Author's Note- I'm not even going to bother apologizing for making you all wait so damn long. Here's a nice long chapter for you on this nice long weekend.
Happy Labor Day!
Don't kill me… Enjoy!
Forbidden
Game
Bells and whistles and sirens… there were so many alarming sounds crashing between my ears that it was hard to discern that nagging voice in the back of my head that kept screaming Wake up! You have to get up, damn it!
Maybe for some comic relief of the moment, I should have groped around to where I remembered my side table to be so I could hit the snooze on my alarm clock. However, my brain triggered memories that reminded me that the current situation was anything but comical.
My eyes flew open and I struggled through what seemed like a thin film or veil that made my head fuzzy and my surroundings swim, just to sit up. I did and was met with a bright television screen covering the dark wall directly in front of where I lay. No, not a television screen. Multiple screens. The wall was littered with several mounted monitors, each of them on, functioning, and flipping slowly through different channels.
My bed seemed makeshift. A bare mattress on a concrete floor with a flat pillow and a scratchy, dark wool blanket that covered my lower half. Looking around- and as my breath started coming a bit quicker- I found myself in a room the size of two janitorial closets shoved together. As opposed to the concrete floors, the walls were steal, or some metal of the like. Solid, giving the room a feel of impenetrability.
Inescapable.
I was stationed on the wall adjacent to the one with the monitors, and craning my neck around, I could see that the second half of the room was occupied with crates and plastic boxes built to hold things you'd expect to need to survive an apocalypse. Parallel to me was an open doorway, inside was another room the size of a box I could barely fit in with a solitary toilet. Beside it was what looked like the door that lead to the outside, one of those large, sliding metal frames that made a loud 'whoosh' as it opened or closed automatically.
If I had to guess, I'd say I'd woken from a kidnapping to find myself in some form of a bunker.
I quickly looked away from the door, attempting vainly to inhale and exhale deeply to keep from panicking. I clasped my hands together tightly, but that didn't help the involuntary trembling.
You walked right into a trap.
"God, how could I be so stupid?" I rasped, struggling against angry and frightened tears that threatened to spill over my cheeks.
Well beating yourself up about it isn't going to do you any good.
Right. How many times have I watched a thriller and rolled my eyes as the dimwitted heroin panicked before assessing her situation and using her time to escape? How many times have I written a better scene? What would one of my heroines do?
I needed to take that role and find out.
Good girl. Check the door first.
I stood up, paused, allowing the after-effects of the chloroform to wash over me, took a deep breath, shook my head, then crept towards the door. There wasn't any kind of handle or lever that seemed to open it and it was sealed tightly, definitely on some sort of sliding mechanism that suggested some form of technology was needed to activate it. I looked around for a keypad or something that scanned finger prints.
Okay, movie-brain, what makes you think someone would lock you in a closet with access to walk right out the door...
"Currently trying to suppress the fact I've been knocked out, kidnapped, and locked in said closet by gathering information about it, can you give me a break?" I hissed, turning away from the door.
Good. Talking to yourself is always a good sign.
Ignoring the little voice in my head- saying that sounds as nuts as me talking to myself- I turned to the circuit board running the wall of monitors, hoping for a defect in the bad guy's scheme with a button clearly labeled 'open/close door'. No such luck.
Maybe try pushing all the buttons and see what they do.
No, that's what someone in panic mode would do. I had a moment alone. I wasn't about to start doing things that might catch my captor's attention and let them know that I was conscious and tinkering around- or freaking out. Besides, I didn't have to have any technical background to understand what each button was for. There were three buttons labeled '1,2,3' under ten power switches for the ten monitors on the wall. The different channels, I suspected, for each screen. They seemed to be on a self-cycle, the button glowing red to indicate which channel it was currently on before switching to the next. Some of the buttons labeled as one were glowing, some glowed for two, but there didn't seem to be any monitors shifting to the third channel. That only made me suspect that there were less than thirty channels to cycle through. Then, below the numbered buttons were some more for each screen with a picture of a speaker on them and a knob for volumes sitting beside them. None of those glowed red, which explained why no sound came from any of the monitors.
