Later that day, Amanda awoke from her nap to find bright light shining in her face. John had opened the windows, and she felt the warmth all over her face. She sat up in bed and tried to stretch inconspicuously. She remembered the exchange that had gone on earlier between her and John with some unease. He may have fed her and saved her life, but, two weeks ago, he had tried to kill her. Amanda couldn't forget that part.
Besides, she was trapped in his house, or wherever he lived. She couldn't forget that he held all of the power. She, on the other hand, could barely move without assistance. Tears stung her eyes. Why did she have to be so helpless?
John was sitting in the chair beside her bed, reading a book. It was turned so that she couldn't see the title, but it looked thick and large. As soon as she saw John look up from the book, Amanda tried to turn her attention towards something else.
Anything else.
Has he been there the whole time? She wondered, not knowing which answer she wanted to hear.
Her eyes focused on the arm that had previously had an IV in it. The needle and tube connecting her to the machinery was gone, but there was a small dot where she guessed the needle had been. It didn't look infected though—just like her arms usually looked after getting an injection or getting high.
Provided whoever provided the injection used a clean needle.
Amanda hadn't paid attention to the clothes she had worn to the police station when she got dressed, but now noticed that she was wearing a black shirt. She wasn't sure what her pants looked like, but they were probably jeans. Whatever they were, she had been wearing them for a week.
Gross.
Her hair was pulled back in a tight low ponytail that did not exactly hurt her head but made her aware that it was pulled back. She might have made the ponytail, or it could have been John. She wouldn't know. She knew it probably looked awful, since Amanda had to wash her hair every day just for it to look okay, and she knew she hadn't washed it on the day she went to the police.
Actually, Amanda realized that she couldn't remember when she had last showered. Probably after the trap, but she wouldn't place any bets on it. Liz hadn't complained about it, but Liz was used to Amanda's messy habits.
Amanda probably hadn't brushed her teeth in over a week, either. She could still taste the pancakes and the eggs, but she felt a layer of plaque that tasted faintly like cheese around all of her teeth. Particularly the back ones. At least it was a change from the metal trap she had dreamed about prior to her overdose, but, still, it wasn't exactly pleasant.
She peeked out from the lids of her eyes. He was staring at her. It was enough to give her a heart attack. She whimpered before she could stop herself.
"Shh, shh," John murmured, leaving his chair and placing a hand on her forehead. "Don't be afraid—I won't hurt you."
Amanda lay rigid, hardly daring to allow herself to breathe. John sighed and began to stroke her hair. "Well, did you sleep well?" he asked in that soft voice of his.
She barely nodded in response, eyes focused on the ceiling.
"Amanda…" He paused, then left the sentence unfinished as he continued to smooth her hair.
Amanda was almost enjoying the sensation.
But then he stopped. He felt her forehead, and then her cheeks. "Are you cold? Hungry?" he pressed.
Amanda shook her head and the blankets fell a few inches, revealing the top of her shirt. Quickly, she pulled herself under the blankets again. "I'm fine."
He moved his hand away from her face, but his eyes remained on her. Amanda willed herself not to flinch. Couldn't he just leave her alone?
"You smell," John noted suddenly. "Come with me. You need a bath."
Amanda let out the breath she hadn't realized she had been holding in the form of a sigh. So, this was how he was going to kill her. Made sense—less blood this way.
As though he cared about that sort of thing.
She shook her head violently. "No…please…no," she whispered, attaching her hands to the blankets.
John's face was inscrutable. "Yes." He pulled his hand around hers to lift her up, and before Amanda knew what was going on, the other hand joined it. She whimpered but to no avail. Within seconds, Amanda felt herself being picked up and carried until John had reached a tub in the middle of the room. She willed her legs to kick, but they seemed to have gone numb.
She watched as he turned on the water and sat her on the ground next to it, trying to remove her shirt.
"No," she whimpered softly, wrapping her arms around her chest.
John almost smiled. "All right, then. Strip."
"What?!" Amanda practically wailed.
John took her hands. "I won't hurt you, Amanda," he promised, "and I won't look."
Well, at least he wasn't going to take off her clothes. Hands shaking, Amanda pulled away her shirt and pants. Harder to remove was the bra and underwear. John kept his word and didn't face her, but Amanda didn't feel like any less of a victim.
He's going to rape me, she thought to herself. He's going to rape me and then he's going to kill me. He's going to hold my head down in the water until the blood flows. Then, he's going to laugh.
These musings did not calm her down.
"All finished?" John asked.
"Yes," Amanda whispered.
"I want you to test the water," John finally said, still not looking. "I don't want it to be too hot or too cold for you. If it's acceptable, get in."
Crouching, Amanda dipped a hand in the water. Hot, but not too hot. Give or take a few degrees, it was the temperature she would set the water to when she showered. "It's fine," she whispered before entering the tub. The water was still running. She lay down, carefully, making herself take deep breaths in hopes that this would calm her down.
"Are you all right?" he asked calmly.
"Y-yes," Amanda managed.
John turned, smiled slightly as he saw her relaxing, and then spoke softly. "Now, Amanda, just rest while it fills up," John continued. "I'm going to change the sheets on your bed. I'll be back in a minute."
Amanda nodded meekly. Was this how he intended to break her? Was he going to rape her next, or would John content himself with showing Amanda how much power he had over her in some other way, perhaps by holding her head under the water for several minutes?
