Stockholm Syndrome
Read Stockholm Syndrome Online
Authors: JB Brooks
Stockholm Syndrome
By JB Brooks
Text copyright 2015 JB Brooks
Edited by Faith Van Horne and
Jayne Southern
Cover photography: Can Stock
Photo Inc.
All Rights Reserved
Almost ready. Evelyn Maier looked around her one-room
apartment with satisfaction. The kitchenette gleamed. Refrigerator emptied.
Trash out. Potted plants next door with Tink. Wafer, the cat, at her parents’
house. The place seemed empty without his noisy meowing, and she’d miss his
warm, furry weight on her bed, but he was an old hand at this routine.
Her well-worn backpack sat propped next to the door, bedroll
and padded jacket strapped to the top, plane tickets and passport in the hidden
zip pouch at the back. Excitement and anticipation surged sweetly through her
veins.
Just one thing left to do. She frowned at the stack of
assignments next to her laptop on the plastic table that doubled as her desk.
Grading the two hundred research essays on stress-induced psychological
disorders had taken much longer than she’d expected, and she’d only finished
that afternoon, resulting in some considerable stress of her own.
Now she had to return them to Professor Waverly’s office.
She’d put off the short walk to campus because it had been raining—a drenching
spring thunderstorm that she knew would clear up just as quickly as it had
begun.
She’d showered and washed her hair, and now the clock above
the door showed half past nine. The rain had stopped, but it was dark outside.
She sighed. She’d prefer to go to bed, anxious about the
early start the next morning to catch her six o’clock international flight.
Walking through the campus grounds and the deserted faculty buildings to drop
off the assignments was the last thing she felt like doing. But if she didn’t,
the alternative of four o’clock the next morning, on her way to the airport,
was even worse.
Wearing her version of pajamas—a floppy white t-shirt that
hung to mid-thigh over white French-cut panties—she pulled on a pair of jeans and
slipped her bare feet into trainers. Her mobile and access card went into one
pocket and her keys into the other. She grabbed the pile of assignments and set
out, turning off the lights on her way.
It was a balmy spring evening, one of the warmest so far
despite the rain, and she enjoyed the stroll along the busy tree-lined streets
toward the campus. The city lights seemed extra bright and colorful after the
downpour and there were lots of pedestrians on the sidewalks. Everything
throbbed with life. Including her neighbor, she thought, feeling the heat rise
in her cheeks at the errant notion. She’d knocked on Tink’s door earlier,
clutching the basket with her plants, and the statuesque blond opened it
dressed in nothing but a filmy black wrap.
“Hi, Evvy.”
“Er… Hi, Tink. I brought the plants. Is this a bad time?”
“No. Come on in and put them on the counter.” She stepped
aside and Evelyn brushed past, catching a whiff of expensive perfume. She
faltered as she entered the lounge. Two men sat on the couch—handsome men
dressed in suit pants and formal shirts, with drinks in their hands.
“Hello, gorgeous. Let me help you with that.” The closer one
jumped to his feet and took the basket from her, hefting it onto the nearby
table. The other said nothing, but looked her up and down with an intensity
that made her shiver.
“Th-thanks. I’ll be going then. Sorry for the interruption.”
“Don’t run away. You just got here.” The sitting guy had a
really deep voice.
“Yeah, have a drink with us,” said the helpful one, stepping
closer.
“I really can’t. I… I have a plane to catch in the morning.”
She backed toward the door and bumped into Tink. “Oops, sorry.”
“You can stay, Evvy. I don’t mind sharing.” Tink’s hands
were on her shoulders, gripping lightly. For a wild moment, she thought they
wouldn’t allow her leave, and a wave of fearful arousal swept over her,
stealing away her breath. Then Tink let go, led her to the door, and the moment
passed.
“Thanks for looking after my plants, Tink.” She hoped her
voice didn’t sound too unsteady.
“It’s my pleasure. And, Evvy, next time you should stay. You
don’t have to run off to darkest Africa and climb mountains to get your
thrills, you know. There’s plenty of excitement to be had right here.”
“What? No, Tink, that’s not why—”
Tink winked at her and closed the door.
***
Her shortcut was just ahead. She turned off the road, passed
behind a clump of bushes through a little-known gap in the hedge, and entered
the broad parklands surrounding the campus like an oasis in the city, refuge to
kangaroos, possums, and many other creatures, and the pride of Brisbane
University. On her key ring hung a tiny flashlight, and she used it to see her
way through the pathless garden until she reached the first paved walkway.