I glanced up to inspect the monitors. This room reminded me of a movie I had seen when I was a kid. Panic Room, I think it was called. The mother in the movie had moved into a new condominium with her tween daughter. A nice place. High end, with a built in bonus. A panic room, in case someone were to break in and they couldn't escape out the front door. There were monitors in the panic room, hooked up to security cameras set out through the house, so the mother could track the intruder's movements as they ransacked her home.
This room was similar, but had more of a 'prepped for doomsday' feel, so I suspected the monitors to be the same as in the movie. Equipped to security cameras lined around the bunker, if not also tuned into the local news to keep an eye on the end of the world from the safety of a hideout.
I froze, heart slamming against my ribcage, eyes flitting from monitor to monitor. They were showing footage, not from security cameras, but from hidden cameras. Cameras hidden in places I recognized.
My dorm room was the first that caught my attention. There were three, two set at different angles and one set up in my bathroom. There was one showing the parking lot outside the dormitory, angled towards where I normally parked. A camera was positioned on the dash of my car in a way that, if I were driving and checked my speed, I'd be staring right into it.
But those weren't all.
There were two in Derek's classroom, four in his apartment, one for the parking lot of his apartment complex where his car was visible, as well as mine parked right beside his, and also one in his car's dashboard. There were two cameras tucked away in Michael's diner, one for each of my other three classes including the auditorium and one in Professor Banks' office. Finally, there was one camera covering half of a hallway, focused on a door I didn't recognize but had a good feeling it belonged to whatever building held the bunker I was locked in.
Twenty cameras, all stationed in areas I've been or spent the majority of my time in. All watching, following, and stalking. All focused on me.
My stomach heaved and I whirled towards the toilet, barely making it before my stomach emptied itself. I coughed and wheezed, struggling to find my breath, to find solid ground as if Earth had been tipped off its axis and was spinning around and around.
Another wave of nausea hit me.
You can get used to 'Big Brother' watching you from every traffic or Starbucks security camera. At least the rumors of it, that is. But going on with your life while someone watched your every move from a distance, like you're part of some crappy reality TV show? Unaware that someone had direct surveillance on you while you ate, slept, worked, changed, bonded with friends or with those who were more than friends… the thought of someone watching as Derek and I stumbled into his apartment, ripping off each other's clothes… there didn't seem to be anything else in my stomach to throw up. Dry heaves and ragged gasps were all that escaped me at this point.
Just then the elevator-like door whooshed open, making me start from my pitifully crouched-over-the-toilet position. Wide eyed and heart galloping a mile a minute, I shrunk back into the slight opening of the makeshift bathroom as the shadow of my guest fell upon me.
For one split second, I almost sagged with relief. I took in the familiar combed back brown hair, slender build, chocolatey brown eyes and thought I was saved. But then the look in those eyes, terrifyingly sinister, and the sneer of those lips made me realize that I hadn't just been stupid… I had been dangerously moronic- and it may have just cost me my life.
"P-professor Banks?" I stammered. Said man rolled his eyes at me with an air of disgust and exasperation.
"Jesus fucking Christ, clean yourself up, Chloe. I need a doe-eyed damsel in distress that's not drenched in her own vomit."
He trudged into the closet and rummaged through one of the plastic bins. I glanced at the space between me, him, and the open door, and I debated whether I could make it or not. Before I could make the decision, Royce turned and threw a hand towel at me. I was too lost to shock and horror to catch it or notice it fall into my lap.
I watched him, mouth slightly agape, shaking so badly and outsider looking in might have thought I were having a seizure. He crossed the closet-room again and stood in front of the monitors.
Royce Banks was the one who had kidnapped me. He was the one stalking me. Derek had been right. More than that… Kit had been right.
"You're the one. You're the reason for Rae and Miranda's disappearances." I breathed. "You're keeping them here somewhere too, aren't you?"
"I did," Royce said without turning. "For a time."
"W-where are they?" I demanded, pushing myself up on unstable legs. "What have you done to them? What do you even want?" Royce's shoulders started shaking as he stopped tinkering with the buttons on the circuit board for the monitors. The sound of soft chuckling suggested I'd told an amusing joke, but I wasn't kidding. I was terrified. I was so, so scared… and I was angry.
I was pissed, enraged, so fucking mad, that this sociopath was toying with my life, with Rae and Miranda's lives and all the girls before us. And then there was Derek, who he was throwing all the blame on.
