A Bedtime Story (4 page)

“So I see you’re feeling better,” he added without looking at her.
“Yes. Thank you,” she managed sheepishly.

He stopped rummaging in the fridge, popping his head up to stare
her up and down. “Hmm,” he uttered, unconvinced.

She immediately lowered her eyes. She would have done anything to
avoid his stare. Her heart was racing. She was terrified she had gotten herself into
trouble getting caught in the kitchen when supposedly sick in bed. She would pull
all the
thank yous
and
pleases
necessary and remain on her best
behavior facing his suspicious good mood.

“How about chicken?”

“That’s perfect, thank you.”

He proceeded to pull a few things out, chicken, salad, some rice,
then heated her meal in the microwave. “What do you want to drink?”

“I’m okay, thank you.”

“I have Diet Pepsi… Don’t all girls drink Diet Pepsi?” he tempted
her, offering her an impish smile. She loved Diet Pepsi. It was, in all truth, the
only nonalcoholic beverage she drank.

“Oh… Yes, thank you.”

“Ice?”

She was confused by his considerate-host act but knew better than
to let her guard down. “Hmm… yes, please. Thanks.”

“Just like Olga. She makes me buy these things by the cases.” He
shook his head indulgently. He brought her the mouth-watering plate and put the
glass down next to it.

“Here, bon appétit.”

“Thank you.”

He took a broom from the closet and cleaned her mess
while she devoured her meal. When she was done, he took her plate. “Was it
good?”

“Yes, thank you.” She didn’t think anyone’s ever said those two
words as often in this amount of time. She felt like a broken record, her vocabulary
reduced to
thank you, please, I swear, I don’t know
… the last part made her
eyes water.

No one spoke for a while. She was tracing circles on the counter
with the tip of her fingers. He was leaning back against the closet where he just
put away the broom, openly watching her with an amused smile. She could feel his
stare, but refused to look at him unless specifically told to do so. The felt
silence was marked by the incessant ticking of the metal-plated clock on the
opposing wall. Laura thought an eternity passed between each swipe of the pendulum,
its ticking sound increasingly louder in her ears. Unable to bear the heavy silence
any longer, she finally spoke up. “May I be excused?” She felt pathetic, like a
child requesting permission.

His smirk broke into a full grin. “Yes, Laura, you may be excused.”
He had barely finished uttering the words and found her already up on her feet,
rushing out of the kitchen. He watched her leave, almost breaking into a run. He’d
let her run and hide,
for now
.

T
hat night Laura dreamt of Peter again, but
not the Peter she remembered. He didn’t resemble himself, though she knew it was
him. They were alone, surrounded by darkness as violent winds roared all around
them. Nothing but empty black space except for a bright light illuminating their
faces, as if a spotlight shone on them, its source, invisible. Peter was calling out
to her, his face distorted in pain as he was being sucked into some kind of black
hole. She couldn’t see the lower half of his body anymore. She was gripping his hand
with both of hers and pulling with all her might. Her entire body hurt, but she
refused to let go. She could feel him slipping away, his hold loosening. She kept
screaming for him to hang on, but she could barely hear herself through the howling
winds. He looked up at her, looking like himself again. He seemed serene, his face
relaxed and his eyes kind. He smiled at her, tender and comforting, mouthed
sorry
, and let go. He was immediately sucked into nothingness. The force
threw her back to the floor. She called for him, screamed his name, over and over
again, breaking down into sobs.

Her tears were still fresh on her face when she woke up. She opened
her eyes, long enough to confirm the nightmare was still real, and cried herself
back to sleep.

The next morning, Laura rebuffed Olga’s few initiatives to get her
out of bed. Not even the appetizing trolley lured her out of the sheets. Olga
graciously gave her space but emphasized that Master Kayne had specifically
requested she join him for supper, which would be served at seven. Laura dismissed
her concerned efforts. She had no intention of leaving her bedroom, come what
may.

At six fifty sharp, just as the day before, Olga knocked at her
door. When Laura didn’t respond, she opened it partially, her alarm apparent at
finding Laura the way she had left her.

“Miss Spencer… Please, you must get ready. You must
eat something.” She tried to reason with her.

Laura didn’t even move a muscle.

“Master will not be happy…”

For some reason, the words made Laura snap, with a fury that
betrayed her previous apathy. “Master will not be happy! Master will not be happy?”
In one movement, she was up on her feet, almost screaming.

