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Grabbing me by my hair, he wrenches my head back. I knee him in the A frame and snag his phone. He can’t lock doors without his phone. Racing from the room, I rush into the living area, down one section of stairs and then the next to the first floor.
The door is in sight.
I make it and twist the knob. It’s unlocked!
Flying down the dock that stretches out and turns into a maze across the marsh, I race for the canoe. We came by boat and docked, then took a canoe through to the private beach. From there, we followed a dock to the house. It had been dark that night, and my mind had not been memorizing how to get away.
I never realized I was going to be held captive.
Waves pound the beach; the wind is fierce and the clouds are heavy with rain.
The hurricane’s work—rain and storms preceding her arrival soon.
The dock breaks into a patch of what appears to be woods, and I remember walking through here, his arm holding me up when I tripped. Our laughter and stolen kisses.
I trip over the tree roots jutting from the ground and they bloody my bare feet, ripping away skin, but it’s the least of my worries.
That’s when I hear it. Feet pounding the dock. He’s behind me. He knows my destination. My escape plan. My breath hitches and my knees buckle, but I don’t fall. I keep running.
I have his phone.
I press the side button. One. Two. Three. Four... The phone falls from my hand as he shoves me forward and I crash onto the wooden dock, splinters sliding into my palm. My head smacks into the rail and warm thick blood oozes from the wound.
“I have had enough out of you,” he hisses and yanks me up by my hair, the blinding pain sending me into a fit of retching. Before I can raise a hand or cry in protest, his fist connects with my face, and the world spins into darkness.
When I open my eyes, I’m in my cage. The garden girls in their assumed positions. He’s changed clothes and is now wearing another pair of black silk lounging pants with a matching shirt, unbuttoned and open. Classical musical is playing, but he’s not given instruction to bloom or they’d be dancing.
My palms burn and the splinters are wedged inside my skin. My entire body aches, and I’m pretty sure my fractured wrist is now completely broken. My head feels like someone has run a steel rod through it and attached it to an electrical outlet.
“I see you’re awake. I didn’t want to start without you.” He presses the remote and the music grows louder.
My hair is down and loose and I feel the streaks left from tears, a little sticky. I touch the tender spot from where I fell, and wince. “I’m never going to dance for you. No matter what you do.” I know I’m lying. My armor’s cracked. I’m stripped bare to the soul.
He grips the bars. “I hoped for better and expected as much. That’s fine.” He leaves my cage and stalks the other prisons. “From now on, I’m not going to hurt you. I’m going to hurt one of them. But which one?” he asks, excitement lacing his tone as he strolls between the women, his arms locked behind his back.
“Eeny...” He circles a cage and a woman gasps, but he keeps moving. “Meeny...” He pauses and inspects his flower, who doesn’t move, speak or breathe. He nods and makes his circles again, in and out of the cages like infinity loops, and I know that’s how long I’ll be here if he doesn’t kill me first. “Miney...”
One of them whimpers. He strokes her hair, places an index finger to his lips. “Shh...” He loops through again and stops. “Moe.” He stands at the new girl’s cage and opens its door, then sticks his hand inside.
If I dance he wins. If I don’t he hurts another woman. She’s been obedient and doesn’t deserve this. I can’t be this person. I don’t want to be either person. I choke down a sob and sit in position, my knees drawn up.
He yanks her out anyway, dragging her toward me. “Look at me,” he quietly demands.
I raise my head from my knees, acquiescing because I do not want my punishment inflicted on anyone else. I will bear it myself. “I’m in position. I’m going to dance. She’s bloomed.”
The monster twists her arm behind her back and she cries out, her knees buckling and her bladder releasing.
“I’m going to bloom! I’m in position.”
A pop fills the air and nausea floods my gut. She shrieks, and he releases her as she falls in a heap on the floor, her arm hanging at an angle that sickens me. Releasing a satisfied sigh, he pats her head. “You’ll be fine.” He holds my gaze, his eyes cold and calculating. “Or maybe you won’t be,” he mutters, and drags her by the good arm across the tile as she wails and pleads.
I white-knuckle the bars and beg him to stop. To fight me. Take me. Pick me.
I’m ready to die. I want to die.
But he ignores my cries.
Chapter Fifteen