"You sick, psychotic bastard. You had the whole world convinced you had nothing to do with those girls from Derek's case. And now that it's been a few years you've started over. Did you really think you'd get away with all this again? Maybe if you got caught again, you'd silence whoever made you, just like your brother. Then you'd blame someone else like you did with Derek. That's what happened before, isn't it? You created this whole plot to keep everyone in the dark about your disgusting, des-"
Suddenly Royce whirled, his laughing escalated from his silent chortling and head shaking to roiling, manic bellows as he leaned against the open doorway for support. He clutched his stomach and exclaimed, "You still don't fucking get it, do you?"
He straightened and shook his head again in disbelief before stepping towards me. I stepped back, instantly against the wall of bins behind me. Everything about the Professor Banks that I had been anxious around was all but gone. The man before me was an entirely different person. It was as if all that composed sinister air about him was bursting at the seams. His hair was slightly disheveled, his posture taut and alert, his eyes bright with a strange, demented intelligence and obsession. He grinned, teeth barred, like a predator inches away from victoriously clasping its teeth around it's prey's neck.
"You still think this has all been about the girls? Oh, Chloe. I knew you were dull, but I didn't think you were this simple. It's never been about the girls."
Movement on one of the screens caught my eye and I trained my gaze to a figure crossing through the living room of Derek's apartment. Derek came up to his dining room table, glaring down at his cell phone as he punched at the keys on the device. He pressed it against his ear and glanced up at the clock hanging in his kitchen.
"Derek," I breathed, realization dawning. Royce followed my gaze and smirked.
"Took you long enough, didn't it? Let's take a listen, shall we?" He said, as Derek started speaking into the receiver of his phone. Judging by his tightly tensed shoulders, the crease in his brow, and the frustrated and slightly anxious glow in his eyes, it didn't take a genius to know who he was trying to reach.
Royce turned to the circuit board and pressed the corresponding speaker button for the screen featuring Derek's panic and turned up the volume, filling the small room with Derek's rumbling voice.
"-your phone, goddamn it. I know you're pissed, but you promised that you'd call me when you got back. It's Monday morning. If you're not keeping your word, then don't expect me to keep mine. If you're not in class today, I'm hunting you down."
He hung up and dropped his phone onto the dining room table with a clatter and an aggravated growl. He ran his hand roughly through his hair and swore. I wanted to scream into the speaker with the deluded hope that he'd be able to hear me on the other end. How many times has he tried to reach me? How many of those messages has he left on my phone? How late had he stayed up last night waiting for me to show up-
Wait... We had made an arrangement. I was supposed to meet him at his place at three. I had called him before I got back but he hadn't answered and texted me instead. However, just now he sounded as if no such conversation had occurred. As if he had no idea I was coming to meet him yesterday afternoon at all.
It was a setup.
"How did you do that?" I asked aloud. Royce turned to me, expression condescending. "You texted me from Derek's phone. But he has it now, right there on the table."
"Easy. I duplicated his phone and switched it during our staff meeting on Friday. Of course, his is now a different number and if he were to call anyone, they'd just think he was using a different phone. However, if they were to call his cell, they'd reach this one." Banks produced Derek's cell phone from his pocket and waved it, smirking. "Like you, for example. It was all too easy to ignore your call and text you instead, pretending to be Souza."
"So you could convince me to show up somewhere convenient. Somewhere you could snatch me. Derek's apartment seems a little risky, doesn't it? What if he saw you?" I asked. This was that part in the movie where the heroin prompts the bad guy into divulging his evil scheme while she tries to find a way to escape. So that's what I did. I allowed Banks to bat me around since he seemed to take some sick pleasure from it while I discreetly looked around for something to hit him with the next time he turned around.
"He didn't." Was all he said. Damn. Usually villains or so compelled to brag about their plans.
"I-I don't understand. Why are you doing all this just to get at Derek? What's your obsession with hurting him?"
Royce ignored me as he fiddled with the different cameras in Derek's apartment as Derek started down at his phone, as if willing it to ring with news on my whereabouts. Finally he picked it up and put it in his pocket before heading to the entryway, grabbing his jacket, keys and the messenger bag I had gotten him for his birthday, and leaving the apartment
"Don't worry," Royce said, though he was still facing the cameras. "He'll know where you are soon enough."