“Miss Spencer, please, I beg you, calm yourself…” Olga was beyond
nervous.

“No! I will not calm myself! Do you even know why I’m here? Do you
even know who you work for? Who you’re asking me to have supper with?” Her voice
faltered, as a lump rose in her throat.

“Oooh, Miss Spencer… please…” Olga appeared to be on the verge of
tears, her eyes flicking behind her constantly. Her fears realized as loud steps
approaching echoed throughout. While Olga closed her eyes, Laura kept hers wide
open, her posture firm and ready for battle.

“What’s with all the commotion?” Kayne slammed the door open,
passing Olga, and in a few steps, he faced Laura.

“Is there a problem, Laura?” His voice was chillingly calm.

“No, Master Kayne, no problem. I was just about to get Miss Spencer
ready…” Olga threw to his back.

He ignored her. His eyes were burning into Laura, daring her to
defy him. She gulped but held his stare. She’d take the bait, gladly.

“I would prefer staying in my room.” Her voice was just as calm,
though her heart beat so frantically in her chest, she feared it might explode. She
knew it was madness, but she couldn’t back out now, and she was in no mood to spend
another supper as his obedient pet.

“You would
prefer
staying in your room?” he hissed. He then
sneered at her, a wicked gleam in his eyes as he lifted a hand to her face. She
flinched, but he gently brushed her cheek with the back
of his hand.
“And here I was thinking we were off to such a good start,” he said mockingly.

With no other warning, he grabbed her by the arm and dragged her
forcefully out of the room as Olga watched silently, looking miserable, her head
bowed. He dragged her down the hallway and through a small room in the western wing.
He only stopped when they reached a door at the back of the room. Laura had
maintained her composure until that moment, until he opened the door to reveal the
downward spiral staircase it led to. Something about those stairs, the black iron
ramp, the steep steps too close to one another, the damp air that reached her
nostrils, raised every hair on her skin.

“Where are you taking me?” she breathed, fear stricken.

He looked her over very briefly, his eyes cold as ice. “You’ll
see.” As they reached the sublevel, he pushed her to the left, stopping in front of
a metallic door with a keypad on the side. He pushed a few buttons, and the door
opened, revealing a concrete holding cell. It was tiny. There was a toilet, one roll
of toilet paper sitting at the top, a sink, and one plastic cup. There wasn’t even a
dirty mattress on the floor. He offered her a sinister smile as he urged her inside
with his typical
ladies first
gesture, the same one he used when he lured her
in the interrogation room.

Laura blanched, beginning to shake her head violently. “No… no…
Please… no, please…”

Seeing his stoic face, she grabbed his shirt in anguish. “Please,
you don’t understand… anything, but not this, please, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,
please…”

“It’s a little late for apologies, Laura,” he said coolly as he
firmly removed her hands off him.

“No… Please… you don’t understand… please… not the cage, not the
cage! I’ll do anything!”

Her desperate pleas fell on deaf ears. His eyes were cold as ever,
as he pushed her in and locked the door.

***

He could hear relentless banging and desperate sobs
as he walked away. He had never utilized the cell in that fashion. Mainly, he’d used
it for its intended purpose, bringing in countless men for interrogation and holding
them prisoner when necessary. A few times, he had even locked away some of his
submissives as punishment when they misbehaved. It was all part of the game though.
Never had he forced a woman in against her will, let alone one he was intent on
seducing. He shook his head, all too aware of how detrimental to his cause his
action had just been.

He couldn’t help it, he was still livid. He would not stand for
such behavior. She had to pay for her impudence. However, he did not expect such a
violent reaction. Did she just call it a
cage
?
Interesting
… He didn’t
want to traumatize her, but he couldn’t soften up. Empty threats were death. She had
to learn; her actions would have consequences. Tonight had not gone according to his
plans, and that alone was a very strong irritant. He did like her spirit though. He
hadn’t thought she had it in her. He smiled to himself. The perfect combination of
pride and submissiveness.

