he said. "The other's failed me, but you're different. You understand me." He put both hands on my shoulders for emphasis. I couldn't help flinching at his touch, but he didn't seem to notice as his hands roamed from my shoulders down to my hips, getting caught on a piece of torn lace. "You've ripped the dress," he said as he turned me around so he could get a closer look. "This will have to be fixed." He carefully lowered the zipper, sliding it lower and lower until his knuckles grazed my ass. I leaned on the pole for support as I stepped out of the bulky fabric and watched him fold it and placed it back in the box. In that small amount of time I'd gotten used to being clothed again and now I felt more naked than ever.

He kept giving me furtive glances, but never looking me full in the face, which was fine by me. As far as I was concerned, if he wasn't going to give me more food or water then he could leave right now. I didn't care that he might feel guilty for hitting me and I wasn't going to do anything to make his tiny conscience feel better. He licked his lip and hesitantly took my arm, walking me over to the bed. He sat down first, not letting go of my hand and then pulled me down onto his lap, cradling me in his arms as if he was giving comfort to a small child. He produced a handkerchief from his pocket and blotted my forehead and lip. I winced as he pressed and when he pulled the white linen away, it was dotted with drops of blood. "You'll be fine, it's just a couple little cuts."

I was barely listening to his words. My emotions had overloaded, and I was shutting down. He moved me off his lap and gently pressed my shoulder, indicating he wanted me to lay my head on his legs. I didn't have a choice and didn't fight him. He ran his hands lovingly over my curls, stopping to pull the bobby pins from my hair. "Why do you make me hurt you?" he asked softly, with his chest hunched over me, rocking us both back and forth.

I didn't have an answer and I don't think he expected one.

Several minutes passed before he started speaking again. This time his voice was even more quiet, if that were possible. "Do you know what happens to your body when you go without food and water?" My eyes blinked open and I craned my head to look up at him. "It's not pretty," he continued as he stared at the curtain, deep in thought. As if sensing I was getting ready to jump up and run for the door, he pushed my head back down on his lap and held it there securely while he finished with his veiled threats.

"You can go weeks without food. Did you know that, Princess?" He stopped talking and eased the pressure on my head, waiting for an answer. Within my limited confines, I gave my head a tiny shake and he began stroking my hair again. "The real problem is going without water. Doctors can't answer that question definitively, but I've found with the conditions down here, you can last three days before your blood starts to thicken." He stopped talking—stopped stroking—letting that sink in. I held my breath waiting for the rest of his frightening visual. "It gets so thick it can't circulate through your veins, causing lots of problems. First you hallucinate, then the vomiting starts, and then finally your body goes into shock when your organs shut down."

I'd never been more frightened in my life.

"As long as you cooperate, I'll provide for you." He forced me to sit up so he could look into my eyes. "Are you going to cooperate?"

"Yes." I closed my eyes and whispered.

Sometime later, I woke, confused and disoriented. I stretched and yawned, hissing at the burn when the cut on my lip re-opened. In an instant, everything came back to me—the dinner—the tantrum—Durant hitting me. I panicked and began looking around, searching the corners to see where he was hiding, but he was nowhere to be found. Knowing I was alone, caused a monstrous weight to lift from my chest. His madness was becoming more apparent with each visit and if I didn't find a way out of here soon, I was going to die down here.

And then I remembered the bobby pin I'd stashed.

I took it out from under the mattress and began working on my left wrist. The harder I tried, the more frustrated I became. When I dropped the bobby pin for the hundredth time, I beat my hands against my leg as I let my frustrated tears flow. It was pointless. I had no clue what I was doing. Even if by some twist of good luck, I was able to get the locks on my wrists and ankles open, I still couldn't maneuver the bobby pin into the critical one at the back of my neck. And if I couldn't get my collar off, I wasn't going anywhere. Finally, I gave up and hid the bobby pin to try again later.

As I stewed in frustration, I thought about all the opportunities I'd wasted when I had resources at my disposal. Ranger or any one of his men would have taught me how to pick a lock if I'd been smart enough to ask. Now it was too late. If I ever got out of here, that's the first thing I'd learn—that and self-defense.

On that thought, I got up and did my exercises.

A loud bang startled me awake. I sucked in a breath, and clutched the blanket to my chest, frantically looking around to see where it came from. I was surprised to find him standing over me, clenching his fists at his side, breathing hard. His suit was gone, replaced with jeans and a flannel shirt, telling me that another day had gone by. I scurried to throw the blanket off and sit up. He narrowed his eyes at me, and then turned to walk to the center of the room. I had been waiting for the other shoe to drop and it looked like that moment had finally arrived.

"Come here!"

I knew better than to disobey. I breathed in deep for courage and stood on shaking legs, forcing myself to take a step. By the time I reached him, his rage had cooled, and he was now smiling, eyes dancing with mischief. His rapid mood swings left me feeling uncertain.

He was staring at me as if he knew a secret. I swallowed hard and flinched away when he reached his hand out. He pulled back for a second and I thought he might leave me alone, but he started forward again until his fingers found my bare nipples. He traced circles around them, and against my will they hardened into peaks. He gave me a proud smile as if my body was drawn to his touch. It made the hairs on the back of my neck to stand up.

Before I had time to back away, he gripped my hips, pressing his crotch against mine. Instead of feeling hardness through his jeans there was the same softness as yesterday when he forced me to touch him. He ground his hips against me harder. I held myself rigid not wanting to do anything to make him think I was enjoying this. One would think I was made of plastic for all the reaction I gave him. When he realized nothing was happening below his belt, his face turned dark red and he huffed out a frustrated breath. He pulled his hips away and grabbed my hand, and placed it over his penis, making me rub him through his pants. Yesterday I resisted and it cost me dearly yet changed nothing. He was going to do what he wanted, and I couldn't stop him. That was made painfully clear to me.

He persisted for a couple minutes, becoming almost frantic in his efforts, but without a reaction from me, he gave up. His mouth twisted in defeat and maybe… regret? He turned away and walked to the other end of the room, clenching and unclenching his fists as if he were walking off his anger. When he came back, he stood inches from my face and snarled with contempt. "I thought you were 'The One', but you're not."

My eyes widened and I gulped, trying to swallow the knot lodged in my throat. The tortured look on his face scared the hell of me. He turned away, dismissing me as if I didn't matter anymore. When he put his hand around the edge of the curtain, I had to hug myself to control the shaking. I'd been curious about what the curtain hid, my imagination concocting images of women chained up in cages, or jars of body parts, or possibly a shrine with naked images of women being mutilated, but now it was suddenly real, and I wasn't sure I wanted to know.

"I didn't want it to be this way." He lowered his head, slowly shaking it back and forth, crestfallen. "I had hoped you would be the one to make everything right." He inhaled deeply through his nose and yanked the curtain open with a flourish.

I sucked in a breath, mouth gaped open, hand over my chest, frozen in horror. In that split second, my life changed forever.