"And I suppose you've left him some clever hint as to my capture. Or maybe just a note perhaps. Seems very melodramatic to me. Very Hollywood." I said sardonically. Knowing now that Royce had no interest in me made me feel a little bolder. It didn't' mean he wouldn't hurt me- who was I kidding? If this all goes his way, Derek and I are both dead- it simply meant that he didn't kidnap me with the desire to use me in any way other than bait.
Strangely enough, Royce turned and gave me that smarmy smirk that had initially set me off about him all those months ago.
"There is the matter of your car in his parking lot. But that's boring. Besides, it's 2013; notes are so old school."
As he spoke he pulled a tablet from his book bag he had sitting against the automatic door. Her turned it on and opened a… Skype app?
The camera that was focused on the parking lot showed Derek emerging from his apartment building. He glanced around the lot as he made his way to his car, as I had seen him do so many times before. Suddenly he stopped, frozen in place, his eyes trained on my car.
'Don't!' I wanted to scream. 'It's a trap!'
He seemed to be aware of the danger and he rounded his car slowly, making his way to mine. Royce tinkered with his cameras so that we could see Derek's approach from the one sitting in my dashboard. Derek glanced in the back window, then the front. As he tried to figure out why my car was there but I wasn't, I noticed Royce pushing the call button on his Skype app. From the camera in my car I could hear the receiving end of Royce's call. Something was ringing in my car. It caught Derek's attention and he seemed to instantly realize the situation. He ripped open my driver's side door and picked up a tablet similar to Royce's. With one touch, Derek answered the Skype call.
"Where is she?" He said lowly and surprisingly calmly. Too calmly. I could see the strain of his neck as he ground his teeth together, the hunch of his shoulders as he remained tense and vigilante.
"Rude as ever," Royce sighed. "What ever happened to 'hello'?"
"Royce, you fucking-"
"Careful, Derek. There's a lady present."
"Chloe?" Derek called. "Can you hear me?"
I opened my moth to answer but Royce reached behind himself and pulled something from the waistband of his jeans. With a smile, Royce pursed his lips, warning me with a silent shh to remain quiet. Coming eye to eye with the barrel of the gun now in Royce's hand, my mouth shut so fast that my teeth clicked. I hadn't thought that my heart could beat any harder from the moment I had awoken in this room. I was wrong. It was beating so hard my chest hurt and so fast that I struggled to draw full breathes.
"Chloe's a little tongue-tied at the moment." Royce explained. "But enough about her. Let's talk about you."
"If this is about me, why involve Chloe? Why involve the other two girls?"
"You're smart, Derek. I'm sure you've already figured it out."
"Because it's the same pattern as before. Nicole, Sam and Hayley. Now you've got Rae, Miranda and Chloe. All that's missing is-"
"A dead little brother that knew too much." Royce said.
"Shit-" Derek reached for his phone in his pocket.
"Don't worry. I have about as much interest in Simon as I do in Chloe. All I want is you. Also, I can see everything you're doing. So I suggest you drop that phone in your hand or I'll put a bullet between you little Chloe's pretty blue eyes.
Derek hesitated, lowering his phone, contemplating, trying to come up with a plan.
"Think I'm bluffing, huh?" Royce chuckled. "Alright then."
He turned away from his monitors and faced me fully, gun still raised to meet me at eye level.
"Smile pretty for the camera, Chloe."
Before I had a chance to react Royce snapped a photo with his tablet. I couldn't imagine the mess he captured staring wide eyed at the barrel of a gun, but Royce seemed satisfied enough to smirk and send it to Derek through the app.
Since last September, I don't think I've ever seen Derek look so defeated. I knew what he was looking at, and I knew he was blaming himself. But the truth was, none of this was his fault. Royce Banks was a vindictive, psycho, sociopath who had developed an obsession to toy around with Derek's life. Why? I still don't know. So what was Derek supposed to do, keep from being in contact with anyone for fear of Royce targeting them? He had tried to push me away, but I pushed back to the point that Derek felt it was safer to watch me like a hawk than to leave me alone. It wasn't his fault. It's not his fault now that we're in this mess.