She didn’t want to think about what had happened at Tink’s
place. Tink was wrong. Life was just so much easier without men. There was no
drama. She could do what she wanted, travel when and where she wished. People
didn’t judge her because she liked to travel. It was normal. She was perfectly
normal.
As she walked along the well-lit brick paths, she heard the
dripping of rainwater from the leaves and the occasional rustle of small
nocturnal animals in the dense foliage. Deserted, the campus grounds were so
different from the usual daily bustle, but it was the September mid-semester
break—fifteen days of glorious peace before the madness of the final quarter.
The students had cleared out, the parties were over, and those faculty members
still coming in to work arrived late and left early.
Emerging from the parklands, she passed the sports grounds
without encountering a single person. At the doors to the main building, she
was relieved to see that the lights were on inside. She swiped her access card,
and the doors slid open.
Her trainers slapped loudly on the concrete floor in the
oppressive silence within, eerie and echoing. Evelyn broke into a jog, eager to
complete her mission and get back out to the busy streets of Brisbane. She
paused at the elevator. Should she take it, or use the stairs to the Psychology
Department on the third floor? The stairwell looked shadowy, the steps
disappearing upward into darkness.
Cursing her nervousness, she slapped the button to summon
the elevator, and it pinged open a second later. She bounded in and pushed the
button for the third floor. As the doors closed, she thought she heard distant
laughter and a scream before the elevator began its ponderous journey upward,
cutting off all sound. Sweat broke out all over her body, prickling
uncomfortably—god only knew how long she’d be trapped if it got stuck!
As the doors slid open to reveal the familiar foyer of the
Psych Department, she realized she’d been holding her breath.
The halls leading to the offices were in darkness, but that
didn’t matter to Evelyn. She’d been working as an assistant lecturer since the
beginning of the year while doing her thesis part-time, and knew every nook and
cranny of the warren-like passages. More puzzling were the sounds of distant
revelry—high-pitched giggling, the rumble of men’s voices, and occasionally a
louder clamor as if a crowd was laughing or shouting together. She felt
strangely furtive, an outside listening in where she shouldn’t.
Swiping her access card again to open the glass security
door between the foyer and the offices, she strode down the passage to
Professor Waverly’s office. She fumbled for a moment then found the light
switch.
She left the pile of assignments on his chair, thinking they
might go unnoticed amongst the clutter on his desk, and as an afterthought, scribbled
a note reminding him she would be away for the next two weeks and unavailable
on her mobile. He was absentminded about that sort of thing, and she wouldn’t
put it past him to leave her fifty voice messages.
With a sense of relief, she turned off the light and
returned to the foyer. This time she took the stairs to the ground floor,
bolting through the shadowed landings, along the main corridor, and out the
doors, taking a deep breath as she emerged into the warm night air. She’d be
home and asleep by half past ten.
Back on the brick paths under the trees, her pace brisk, she
became aware of footsteps behind her halfway through the parkland.
Icy tendrils of fear snaked through her belly and goose
bumps ran riot on her arms. Was it just a coincidence? Another late-night
visitor to the campus who had nothing to do with her?
She walked faster and then, prodded by her fight-or-flight
instinct, broke into a run. To her dismay, the footsteps sped up behind her—not
just a chance encounter, then. Her pulse rate escalated as she upped her speed.
***
“For god’s sake, Owe, why won’t you just drop it? I’ve been
telling you all afternoon I don’t do that anymore!” Mason Brady glared at his
brother in frustration.
“Don’t do what anymore, Mace?” Owen’s voice dripped with
sarcasm. “Dominance? Have you gone all sweet vanilla? Or do you mean sex in
general?” He clutched at his chest theatrically. “Don’t tell me you’re too old!
Can’t you get it up these days?”
“Fuck off, Owen! You don’t know shit about my personal
life.”
At twenty-five, Owen was ten years his junior, and, in
Mason’s opinion, overdue for a thrashing.
“What fucking personal life?” Owen hissed. They were drawing
curious stares from the other patrons in the coffee shop, but that didn’t seem
to deter the idiot in the least. “You don’t have a personal life! You hide away
for months on end at that ranch of yours and work. We only see you two or three
times a year, and you haven’t had a girlfriend since bitch-from-hell Bianca
dumped you. When was that, three years ago?”