***

Laura banged on the doors until her knuckles bled, screamed until
her lips moved, but emitted no more sound. She let herself fall to the ground,
wrapped her arms around her knees, and rocked herself, just as she had when she was
a little girl. She cried and cried, pleaded and begged, but Peter couldn’t let her
out of the cage this time. She called out to him nonetheless. Peter had always come
and saved her. Regardless of the beatings that followed, he would find a way, and
the door would magically open after she could hear her father’s drunken snores.
Peter would crouch next to the open door holding up the key, grinning from ear to
ear. They would chuckle silently, with their hands covering their mouths. It was a
game.

She didn’t know how long she’d been there; she’d never been in the
cage for so long. She was numb, cradling herself in the corner, her fingers gliding
over the concrete wall forming random patterns. She wondered where he was. She
thought back to
the interrogation room and, with a manic twinkle in
her eye, chuckled quietly to herself, her hands covering her mouth, just as she had
as a kid with him. The game was still on, still outwitting, outrunning the villain.
By this time, Peter would be long gone. He never stayed in one place for more than
two weeks. She had been expecting a postcard the very next day. But what if this
time he had, what if they found him? With only time on her hands, her thoughts
quickly turned against her, swaying back and forth from arrogant optimism to utter
despair.

O
lga wouldn’t let up; she had pleaded the
girl’s case incessantly since the previous night.

“But she is just a terrified little girl… what did you expect?”

“No, Olga, she is a twenty-three-year-old adult,” Kayne said,
refusing to yield.

“Exactly. Twenty-three, do you even remember how you were like at
that age?” She made her point.

He let out a long sigh. “Did you check up on her?”

“Of course I did. I brought her a meal at two, just as you asked.
Soup and bread.” Her voice was polite, though barely masking her disapproval, if not
blatant hostility.

“Did she eat?”

“No, Master Kayne. She hasn’t moved from the corner since last
night. She didn’t look well.”

“What do you mean?” The hint of concern in his voice wasn’t lost on
Olga, an emotion he tried to pass off for irritation.

“She seemed… I don’t know… disconnected… like she wasn’t there. She
was very pale. She hasn’t eaten in two days…”

“And whose fault is that?”

The scowl she threw him hit its mark. His eyes softened. “All
right… what time is it?”

“It’s almost six.”

He sighed. Without another word, he got up from the dining table
and made his way down to the holding cell.

Olga hadn’t exaggerated as he suspected. The girl looked pitiful,
scooped up in the corner, with her head resting on her knees and her arms hugging
her legs. He had a sudden impulse to pick her
up and hold her in his
arms, which he dismissed just as suddenly. With his voice low, his tone measured, he
finally spoke to her. “Supper will be served at seven. I will expect your
company.”

He left right after, leaving the door wide open behind him. Olga
appeared not long after, rushing to Laura’s side. “Oh, Miss Spencer…” She shook her
head sadly. “Here, let me help you.”

She helped her to her feet, gently up the stairs, and into her
room. She smiled compassionately to her, a kind heartbroken smile. Laura obediently
sat as Olga fixed her hair, picked her clothes, and helped her into a nice dress
with a matching cardigan. She felt like a doll but didn’t mind. She just went
through the motions as an unaffected spectator. She did think a shower would have
been in order, but Olga didn’t bring it up, so she let it be. She barely had the
strength to form cohesive thoughts, let alone full-on sentences.

At five to seven, Olga clasped her hands. “Well, we should get you
to the dining room. You look beautiful, Miss Spencer.”

Laura nodded, offering a faint smile. She followed Olga down the
corridor into the dining area. He was already sitting at the table. He stared her up
and down, his expression unreadable.

“Glad you could finally make it…” he said after a while, his eyes
remaining on her, as a cryptic smile formed on his lips.

Laura was feeling weak and light-headed. She smiled back at him, a
genuine smile, devoid of malice or sarcasm. It was the kind of smile good-hearted
people offered strangers, sweet and impersonal at the same time.

Her smile both surprised and concerned him. He leaned forward in
his chair, as if physically trying to get closer to her, sensing a danger. He barely
finished the thought, when he saw her eyes slowly roll backward, her muscles going
limp. In an instant he was at her side, catching her as her frail body went slack in
his arms.

He carried her to the couch in the adjacent living room, calling
out for Olga. He laid her down gently, fluffing the pillow Olga
had
brought along with the covers. He tucked her in, took a seat on the La-Z-Boy next to
her, and watched her sleep.

