Note: Finally, a little bit of action. This section is kind of long, but I hope no one minds. I also nervously chew my lip about what's revealed and what people will think.
Mr. Larson who lived across the street should know better than to mow the lawn before eight AM. At the very least, Charlie thought there should be a citywide ordinance about it. He mumbled an unkind word or two about his neighbor's rude timing and rolled over. Which was when he remembered where he was and that he couldn't roll over, so it made no sense that Mr. Larson was mowing the lawn at an indecent hour. For several very confusing seconds, he tried to understand what the noise he heard was and then he felt something, a touch, which made the noise totally unimportant. He opened his eyes, and remembered all.
"What?" he said, sleep-groggy. "What are you doing?"
"Oh, you're awake," she said, then hummed. Continued humming, he corrected himself. That must have been what he had heard, what had pulled him from sleep. "I thought you were going to sleep the day away."
The light in his prison room was still off, but the door open. He wondered how the light shining in his face hadn't woken him up. He also wondered how long she'd been at his bedside, stroking his arm…his face…oh, God, her hand moved down to his abdomen. Charlie shivered, sucking his stomach in – a vain attempt to avoid the touch. He could never let himself fall asleep here again and he thought of the statistic he'd read when he was ten that claimed if a person stayed conscious for too many days in a row it would kill them. He didn't know if he believed it, but it terrified him almost as much as the thought of being molested in his sleep.
"I brought you some more food."
The caressing continued, inching alarmingly downward. He had no idea what to do when her roaming hand took advantage of his sucked-in stomach and eased under his beltline. Charlie twisted away, as far as he could get with his arms and legs pinioned.
"I'm…not hungry, thanks."
"Charlie, you have to keep up your strength. I won't have my man wasting away to nothing on my watch." She didn't seem too perturbed by his recoiling from her touch. He supposed he should be grateful, but all he could think about was how her hands weren't stopping. "I know you've got a little belly, but it's just that – little, like the rest of you. Every time I see you I just want to give you a hug. I wish, oh, I wish you hadn't cut your hair."
Her hand tightened a little, tangling in the band of his underwear. Charlie cringed internally. He wished he could close his eyes and pretend this wasn't happening. He was afraid to move, afraid no matter what he did she'd misinterpret the motivation behind his action. He was in that proverbial rock/hard place situation, and no matter how he looked at it the choices weren't good.
"Please," he said. "You're making me feel really uncomfortable."
Something about her had changed. The last time she was in the room with him, she had been hesitant to push him, seemed aware he did not reciprocate the fantasy she believed. Maybe the fantasizing had progressed to a point she could no longer distinguish reality, and God that terrified him more than he could say.
"You seem…I know you like to take things slow." She withdrew her hand from his pants, and Charlie nearly cried with relief. She touched his face, then the hair at his temples. "Now that I've had a little time to think about it, I've reconsidered about the hair. You've still got plenty of length and curl."
Charlie nodded, glad for this tiny bit of reason in this place of unknowns. He realized he was assuming there was some kind of reason behind her words. Before, she had sounded completely rational in a completely insane way. Now, not so much. He did not like how quickly this was going to hell, or that he didn't even know who the hell she was yet. His head spun with confusion.
"It was just a maintenance cut," Charlie said. He was pleased that he sounded almost normal and in control. "I'll never be interested in shaving my head."
"Of course you won't," she said. She tugged lightly at one of the curls he had trimmed so it wouldn't fall into his face anymore. "I should have known better. I hope you can forgive me about that, just like I came to terms with the haircut."
Riiiiight, Charlie thought. The two things were so much alike. As he'd learned in his first, brief contact with the mystery woman, though, it was best to simply not answer statements like that.
"Can you maybe turn on the light?"
Having light flood the room wouldn't give him any idea what time of day it was, but he hoped it might give him at least some illusion of day and night; neverending darkness distorted time. It seemed like he'd been there forever. Plus, with the light on he would finally see who it was who stroked various parts of his body while he slept. He shuddered, unsure he was ready to face that. He vowed to not fall asleep again, again. Charlie thought his captor might think he already knew who she was based on voice alone, so he definitely didn't want to mention that figuring out her identity was one of the primary motivating factors to his request.
"It's been so long since I've seen anything but the dark. It feels like solitary confinement must feel like."