“Four. And you know damn well that I dumped her.”
“Not fucking quickly enough!”
He couldn’t believe that Owen had the nerve to bring up
Bianca. That topic was not open to discussion.
“It’s none of your damn business! And not relevant either.
You just can’t take no for an answer.”
“Oh please, Mace, anyone can see that you’re still fucked up
over her. So fucked up that you’re scared of women! And you’re no fun
anymore—all work and no play!”
“That’s bloody ridiculous! You know what I am. How can a Dom
be scared of women? Just because I don’t want to play your stupid game—”
“It’s not my game—you invented it! You’re a fucking legend.
Some of the guys have changed all their travel plans to be here, just to hunt
with you. We’ve got the biggest crowd ever, and you’re acting like you’re too
fucking good for it all!” Owen leaned over the table. “Please tell me that you
haven’t really stopped feeling it. God, how can you crave the thrill so much
and then just stop, unless…” His face turned pale. “Fuck, Mace, is there
actually something wrong with you? Please, you can tell me—”
Mason cut him off. “There’s nothing wrong with me, Owe. I’ve
just grown up. I’m more aware of the…dangers.”
But still he felt the craving, yearning for the thrill, like
a junkie who’s been clean for years but still fantasizes about taking another
hit. He’d tried not to think about it too closely all day, but Owen’s
persistence was getting to him. His cock was throbbing behind the zipper of his
jeans.
“How many people are in tonight?” he asked, unable to
resist.
“Thirty-two of each. That’s all the guys, but there are
still about seven women on the waiting list. If you join us, we can let in
another girl too.”
“Shit, that’s huge! Sixty-four people. We started with two
guys and four girls.”
“Sixty-six if you’re in.” Owen seemed to sense his weakness.
“We don’t do it with uneven numbers anymore. It’s one of the rules. Then every
guy catches one girl, and there can’t be any confusion.”
He signaled to the waitress for a refill and remained silent
while she poured filter coffee into their cups. Mason looked at her shapely
legs as she leaned over the table. Her little skirt crept higher. He fought the
urge to put his hand on her thigh and squeeze her soft flesh. Thinking about
The Chase always got him sexed up—the screams, the running, the adrenaline.
Fucking a struggling woman into submission, and then ecstasy, was a glorious
experience—for both of them. He shifted in his chair, trying to get
comfortable. Owen looked on with amusement.
“Come on, Mace! You know you fucking want to. It’s just a
bit of harmless fun. When was the last time you got laid?”
“More recently than you, I’m sure,” growled Mason. “All
right, I’ll do it, but stop with the goddamn personal questions!”
“Deal!” Triumphant, Owen went on, “The Chase starts at nine,
but we meet at seven to sign The Pact and go over the rules. Let’s go home and
shower, and grab a bite for dinner. Have you got a black shirt?”
“Yeah, why?”
“We wear black shirts. The women wear white ones—makes them
easier to see in the dark.” He grinned. “Come on!”
***
Three hours later, Mason sat in the lounge of one of the
residence houses on the campus of Brisbane University. It was his old res, now
Owen’s, and he looked around with a sense of déjà vu at the long, low-ceilinged
room, which was currently packed with thirty-three men toward one end and the
same number of women on the other.
The room hadn’t changed much in the ten years since he’d
lived here while studying computer science at BU. The sofas, chairs, and
beanbags scattered around looked much the same, with a new giant flat-screen
TV. There were still two coin-operated pool tables in the far corner, a
foosball machine, and a dartboard, on which somebody had pinned a
photo—probably of some unfortunate member of the faculty. Metal mesh doors
covered the entrance to the kitchen and the serving hatch. The women sat at a
long dining table over on the side, and at several smaller tables with plastic
chairs. It all looked comfortingly familiar and very ordinary.
But the occupants were anything but ordinary. The small
crowd of men all wore black shirts, mostly over jeans and trainers, although
some wore leathers. They all had full black masks on, concealing their hair and
faces, leaving only their mouths and jaws exposed. The women also wore jeans
and trainers, but with white shirts. White veils covered their hair and faces,
making it impossible to distinguish any of their features. Despite their
camouflage, the groups eyed each other avidly, looking for clues to each
other’s identities.
