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Usually, I would be working. Coming up with a plan to catch my next victims to put in my dungeon and release on the fifteenth of every month so I can hunt them down like the animals they are. But not tonight. No, tonight I watch my little bird as she tosses and turns in the white sheets.
I want to see her expression when she wakes up and finds my gift. I want to scare her, yes, but there was this primal need to bring her parts of those I killed. Like the eyes of the man who had held her gaze in the dungeon. Holding her hostage as he explained the game. Or the fingers of the man that thought he would Use her as a shield to end her, saving his own. His fingers lay along the eyes in a basket of freshly picked white and black roses.
Some may find this to be obsessive. Those who don't know the story. The story of how I’ve had eyes on her since she was fifteen. How I walked behind her down the street as she grabbed coffee. They don’t know how deep and dark our story is twisted together. She doesn’t either, but she will.
Chapter 5
"Pain is inevitable. Suffering is optional." - Haruki Murakami
“You have enough kids;you won’t even know she’s gone.”
I wake with a groan. My temple pounding, my mouth dry as I try to mentally grasp the frayed ends of the dreams that slither away from me. Except, it was not a dream. It lies somewhere between a nightmare and reality. Like a memory from anothertime, another place. But I can’t place it as my mind shuts mental shields around it.
I look to the foot of the bed where my small stature doesn’t reach and notice a simple cotton dress. White with small straps and an open back. Relief floods through me at the prospect of not having to wear a corset.
Pushing the covers back, I rise, stretching on my tip toes and raising my arms. I make my way into the bathroom, quickly showering with the fancy bottles of shampoo, conditioner and body wash. The smell of roses and white tea clings to my skin and hair as I wrap a towel around both. I dry, slipping the dress on minus a bra. I brush my hair, the sandy colored strands laying in waves down my back.
Once I take a step out of the bathroom, I pause when I see a basket of flowers laying on the chair that sits by the window. A smile tugs on my lips as I take the steps closer, closer until my hands wrap around a single black rose and bring it to my nose, inhaling the sensual aroma and closing my eyes. The smile tugs bigger and my eyes open to take in the rest of the flowers. My mouth falls open, the rose dropping to my feet as I take in the gold rings around the fingers of the man who used me as a shield, the eyes of the man who pinned me in the dungeon before we started the hunt.
I fall to my knees, my stomach twisting and lurching as bile rises up my throat. My eyes well, tears dripping down my cheeks as I stare wide-eyed at the body parts among the roses.
My shaky hands reach out as I stand, grabbing the basket as I make my way to the door. My footsteps are quiet as I step into the hallway, making my way to the closest banister and throwing the basket to the bottom floor. The flowers skitter, the eyes rolling in opposite directions across the checkered floor.
I hyperventilate as I stare at the fingers, my vision tunneling as the full realization of what kind of situation I’m in. My fingerscurl on the iron banister. Slowly, I release the banister, my feet walking back until my back collides with the wall. I allow the texture of the wallpaper to become my full focus as I skate my fingers along it, walking back to my cage. I slam the door, my body resting against the door as I slide down it. Further and further, until my ass touches the carpet. And then I stare. Stare at the birds flying and chirping outside my window. Wishing I could be them and fly away.
I stayin my cage until Francis coaxes me out with the promise of chocolate cake and piano. And he mentions themaster of the homewould be gone for several days. I know he knows why I locked myself in. Someone had to have found it and cleaned up the mess because it was gone when I came downstairs.
Francis leaves me in the piano room. The stars show through the glass room as I take a seat on the bench. I stretch my fingers over the keys, marveling in the slick, cool feel of them on my fingertips. Closing my eyes, I allow my fingers to float over the keys as a haunting tune begins to form. It's familiar but also new. As if the song has been buried deep inside me and is just now coming to the surface. My head falls forward as if possessed by the melody and I begin to hum. Words not forming but pitches come to mind. From what I can remember, which isn't anything before the age of fifteen, I've always loved the piano. My aunt and uncle scraped together every last penny to get me the best of lessons. My teacher, old and grumpy but she knew everything there was to know about the art of playing. She knew things no one had taught me before. When I missed a key, she’d smackmy hands and make me do shadow playing for the rest of the session. When I played to perfection, she still found something wrong, making sure I stayed humble and to constantly work harder. She always peered down at me through her coke bottle glasses, her eyes narrowed in disappointment. And somehow, that always thrilled me. That she was disappointed in me. I never tackled why that was, but it must have something to do with my lifebefore.
My finger misses a key, ending the song in the wrong note and holding my thoughts. I stare down at the missed note, my chest swelling as I begin again. And again. No matter how many times I do the song, I can’t find the right note to end it on. Almost as if it's a block inside my brain. Keeping very delicate details away from me.
Sometimes, I think my brain is sick and twisted and likes to keep things from me. Like this missing note or my past. Anytime I try to bring up my missing memories, my aunt and uncle would cut me off. Happy smiles with a change of subject which honestly would just make it worse. Maybe if it wasn't such a mystery, I wouldn't be so set on uncovering it. When I moved in with Joseph, I asked him to do some digging. He responded with 'you have nothing to offer me in return' and that would be the end of that. He was right, I had nothing to offer but my body and dignity, but he said that wasn't enough. I needed to leave the past in the past.
I slam my hands on the keys, causing the piano to make an unharmonious tune that echoes off the glass walls around me. My head falls forward and I squeeze my eyes tighter as my heart pounds behind my ribs. I blink them open, staring outside at the night stars. Rising, I walk barefooted to the door that opens onto a balcony. My hands wrap around the railing, and I take a deep breath.
I need to escape before his next hunt. He let me live the first time, there is no guarantee he'll allow that to happen the next time. But as I look into the dark forest, I don't see how that is possible. But maybe tomorrow I can explore the grounds, find a way out of here. There logically has to be one because he comes and goes. Brings his prisoners here someway. I can’t decide if my life's worth all this trouble though. I have nothing to go back to. Would Joseph just hand me back over? Would I be running for the rest of my life? I could go home to my aunt and uncle, but I haven't seen them since I ran away. And I wouldn't want them to become a target because of me.
I rest my head on my hands. No one would care if I vanished, no one would even know. So, what keeps me from ending it all?
The answer is short and simple. Nothing.
This isn't the first time I've felt or thought about these things. I've been battling depression and suicidal thoughts for as long as I can remember. I think it's hitting harder being off my medication. Not that my captor would care. He too would be pleased to be rid of me.
There is not a single soul who gives a damn about me.
No one.
The thought is sad and true but that doesn't make it any less hard to swallow.
I had dreams, it was never supposed to be this way. I wanted to be a star, loved by many over my piano skills. Maybe settle down eventually with a family, or with just someone. These thoughts were supposed to disappear as my life got better. I was never supposed to be trapped on an island with a man people call The Beast, a man who hunts down others for fun.
Pushing off from the balcony, I make my way back to the door, stepping inside and finding Francis watching me. "Is there something I can get you, miss?"
I don’t miss the concern in his eyes, the sadness of his voice as he asks me. I shake my head, walking to the stairs.
"You can't give me what I want, Francis."
No-one can.