Mistake. Really bad choice of words. Her hand tightened in that already familiar 'I'm angry and could fly off the handle' kind of way. Charlie winced as several hairs pulled out.
"This is not a prison, Charles Eppes."
In for a penny, he thought. He couldn't not say anything forever, and the serious lack of information had him at a disadvantage. He couldn't do much, but that didn't mean he shouldn't try.
"I don't have to remind you that you, in fact, have me restrained in a dark room."
"That's only because you made me angry," she said. Her hand remained in his hair, fingers twisting a little. "I told you that already. It wasn't supposed to be this way. I didn't mean for this to happen."
Charlie didn't believe her claim of spontaneity. There was, after all, no good or logical reason he should. He didn't know one single regular person who had the wherewithal to kidnap and hold someone in this particular manner without some sort of premeditation. She must have had the restraints. She had told him that her refrigerator was stocked with Ensure of multiple flavors. Unless that was all she herself ate, that nourishment was intended for a kidnap victim. Him. And Charlie was almost definite that she must have slipped him something to knock him from Friday all the way back to Monday, leaving him with gaps in his memory that still scared him to consider.
"I know. I know you didn't," he told her, lying through his teeth and hoping she bought it more than he bought her play of sanity. Oh, God, Don, where are you, he thought irrationally. His brother couldn't know who had him or why if he couldn't even figure it out himself. "The hair. But you said you were okay with that, so can you please turn on the light?"
Charlie couldn't keep carrying on with these inane conversations with this person he didn't even know. If he could see her, he might be able to do more to help himself. He had no idea what, but that wasn't the point, really. He was crippled, and blind as well. He didn't think she was ready to unshackle him quite yet, though he really hoped that would change before his other physical situation became worse. Somewhere between sucking in his stomach and having his hair pulled out, Charlie had started feeling the need to go to the bathroom.
"You're right. I didn't want to wake you, so I left it off. You look so sweet when you're asleep."
"Oh." He hated that she could see him but he couldn't see her clearly, and he really tried not to focus on her petting him while he slept. It was too creepy. "Huh."
"No one's ever told you that before? You really are just the cutest thing ever. I'm so glad you're here, even if I wasn't ready yet."
As was her strange pattern, it seemed as though she wanted him to understand it would have been so much better had things gone according to her schedule, and as was his reaction before, he was bothered that there was a schedule in the first place. If he hadn't ended up here yesterday (or whenever) he would have been chained to a bed next week, or next month. It was discomfiting for Charlie to realize someone had watched him and plotted and planned. He felt like he should have sensed it coming. He wondered what would have been different if it had gone according to her plan, even though it was useless tot think about. He wondered if she'd always planned to drug him. Charlie couldn't shake his concern about that bit of missing time, and how long he'd been unconscious and vulnerable to the wandering hands he now knew she had. He shook himself slightly. She noticed.
"You're chilled." Her fingers touched his face again, briefly scratching through stubble. His beard grew pretty quickly, but based on the sound of her nails flicking through the growth, he'd been here at least a day. Probably longer. She latched onto his right hand. "I have a blanket in the other room. You won't go anywhere if I go get it for you?"
She giggled, setting his teeth on edge. Her little joke was not amusing from his perspective. Charlie made himself smile anyway, counting on her relatively one-track mind to miss that he didn't mean it. His part in the rescue equation was the only one he could see clearly, and it was also the only one he knew. It was very important to make sure it didn't fail, because if it failed, everything else he couldn't see but counted on might too.
"Oh, I'll be here," he said.
She stood up and walked away, leaving the door open and the room illuminated by a light from outside. Charlie lifted his head, which no longer hurt as much, and did a quick survey of the room. It was nondescript, generic, much like his captor so far. The walls were light colored and bare. There was one window, heavily covered, a big dresser right in front of it. A small, empty closet. A chair next to the bed. The perfect little prison cell, sans toilet. He gained no useful information.
"Okay, let's tuck you in," she said as she reentered the room.
He didn't react to her over the top ministration. She used covering him with a blanket as an excuse to touch. Charlie could put up with that if it meant he'd ultimately be covered and therefore protected a bit. She wrapped him in the blanket like a mummy. For a change, he was actually glad he was tied up. She couldn't turn him and grope his backside that way.
"Better?"
