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Agonized, sobbing screams.
“No! Please please please,” she pleaded.
It finally occurred to him, she'd left the microphone on. Her bed must be right next to her surveillance set-up. She was having a fucking night terror.
“Please!” she screamed. It came out a long seemingly endless wail for mercy.
It was the most gut-wrenching sound he'd ever heard in his life. All he wanted in this moment was to get to her and make those screams stop.
Ari crossed the room to the metal door and banged on it. “Wake up!” he shouted. “Wake up! You're having a nightmare!” He felt more powerless now than he'd felt when she'd been whipping him. He wasn't sure how far the cell door was from her—if she'd even be able to hear him.
But she just kept screaming and sobbing and begging the man in her nightmare not to hurt her. Something shattered suddenly—like she'd kicked a lamp in her sleep and flailing struggles. The screaming stopped. Then all he heard was soft crying.
Claire sat shakingon the edge of the bed, taking deep gulping breaths, trying to slow her panicked heart. It was just a dream. Just a dream. She told herself this over and over as if to convince herself. She hadn't had the nightmares in a year. And now they'd come back. It was because he was here, so close to her. Even with him caged, she couldn't sleep with him so close to her. How could she have thought this revenge fantasy wouldn't break her completely? How had she ever thought the rage could outstrip her terror?
She looked up at the screen across the room to see him staring at the camera as if he could actually see her through the lens. She leapt out of bed and raced to the control panel. The green light was on. She'd forgotten to turn off the fucking microphone. He'dheardher screams. That fucking bastard had heard her screaming and begging him.
And now he knew he still had all the power. He stared quietly at the camera, and she couldn't read the look in his eyes.
“Did you enjoy the show?” she asked into the microphone, venom threading her voice.
“No.”
“Why not? Because I know you don't feel guilt. Was it because I interrupted your precious sleep?”
He didn't respond. Claire searched through her sound files and selected one.
“Here, let's have a change of playlist. Here's a fitting song for you to sleep to.”
She turned down the volume on the sound coming from the hidden microphones in the cell, plugged in a cord that would send the music to him and not her own room, cranked up the volume, and pushed play on Rob Zombie's, “Living Dead Girl.”
A satisfied smile curved her lips as he paced, agitated, holding his hands to his ears.
23
Claire was exhausted from so little sleep the previous night. She'd played that song on a loop for about an hour until she was satisfied she'd gotten payback for his intrusion into her privacy. Then she'd turned the microphone off and tried to go back to sleep. She'd failed and finally got up when the sun streamed in through the curtains.
She made bacon and eggs and fixed two plates. She ate hers first, then slipped the cold leftover food on the second plate through the slot to her prisoner. She wasn't going to let her own eggs get cold while delivering his breakfast. She didn't drug it this time.
His food was on a plastic disposable plate. She wasn't about to wash his dishes. Fuck that.
Claire switched on the microphone and said, “When you're finished with breakfast, put the plate under the metal table.”
“Don't I get a fork?” he asked calmly. He didn't say anything about the previous night. She was surprised he wasn't goading her. It would be the perfect opportunity. Maybe he knew how close she was to just going ahead and killing him. Maybe he had the intelligence and self-preservation instinct not to push her.
“Animals don't eat with utensils. Now be a good dog.” She switched off the microphone. She wouldn't make the mistake of leaving it on again. She was still angry with herself for doing something so foolish, something that left her vulnerable again in even the smallest way to him.
Claire showered and got ready. She needed to get groceries and other supplies—more importantly she had to get away from him for a while. She kept wanting to think of him as her captor. She'd never known his name so “captor” was the only word she'd been able to attach to him. But he wasn't her captor now. And even with the clear evidence of that fact, she still had to force herself to attach the new word to him. Prisoner.
She started to put the hoodie and sunglasses on but stopped short. Those things had been to protect herself from discovery by the man she now had locked in a cell.
She smiled at the realization that she could wear any outfit she wanted and go out into the city without hiding. She'd never have to hide again.
Outside the air felt crisp and fresh in a way it hadn't felt to her in a long time. Despite all the things this experience with her captive was bringing up for her, he was in there. And she was out here. He couldn't get to her. She was only able to enjoy this sense of freedom for a few minutes. Then she regressed to worrying about what would happen if he escaped. What if he escaped and found her and...?
Claire took a slow deep breath. He couldn't escape. Yes, he was strong, but that cell was military-grade containment. There was no way out except a steel door that wouldn't open without her thumbprint. There was no lock to pick. No code to figure out. The only key was attached to her hand. He wasn't getting away.
At the grocery store she picked up the usual things she liked to cook along with several cans of beef stew. It was quick, it was easy, and it hid the taste of the sedative. On her way back, she picked up a few necessities from the hardware store.
