Strung (34 page)

Shit! 
I sit up, wiping my nose with the back of my hand and sniffing loudly.  If people think I've left, then no one will be looking for me for a while.  Ice creeps through my veins at the realisation.

It is
up to me then, I can't wait for rescue!  I check the time.  I have been howling at the moon for over an hour.  My jailer could be back at any minute.  I climb out the bath, move the mattress and wash my face with copious amounts of cold water. 
Crap!
  My eyes still feel scratchy.  They will be red and raw when he gets back.  He mustn't know I've been crying.  I pat my face dry on my shirt, tidy myself up, and bunch up a hand full of toilet tissue.  If he walks in, before I have recovered, I will put on a bout of sneezing, hide behind the tissue and blame it on my non-existent allergies.  Luckily, it's another hour before he comes back and if my eyes are still red, he doesn't notice.

"I hope I bought the right things," he mutters, as he puts the shopping bags down by the door.

"Well I guess we won't find out.”  I gaze at him pointedly.

He looks at the bags and then back at me, completely bewildered.

"I can't reach them all the way over there!"

"Oh, yes of course."  He shifts the bags to the space between the basin and the bath, and then collects my tray and starts to leave.

"What's your name?”  I ask.

He halts his progress and looks at me with annoyance.  "Why, so you can tell the cops when this is over?"

I roll my eyes at him.  "Make one up!  I just want to know what to call you."  I tilt my head.  "Unless you would rather I choose an unsavoury one, and wear it thin?"

"John.  Call me John Doe."  I roll my eyes again, this time at his unimaginative choice.

"Original, but fine!  John!" 

I wait until he takes another step towards the door.  "John?"

"What now?"

"My wrist is really sore and I will need to treat it.  Could you change the cuff to the other hand?"  I watch his reaction carefully, as he thinks for a moment.  "Please?"

He puts the tray down on the floor by the door and comes back in, digging deep in the front pocket of his crinkled Chino's.  Stepping up to the bath, he produces a small key.  I watch carefully as he inserts the key, turns it and I offer him my other hand politely.  He looks at me in surprise, and I offer a small smile of gratitude while he slips the cuff on and pockets the key. 

"Thank you, John."

"Ma'am."  And he leaves.

Yes!
  I think I can get him to trust me.  It's said that it usually take days or weeks for captives and their captors to bond.  I think I can fast track the 'illusion' with 'John'.  He's gone from calling me buttercup to Ma'am for heaven's sake.  I take a deep breath and glance at the closed door again.  For the second time, in my white prison cell, I'm feeling optimistic. 

I pile the bags into the bath with me, where I can go through them in comfort.  I place the baby wash, baby oil, hair removal crème - I have big plans for that - on the corner of the bath, by the taps.  The cream, toothpaste, first aid kit,
painkillers and the toothbrush, I stack neatly on the other side of the taps.  The towels are nice and thick and I fold them neatly, stacking them on the back of the bath behind me, and place my new hairbrush on top.  I climb out of the bath now and inspect my new clothes.  Five pairs of identical black sweatpants, five identical black t-shirts and five sets of matching briefs and cotton sports bras. 
Lazy bastard!
He has correctly guessed my size, but everything is of a safe cut, to fit a size either side of mine.

I fold the clothes into small piles, one for each day and put each set into its own shopping bag, using the now empty bags collecting in the bath, and then stack the packed bags, neatly on the floor next to the bath.  I'll have to keep a bag for waste and a bag for laundry I think to myself.  The irony makes me snort.  Acacia is sorting through her
lightweight baggage again.  Well at least I'm doing something!

I inspect the last two bulky bags and find to my delight that instead of a blanket he has bought a duvet, duvet-
cover and matching pillowcase for the pillow.  I strip the packaging, shoving it all into my new, shopping bag bin, now hanging from a small plastic hook on the wall. 

Before
long, my bedding is ready, and folded neatly on the closed toilet lid.  The mattress is out of the bath, and folded in half on the floor where I can sit and watch TV, although I have to sit awkwardly, sideways to accommodate the handcuff.  I want to take a bath but I'm sure John would really enjoy that if he waltzed in with my lunch.  Besides, there is the dilemma of changing my top and bra, with one armed handcuffed. 

I pick up the first aid kit, and get to work on my damaged wrist.  I soon have it patched up and I wrap a bandage around the other one to protect it from suffering the same fate.  I brush my teeth, and brush the tangles out of my hair and sit down to wait.  There is a new presenter on the TV.  An older man, in his late sixties maybe?  He is very grey and distinguished and I find his voice soothing even if his topics are dull and boring. 

Chapter 18

"Thank you, John.  Your shopping skills are commendable."  I offer a small smile and John grunts something as he puts the tray down.

"But I have a small problem," I continue.  "I can't change my clothes with the hand cuffs on."
  John stands towering over me and I can see his brain visualising the problem.  I do not like the direction his thoughts are taking.

"You said your employer would be stopping by.  Do you know when?"  I gently remind him that he has to answer to someone.

"In about an hour maybe," he mutters.  "I give you half an hour.  I will be right outside the door, so don't try anything funny."

"I appreciate it.  Really I do.  Thank you."  I smile again, striving for sincerity, and hold out the
handcuff for him to remove. 

"No funny stuff!" he reminds me, as he walks out the door.

"I won't, if you won't.  No peeking," I call after him.