"Derek, I'm fine!" I finally called out, finally looking away from the gun, finally growing a goddamn backbone. "Just call the cops, they can handle this. Please, don't worry about me, just get help!"
Royce grimaced and flipped off the safety on his gun.
"I thought I told you to be quiet."
"You won't shoot." I said, surprised by how even my voice was. I met Royce's eyes for the first time since we clashed in the auditorium, and for the first time, I wasn't scared speechless.
"You won't kill me."
"Chloe-" Derek growled, warning me to keep my mouth shut. I ignored him.
"What leverage will you have left if you silence me? I'm the most crucial pawn in your little game. Without me, you have nothing left to lead Derek to you."
"Huh." Royce mumbled, flipping the safety back on and lowering his gun. He was smiling, but deep in those brown eyes of his, I could see a twinge of annoyance. "So there is a brain underneath all that wispy hair."
He was fast. Suddenly his hand was raised again and I didn't have time to defend myself. Not that I had any useful way to defend myself from being shot point blank. Only, Royce didn't shoot me. The butt of his gun hit my right temple, causing a white-hot pain to explode within my skull. I thought I heard myself cry out, but I wasn't sure. The only thing I was sure of was the pain in my head.
Coming back to the room I realized I was sprawled on my stomach, collapsed on the floor. I tried to blink away the spots and lift myself up, but Royce put his boot between my shoulder blades and pushed me back down into the cemented floor.
"The girl's got a point, I won't kill her. Not yet. But that's not going to keep me from hurting her, Derek, and you know that. So, are you going to do as I say, or not?"
"What do you want?"
"Derek-" I tried to call out, but Royce increased the weight on his foot between my shoulders, crushing me against the floor. I clenched my teeth but a groan still bubbled up from the back of my throat.
"You're going to act normal until I say otherwise." Royce stated simply. "I want you to stick to that rather strict routine of yours and act like nothing's wrong. Like I said before, I have eyes on you. One false move, one word about any of this to anyone, and I'll do you a favor and return your little Chloe. Piece by piece until there's nothing left on my end. Really, what's the use of leverage if you're not going to follow directions, right Derek?"
"I play your game, she comes out of this alive?" Derek asked. My vision had blurred so much from the hit that was threatening to render me unconscious that I could no longer make out Derek's features on the monitor. But I could hear the strain in his rumbling voice. I could hear his efforts to remain calm.
"That depends on how well you play." Royce answered. "Now, have a nice day at work, Derek, and do look forward to my next call."
With that I heard the notification sound of the Skype call ending and the pressure was released from my back. I didn't bother getting up. Too much movement made my head spin. Instead, I turned my head to watch as Royce messed with his control board.
"How long are you going to make him act as if nothing is wrong?" I asked. At this point I accepted that he didn't give a damn what happened to me as long as I stayed alive. He wasn't even going to punish me any further for speaking out. I could drift into a concussion induced coma and he wouldn't care as long as he still had his pawn.
"Long enough for someone to realize you're missing." Royce said with a shrug.
"I won't be at school today. Someone will notice." Maybe not Nate, since he is currently not speaking to me. But Liz would notice, or one of my coworkers when I don't show up for my shift.
"I anticipated that. That's why you texted everyone that you were feeling ill and would be taking a sick day before you unfortunately dropped your phone down an elevator shaft."
"The elevator in Derek's apartment building, I'm sure. You framing him"
"Nothing gets past you, does it?" Royce stated facetiously.
"So that's your end game then. Frame Derek with my kidnapping as well as Rae's and Miranda's, reopen that old case and get Derek sent to prison."
Royce laughed that spine-shuddering laugh again and actually turned towards me and crouched down to my level. When his fit ebbed, Royce cocked his head to this side and his eyes glinted. He reached toward me and I was surprised when I didn't flinch away from his touch. Maybe it was because I knew deep down that his only interest was in hurting Derek and that I was no more than a tool to achieve that. He ran his fingers through my hair, but I suppressed the shudders and met his eyes dead on.
"You're cute, Chloe," He finally said, as if I was so naïve as to believe that framing Derek for all his actions was his end game. "But you're not even close."
Just keep in mind that I absolutely promised that I would finish this story. I still plan on keeping that promise. :)