He had been cold, he realized. Charlie nodded and thought about asking for the light again. She'd relaxed enough to leave the door open, a definite improvement to the spotlight she'd shone in his face before. He just didn't know.
"Good. Are you sure you're not hungry?"
He was. The part of his headache that hadn't gone away was probably due to lack of food. Charlie swallowed and decided it wouldn't do him any good to refuse to eat, and would essentially mean he wasn't holding up his part of the equation. He wanted more than a chalky Ensure shake, though. If…when he got out of this mess, he was going to tell Dad every single day how much he appreciated the cooking. Dad had to be going out of his mind right now.
"I could eat," he said. His bladder told him it wouldn't be a good idea to put anything else in before something came out. "But I have to use the restroom now."
"Oh," she said. "Hmmm, how are we going to do this?"
"I'd prefer if it was just me doing it." Reasonable, he thought, and he hoped she'd respect his wish for privacy. "If you don't mind."
"You're shy."
"Something like that."
"I'm just not sure…" she said. "You're still skittish."
He couldn't figure her out. She apparently knew she was holding him against his will, yet at the same time seemed to think they were good friends. She needed help almost as much as he did himself.
"I'd probably be a lot more comfortable if you untied me."
"You have a point," she said. "I know you won't run out on me like everyone else does. You're too nice for that."
"I promise," he lied. "Just, please, let me up so I can go to the bathroom."
He had this thought that perhaps his part of the equation was more than just hanging on until Don and the others arrived. He never just sat around and waited for a problem to solve itself; he rolled up his sleeves and started tackling it head on. This was an opportunity to gain information…and possibly to regain his freedom.
"Okay."
A swirl of adrenaline and nervousness tingled in his stomach. The air was cool against his body, even through his clothes, when she drew the blanket off of him. It felt good, vitalizing. She cautiously unclasped his right wrist. Charlie glanced down, noticed the cuffs were the padded leather kind he imagined would be used in a psych ward in a hospital. Strangely fitting in the situation. He'd been too panicked to notice before.
"You managed to abrade yourself even with the padding," she said sadly. "We'll get that taken care of, too."
She held on to his right hand, fingers entwining with his numb ones, while she undid his left hand. Charlie ignored it when she squeezed his hand tightly, neither responding nor pulling away like he so desperately wanted to. He didn't think she would hurt him, but since he still knew nothing about her, he couldn't take his hypothesis as proof.
"That would be nice." He coughed, throat suddenly dry. He had to do something. He had to. Could he? "I was a bit disoriented the first time I woke up."
"I'm sorry about that, but it had to be done." She let go of his hand and focused on undoing his ankles. He thought it would be a good idea to kick her in the face. He didn't. "I could tell you were nervous around me and I needed to settle you down a little. You can be a bit high-strung, sometimes, you know that, Charlie?"
"My brother tells me that sometimes," he said. My brother who is going to find you, whether I get out of here on my own or not, he thought. "He often thinks it's his job to tell me to calm down."
"He's visited you on campus. I've seen him around. You can sit up now." Despite the adrenaline in his system, Charlie's muscles were uncooperative. That had to change, and soon, if he was really going to do this. The bathroom had to have a window. "He doesn't have the same verve as you. It's sad, because he's handsome, too."
"Don has a lot on his plate." Like tracking down drug dealers and assassins and kidnapping stalkers. Charlie wasn't sure how he was managing to talk about everyday things like this, and was acutely aware of how crazy it was. Anything to keep her calm and happy. "He works for the F…ederal Express Corporation."
His heart pounded. He didn't know how much she knew about his family, but it was a fair bet she didn't have a clue his brother was a federal agent, or she would have expressed concern. Charlie sat up shakily, careful to be meek to the point of subservience. It wasn't very tough to pull off at all. He had to be sure this would work before he tried it. A good start would actually be seeing the bathroom. With his luck, they were probably on the eighth floor of an apartment complex.
"You're weak," she said in a matter-of-fact tone. "You need to eat more to keep up your strength."
He hated running, but he thought running would be a much better way to keep up his strength. His body was starting to get with the program, but his brain told him to just wait it out. Gather data first, leap out windows last.
"I don't really like Ensure that much. It's too chalky," he told her. "I would love pizza."
