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“You can only be truly brave when you’re afraid,” she’d remembered reading somewhere, and it was true. She’d been terrified, but she’d been courageous, too. Still, even the bravest soul can only hold out so long when deprived of food, kept in chains and treated with a terrifying blend of brutality and kindness that had nearly driven her mad.
She had been on the edge of losing her mind, slipping each day a little deeper into the role James had so relentlessly forced her into—what he had called an obedient and submissive “wife.” Under the guise of a stern but loving “husband”, he had given free rein to his darkest fantasies, using the power of his position to twist the concept of love into something sharp and cutting, something that ripped into her soul and made her heart, as well as her body, bleed.
No wonder she had taken wing when she could, soaring away from whatever atrocity he was committing at the moment. It was during those times when she was sailing over a silent, deep blue sea on strong white wings that her mind somehow healed itself, at least a little, at least enough to keep the essence of who she was still alive somewhere beneath the brutalized, frightened girl she had become.
And yet, for all the evil James had done, she found she no longer hated him. They say that power corrupts, and absolute power corrupts absolutely, but in the end, James gave up that power. When he realized Michael was on the trail, he could have taken Kelsey and run, as he’d so carefully planned beforehand. But something, some lingering spark of humanity still burning inside him had flared long enough for him to commit one final, selfless act. He could have run, hiding forever in the shadows, always leaving Kelsey to wonder if someday, somehow, he would return to abduct her once again, this time taking her far away where no one could ever find her. Though his death had been tragic, knowing the nightmare was well and truly over let her sleep at night.
If Michael hadn’t arrived when he had, showing James that photo from a family beach vacation and hinting that he knew more than he actually had, would Kelsey even now be held prisoner in a small house in some Mexican village, her mind finally destroyed by the constant barrage of torture, deprivation and brainwashing? The thought that James might have impregnated her during the week he’d withheld the birth control still made her shudder. Yet it had been the threat of bringing innocent babes into the nightmare world he’d created that had shaken her out of her torpor and given her the courage to fight. Even now, it was terrifying to realize just how close she’d come to losing everything, most especially herself.
Though the day was warm, she felt suddenly cold, as if icy fingers were scraping along her spine. She shuddered and pulled her knees up to her body, wrapping her arms around them.
A strong but gentle hand stroked her arm. “Hey, you okay?”
She turned to Michael, surprised when he wiped away a tear from her cheek with his thumb. She hadn’t even realized she was crying.
During the first few months back in Florida with her parents, she would find herself sobbing uncontrollably at the drop of a hat, which had worried her parents to death, even when her therapist had assured them it was okay—it was just her mind and body’s way of coping with pent-up stress as she worked through the trauma. Over time the stormy sob sessions had ebbed, yet there were still mornings she would wake up with a face wet with tears, or find herself quietly crying while reading a book or, as now, staring out at the ocean.
“Yeah.” Kelsey smiled through the tears. Michael smiled back, his brilliant blue eyes crinkling at the corners. She liked it that he never minded when she cried. Even when it was bad, he would just hold her and stroke her hair. He never told her to stop, or that everything was fine now. He just let her be, and she loved him for it.
“I was just—remembering,” she admitted.
“It’s not something you’re ever likely to forget.” Michael turned his head to stare out at the water, though he kept his hand comfortingly on her arm. “But each day’s a little easier.”
“Yes,” she agreed, leaning her body into his. He put his arm around her shoulders, and she relaxed against him. Since the day she’d called him, Michael had been there as a friend, a constant support, a buffer between her and the press, the cops, even her parents, who meant well but had no idea how to cope with what had happened. He’d never rushed her, or made her feel obligated in any way for his steadfast, kind support.
