Cellar Door (15 page)

His Enigma

Yeah, she didn’t waste any time contacting me, did she? Max with the facts—or so she thinks. I’m in control; the only facts she has -- that detective wanna-be bitch -- are the facts I give her. It amazes me how people respond when you have something they want.

I read her e-mail one more time.

Kikazaru…If memory serves me correctly your name is a reference to ‘the three wise monkeys’. I’m curious why you would trust me enough to contact me. I can only assume you want your story told.

What has made you so angry that you would mutilate a woman and leave her behind our dumpster in a cold, dark alley as if she were trash? A few years ago, I would have jumped at the chance to have a dialogue with you. But with experience comes wisdom. This isn’t the way to get my attention or to have your side of the story told. I have no desire to see more women die, but please don’t include me in the equation as if you’re doing me some favor.

When you’re ready to talk—and I mean
really
talk, contact me. Until then…I have no intention of giving you the attention you’re seeking. Until you come at me with truth, I’m not engaging.

Max…

It isn’t what I expected, not at all how I expected her to react. Why is she mad at me? Is this how she reacted to Lance when he contacted her? It sounds like she’s talking to a child who’s behaving badly – next thing you know, she’ll be urging me to ‘make good choices’.

Cutting Lance off entirely might not be such a good idea after all. Maybe, just maybe, it’s time for me to play some games of my own.

Liam

I lean back in my office chair and pull up the video monitoring app on my phone. She scowls as she vacillates between pacing and plotting. Watching a person when they’re unaware can unearth their true nature and reveal their deepest secrets and desires. If you really want to know someone, going covert is the way to do it.

When I’m satisfied she’s safely tucked away and will stay that way, I close the app and return the phone to my pocket. I need supplies, a few things that will ensure I achieve the results I want. Normally I’d have someone else take care of such mundane tasks, but that’s not possible in such a delicate situation.

I hang my lab coat on the back of my office door and head home. My work here is done. My job at home...well, not so much.

I quickly dash over to my car and manage to avoid several of my colleagues. I’m not in the mood to talk and being rude wouldn’t be in my best interests. The memory of the look on that nurse’s face when she asked me if
everything was okay
flashes in my mind. I make a mental note to take extra effort to be
normal
. What many people don’t understand is a hospital is an entity all its own, a private little community with drama, gossip, and plenty of suspicion and speculation.

Maybe that’s my problem. I enjoy walking the razor’s edge. Playing with fire is a favorite pastime of mine. It’s always the ones you’d never suspect – and with the most to lose -- who have a dark side.

Madonna

I hear the key in the door and I know it’s him. This isolation is wearing me down so quickly that I’m excited to see anyone at this point—even my enemy.

I’m torn between wanting to meet him at the door and barrage him with questions, and standing in the corner to protect myself. And then there’s always the thought of busting him upside the head with something—anything, just to see him bleed. Self-preservation wins out and I go with sitting on the bed and waiting.

Every creak of the stairs causes my heart to beat a little faster. I don’t know what to expect or just how crazy this guy is, but, for now, he’s all I’ve got. I depend on the bastard for my survival and I hate it.

He enters the room still dressed in scrubs.
How the fuck can he operate on people and then come back home to feed a woman he’s imprisoned? I’ve heard of living a double life, but this guy takes it to a whole new level.

“How do you do it, Liam?” I ask in an offhand, conversational tone. “I have to admit, I’m baffled. How do you portray yourself as an upstanding citizen and then come back to this?” Though he hasn‘t even acknowledged I’m here I continue talking for the sake of my sanity. If I don’t get this shit off my chest I’ll go crazy. “I’ve never been able to do that—you know, be fake like that. A fraud. I can just see you walking the hospital corridors, talking to other nurses and doctors,
your colleagues
—
”
My voice drips with sarcasm as I continue. Hell, I’m on a roll, why stop now? “I couldn’t do it. Yep, what ya see is what ya get with me -- but
you
… I don’t think you even know who you are. Do you get off on this, Liam? Does some sick, twisted part of you like having me locked up in here, forcing me depend on you? Let me tell you something, Liam, you may have my physical body behind makeshift prison bars, but you’ll never have the real me, the part of me that creates—you’ll never have that part of me, not while I’m here
in captivity
. I’ll never let you steal that from me.”

He never acknowledges that I’ve spoken, just calmly sets a tray of food on the desk and leaves, turning back to close the door. Before I have time to think about it, I storm over to the desk and hurl the tray against the door. It barely misses him as he closes the door. That fucking figures.

I don’t even care as my dinner lands in a heap on the floor. I bang the tray against the door over and over, not stopping until it’s reduced to plastic shards that scatter across the floor.

I collapse onto the bottom step and give in to the urge to sob. I have no idea how long I lie there weeping, but I know he’s watching me. With my last vestiges of strength, I sit up and wipe the tears away with the back of my hand. With a deep breath, I stand and glare up at the tiny camera mounted in the far corner of the ceiling, my fists clenched at my sides. It takes everything I have not to unleash a barrage of insults and vitriol and call him a coward for not facing me. Instead I stare defiantly at the camera and let the silence speak for me.

Liam

Who would have thought my quiet little library mouse had such an explosive temper? I guess you never really know someone until you live with them. I must say, I never saw this side of her when I was stalking her. I learned a long time ago that people are never what you think they are. Hell, I’m a prime example of it.

Even though her outburst was little more than an adolescent fit, I can’t say that I really blame her. I’m sure I’d be pissed off, too, if somebody locked me in their basement. Even if it was for my own good.

But she thinks I’m a fraud. I shake my head and scrub my hands over my face as I recall her damning words. Fake. A fraud. I am neither of those things, not really. There’s a big difference between being fake and being…complicated. I’m just one big, fucking contradiction. I may be an arrogant ass but I refuse to let anything bad happen to her. If that means keeping her six feet under in the equivalent of a fucking military bunker, then I’m just the man for the job.

I enter my bedroom, get out of my scrubs and take a shower to wash off the day. What I have in mind for Madonna will take patience, but the rewards -- for both of us -- will be without end…