Somehow, though, Amanda couldn't make herself feel hysterical for long. So far, he hadn't done anything, and besides, the water felt delicious against her sweaty skin. As the water grew higher, she found herself experimenting so as to be able to breathe while maintaining a comfortable, laying down, position. It seemed to be a losing battle. No sooner had she found one comfortable position than it began to hurt her, whether it was her hands from balancing against the tub, or her head from leaning on top of it. Eventually, Amanda settled for allowing her head to stay a few inches above the water and her back not quite touching the bottom of the tub.
She pulled her hair out of the ponytail, pulling the band around her wrist, and let it hover about the water. She took a deep breath and let her entire head fall in the water for a moment. When she went up for air, she tried to position herself so that her hair stayed in the water but she was able to breathe. This was almost impossible, and Amanda swallowed a several mouthfuls of water while trying to get that experiment to work.
She peaked out of the tub and saw John gathering up the blankets, sheets, and the pillowcases. He left the room, only to return minutes later with new blankets, sheets, and pillowcases. He made the bed, slowly and very carefully, and when he was at last finished he saw her watching and walked towards the tub, holding the covers Amanda must have used to sleep under. Any relaxation Amanda had received in the past twenty minutes left her suddenly.
He was going to smother her. He was really going to smother her.
She shut her eyes tightly and heard him turn the water off. On instinct, Amanda opened her eyes and saw him putting the dirty blankets and sheets on the floor. She felt a little better, and forced herself to take a deep breath.
"I don't want you to trip when you get out," he explained.
"I thought you were going to kill me," she whispered, then wished she hadn't.
"I won't hurt you," John reassured her. "Sit up."
She obeyed.
Next to the chair sat a few red towels, including one that was considerably smaller than the others. John reached for one of the bottles that Amanda now noticed was on the side. He wet his hands and began to pour a generous amount of blue goopy stuff in them. "Close your eyes and hold out your head," he instructed, holding them outstretched across the side of the tub.
"But…" she whispered.
"It's just shampoo," John explained, and Amanda could swear he was holding back a smile. "But I don't want to get any in your eyes, so keep them closed and keep still until I say you can move."
Amanda, yet again, obeyed. She half expected the blue stuff to be some kind of acid which would eat away at her scalp, and it was all she could do not to cry out.
Carefully, he spread the shampoo over her head and began to run his fingers throughout her hair, massaging it carefully. It didn't take long for Amanda to see that it wasn't acid, just soap. Maybe he wasn't going to kill her after all…
Suddenly, Amanda felt herself go limp as John continued to work his fingers through her hair. It felt so nice, but she didn't dare open her eyes or make any sound.
Suddenly, a soft "Mmm," escaped her lips, and John laughed pleasantly, moving his massage to the center of her head.
"I told you I wouldn't hurt you," he chided. He then poured more shampoo onto her hands and began to rub it around her back, transferring the massage to that entire area. His hands were surprisingly strong but it didn't hurt at all. In fact, it felt almost as good as when he had rubbed her head, and she could feel her lips starting to form a smile. He did her arms next. "You have to learn to trust me," John was saying.
Amanda didn't know how long this lasted, but it felt like too soon when one of John's hands let go. Seconds later, he was handing her to take the smaller towel. It was the size of a large wash cloth. "For your face."
Amanda took the towel gratefully. "Thanks."
He used a small spray the was hooked to the tub and Amanda smiled as she felt the warm water fall over her head and onto the rest of her body, carrying the soap with it. Amanda grinned—she was finally beginning to feel clean.
Then he poured a generous amount of conditioner over her hair and began to brush it through, careful as he had been with the shampoo. This was not quite as pleasant—the bristles tickled and scratched her scalp—but she didn't mind it either. He left it on for a few minutes, taking the time to unplug the tub and rinse off the brush, and then handed Amanda the wash cloth so he could rinse the conditioner out. Minutes later, he was finished and handing a towel to her. As she dried off her body, John was towel drying her hair with another, just as large, towel.
Then he was brushing it again, making Amanda felt more like a small dog being groomed by a benevolent master, rather than a heroin addict twenty four year old who had just spent the last week unconscious, being cared for by a well known serial killer.
She didn't flinch when he removed both towels. For a minute, Amanda wondered what she was going to wear, but John answered that by putting on a long shirt that reached past her knees. The sleeves, though meant to be short, fell past her elbows. It felt very soft, like cotton that had been washed until it was worn down. Now John was brushing her hair again.
"What's this?" she asked, holding out a fold of the shirt.
"What I wear to sleep," he explained, bemused.
Amanda stayed silent for a few minutes. Then, as though gathering up her nerve, she spoke quickly. "Can I brush my teeth?" Amanda asked, tentatively.
"Of course." He guided her in the opposite direction to a sink with an unopened tube of Crest toothpaste and a blue toothbrush sitting in a cup.
Relieved, Amanda brushed thoroughly for at least three minutes, until she felt all the plaque disappear. She grinned, sheepishly, when she put back the toothbrush whose bristles were now somewhat bent.
"You'll need a new brush soon," John smiled.
He lifted her up, carried her across the room, and Amanda made herself comfortable as she nestled against his shoulders.
She nodded at something he said without knowing what it was, and felt him separate her body from his arms. He tucked numerous blankets around her and she nestled against the pillow. The material from sheets and blankets felt the same as the previous ones, but hot, and she knew they had just been in the dryer. He ran a hand over her face again, smoothing her still wet hair. Amanda, though hardly able to keep her eyes open, smiled contentedly. Even if it was only temporary, she was clean, and she felt safe. Perhaps John wasn't so horrible after all.