She looked peaceful. He wondered if she was dreaming. He had to
restrain himself from touching her, not in a sexual way. He just wanted to caress
her face, brush away the strands of hair causing the little beads of sweat slowly
dripping to her lips. She was beautiful when she looked serene, she was beautiful
when she looked sad. She was striking when she was furious. He had gotten a taste
the night before. Something told him there would be many more of those to come. A
devilish grin formed on his lips. His mood shifted at the thought; long gone were
the sweet caresses he yearned for a few moments ago. But his fantasies were wasted
on an unconscious body, as enticing as that body was. He had never been the type to
force himself on a woman. He never had, not out of a misplaced sense of morality; it
was just not his thing. Granted, he understood, felt, the exhilaration that came
with a beautiful woman’s tears, the terror in her eyes at the realization of her
powerlessness, despite her vain efforts to resist. But the similarities ended there.
To overpower a woman physically was no great task, even less so if she was
unconscious; what a bore that would be. They say rape is about power. The truth was
all sex is about power. The power he sought was just of a different nature. It was a
battle of the mind, of the soul, where his ecstasy could only be found at the
deliberate and complete surrender of the object of his desire. Her tears would taste
sweeter as he pushed her toward orgasm, the horror in her eyes not directed at him,
but at her body’s reaction to him. Her powerlessness, only understood after a long
battle lost within herself.

***

Laura awoke sometime after. She opened her eyes, looking around
silently, taking in her new environment. She was on a comfortable couch. The lights
were dimmed, but she could make out a large rectangular table with a glass top just
in front of her and a big screen TV hanging on the wall surrounded by the usual yet
imposing TV stand. She didn’t venture to move her head to
check out
the rest of the room. She had a splitting headache and her limbs refused to move, as
if weighing a ton each.

He had noticed her slight movement. He was still sitting on the
La-Z-Boy next to her, a laptop in his lap, illuminating his face.

“Well, good morning, Sleeping Beauty,” he greeted her in a playful
tone. His stare, however, was still reproachful.

She nudged her head barely an inch to see him and instantly brought
her hand to her forehead, a cry of pain escaping her lips. “Don’t move.” He slowly
put the computer down on the table, throwing her another look before he disappeared.
He returned with a glass of water and two pills, which he offered her, crouching on
the floor by her side. “Take this.”

“What is it?” she whispered apprehensively.

“Cyanide.”

Her eyes instantly shot up to meet his.

He rolled his eyes, smiling. “It’s aspirin, Laura.”

She hesitated for a second, then reached her hand out. He watched
her swallow her pills, like a parent would to a rebellious child. Satisfied, he
disappeared again. He came back a few minutes later with a hot bowl of soup and some
crackers.

“Eat this, it’ll help.”

She pulled herself up, resting on her elbows, eyeing the platter in
front of her suspiciously. She knew she was famished but had no appetite, and a part
of her didn’t want to eat simply because he had said to.

“If you want to defy me, Laura, at least make it worth your while,”
he said as if reading her mind, while he stood over her with his arms crossed
casually, an amused smile on his face. Then in a commanding tone, he added,
“Eat.”

Begrudgingly, she brought herself to a sitting position and obeyed.
It did make her feel better, the headache faded, and her strength returned slowly.
When she was almost done, he returned to claim
his seat. With a
veiled expression, looking in her eyes, he softly said, “Good girl.”

Her stomach turned at the words, at the way they were said, and she
blushed. Never once, since that night at the club, had she thought of him as
anything but a monster, but he was also a man, she would do well to remember.
Very much a man
. She could feel his predatory eyes linger on her body,
and she shifted in her seat uncomfortably. He went back to his laptop and didn’t
even look in her direction after that. She remained seated, quiet, too afraid to
remind him of her presence, desperate to get back to her room, wondering if that was
even an option.

At last, she cleared her throat, her voice tentative. “May I… Would
it… be okay… if I go back to my room?”

He stopped typing to look at her. “I understand you don’t leave
your room in the day?”

She didn’t answer.

He sighed. “Have Olga give you the tour tomorrow, okay?”

“Yes… sir.” The word just slipped past her lips. She wasn’t sure
why she called him that, but calling him by his name felt even weirder.
Master
Kayne
wasn’t even an option.

He lifted his brow, his expression slightly surprised, however
pleased. He stared at her pensively then nodded. “Good night, Laura.”