She wrapped an arm around his back, snugging her hand against his side. Together, they stood up. Charlie squinted as they walked toward the door, the brightness of the artificial lights from above coupled with the natural light streaming in from windows somewhere within the house…no, apartment, startling to eyes accustomed to dark. It was no surprise to him when they passed a living area with empty walls and beige furniture, a nondescript home. He looked over for his first good look at her. She looked familiar, yet not at the same time. Nameless. Invisible.
"It's too early for pizza, don't you think? I'll see what else I might have while you go, y'know." She ducked her head and blushed a little. Her plain brown hair shielded her face. Charlie thought of Larry for some reason. "But you have to leave the door open."
He nodded. If she was going to go to the kitchen, he might have enough time. To lock himself in the bathroom.
"You don't seem surprised," she said. He stared at her, alarmed by the intenseness in her murky hazel eyes. "To see me, I mean. For a while, I thought you didn't know who I was."
He shrugged, drawing away from her slightly in what he hoped she saw as an indication he had started to feel his legs and arms again. The best answer Charlie could give her was a sheepish smile. She seemed pleased by it.
"Here's the bathroom. You can close the door most of the way, but not all." She let go of him, watching as he walked through the door. All he could see was the barren whiteness of the room and the small window, high on the wall next to the toilet. He squinted, his eyes not quite accustomed to natural light yet. He thought he could fit through the window. "And Charlie?" He looked back at her. She stared down at the floor. "I'm so glad you're here."
She looked up again, tentatively, and smiled at him. He finally recognized her. Front row, low-dimensional topology. Alisen Lancaster, average student. Nothing spectacular, but not terrible. She never participated in class. Now that Charlie knew who she was, he remembered how in class she would always look away when he glanced in her direction. It was the only concrete thing he could recall about her. He frowned a little. Alisen closed the bathroom door, but only partially. She left a good fifteen inches of open space.
Charlie waited until he heard her go down the hall and he could no longer hear her footsteps, then he moved. He closed the door softly, not wanting to attract her attention to his movements. He turned the lock mechanism and let himself breathe for a second or two, waiting to see if she'd noticed. His skin prickled and itched and he really did have to pee. He unzipped and put the toilet seat up. It would only take a minute, it would be okay.
Once he'd relieved that need, he put the seat back down and flushed. Charlie climbed on the seat and reached for the window. He wasn't exactly known for his upper body strength, but motivation and adrenaline surely had to help with that. Still, hefting himself up and out was going to take a fair amount of muscle power and despite adrenaline, he'd spent who knew how long strapped to a bed.
"Charlie, do you like…" Alisen shouted, probably from the kitchen. Oh, not good. Her voice got closer. She got closer. "Charlie! Charlie, what are you doing? I asked you to keep the door open."
The doorknob jangled slightly. Charlie swallowed a couple of times.
"I'm sorry, I'm really shy," he said. He didn't even believe himself.
"What are you doing?" she said again. Something clattered to the floor. Then the door started rattling as she pounded against it. "What are you doing?"
Getting out of here, he thought. Charlie couldn't wait to be rescued, couldn't waste the opportunity to free himself. He unlocked the window and slid it open as far as he could, standing tiptoe on the toilet seat. The adrenaline was pumping through his veins now, and he was as confident as he could be that he'd be able to manage this. He jarred the screen loose. Charlie hoped with all his heart that there was a way out on the other side of that window. He grasped the sill and half-pulled, half-crawled his way up the wall. The pounding on the door behind him was violent now. He thought he heard splintering wood. He didn't look. He had to get away. He was so close.
Charlie breathed in relatively fresh air for the first time in a very long time, and was relieved to see he was only on the second floor. His left foot banged against the toilet paper dispenser. He used it as a toehold, and it helped push him further up until his elbows now rested on the sill. He was there, he'd done it. His joyful disbelief lasted all of five seconds, because that was when he heard the bathroom door slam open. Felt scrabbling hands on his thighs, pulling and tugging and costing him his faltering hold on the window and freedom.
"You're no different!"
One last tremendous jerk came to his legs. He fell backward, and as he did so Charlie thought he had made a big mistake in this equation. Then his right elbow smacked against the sink, pain ricocheted through his arm, and finally his head crashed against the hard tile of the bathroom floor. It bounced up slightly and concussed again. The last thing he saw was the horrible, inescapable dark reclaiming his life once more.