I quickly run a bath and scrub my hair first.  I had been so intent on making the shopping list a difficult one, that I didn't consider I might actually need to use the stuff.  Oh well, if the shampoo is good enough for babies
, it's good enough for me!  I should have asked for a sponge, but have to make do with my hands as I wash my body.  In record time, I'm clean, dry, creamed and dressed in fresh clothes.  My wrists are wrapped again, and my dirty clothes are in my makeshift wash bag.  I'm sitting, brushing the tangles from my towel dried hair, when exactly half an hour after freeing me, John comes back in.  He looks almost disappointed that I'm finished, but says nothing as I hold out my arm for him to re-cuff.

"Thank you again
," I smile sweetly.  It’s getting easier as my confidence is grows.

By the time I've finished brushing out my hair, I'm feeling a lot more human
.  Today’s lunch is peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, and orange juice.  I'll risk the orange juice.  An annoyingly perfect looking group of young people are advertising a popular chain of fitness clubs.  Exercise, I think, chewing my sandwich.  Yes, I'll formulate an exercise routine, for later in the afternoon.  It will help pass the time, and keep me limber, in case I really am in here for a month.  It won't do to waste away. 

Finishing my meal, I focus on my expected visitor.  Who is it?  I need to know, and I need to know why I'm being held here.  There are just far too many unknowns.  I gaze around my room.  Strange, but yes, this is now
my
room.  For the time being anyway.  Victoria would have a field day with this.  This is me coping, I snort. 

Hey
!  I had an appointment with Victoria, immediately after my lunch with Grant.  What would Victoria do, if I missed the appointment?  If I was a suicidal mess, I'm sure she would look for me in concern, but she isn't worried about me in that way.  Would she assume that I had forgotten, or would she try to get in touch, and raise the alarm when she couldn't?  Maybe there is still hope for help from the outside.

At fifteen thirty exactly, I hear
footsteps and scramble to sit on the side of the bath.  I don't want my captor to have too much height over me.  I would stand, but the cuff won't let me stand properly upright, and that would give off the wrong body language.  I cross my legs, compose my face and set my shoulders straight and back, trying for relaxed and confident.

The door opens and I feel the blood draining from my face. 
Oh God no!  I am going to be sick.

"Surprised to see me Acacia?"

"Robert."  I manage to croak.  "Why?"

He ignores my question and gazes around the room.  "I like what you've done with the place.  Very homely."

"Why?"  I ask again, a little more forcefully.

"Now, Acacia.  There's no rush.  We have plenty of time for small talk, gossip and chit chat, before we get to the serious stuff." 

"Why?"  I stick to my guns and he sighs, looking at me in pity as he runs a finger under my chin.  I ignore his expression, and touch, and keep my gaze steady, waiting for an answer.

"Well okay!  If you must know," his tone becomes jovial and he preens like a peacock, smoothing his hair and straightening his shirt.  I know my insistence has ruffled him, and it's deeply satisfying. 
Strike one!

"This actually, has nothing at all to do with you, Acacia."

"Funny, seen as how I'm the one hand cuffed to a bath tub, against my will.”  I sneer. 
Easy girl.  Keep calm.

"Yes well, I had hoped to hand cuff you to several choice items of furniture before I ended our marriage, but I didn't think you would be satisfying enough to bother with the effort."
  Amazingly, his jibe bounces right off me, and I ignore it easily, watching as he puffs himself out again.  Strike two!

"No Acacia, this is about your little boyfriend.  Your poor little boyfriend, who I might add, at this moment thinks you've abandoned him.  It's quite a sight really."  He laughs in amusement and my anger creeps up a few levels.  I hold my tongue.

"You see, C.J. has been interfering in certain business dealings, and talking to certain people, and well; it's making life very challenging for me.  Aside from that, I've always wanted to knock that arrogant, obnoxious arsehole down a few rungs."  He leans against the sink, and studies me, like I am a freak of nature in a circus cage.

"Besides, you could do with coming down from your perch as well. 
I have been watching you, Acacia.  Grant is very forth coming with information he drip feeds me.  But then again, he has always been very quick to jump when I ask him."

I pale. 
Not Grant surely?  Despite Chayton's warning, I trusted him!

"Ah, a little upset are we?  Not to worry.  Grant, it appears, has become a little attached to you."  He gazes up at the ceiling as if in thought.  "Either that or he's developing a conscience in his old age.  He's being quite a pest about your safety and comfort."  He gazes back down at me.

"So what exactly are you planning to do?"  I ask.  My voice is low, and my anger is only just under control.  Robert is so caught up in his little act, he doesn't notice.

"Well, my little canary, the plans are fairly fluid at the moment."  He waves his fingers in the air, as if dismissing a servant.

"For the time being, C.J. is writhing in acute discomfort at the thought of losing you, which I am enjoying immensely, as are the general public.  Heaven knows why.  I mean, it doesn't take a brain surgeon, to see what a useless piece of trash you are. 

"Soon however, he will get over you, and his interfering will become annoying again.  Perhaps
then, I will have a little discussion with him, about his role in your future.  If that doesn't work, then maybe the Public Prosecutor will help redefine C.J.'s reputation, when they find your body in his nasty little cabin up in the mountains."

What the fuck!
 
He is mad!
 

"You could
say, that your fate is now in his hands."  Robert pins me with an eerie smile.  It's chilling and my blood congeals, as I watch him walk out the door.

Shit!
  I collapse in a heap on the mattress, and put my head between my knees.  Dealing with a common criminal is one thing.  But
Robert
?  His madness has taken on a whole new level fucked up.  I straighten up.  Well I know what I'm dealing with now.  I have to formulate a plan.  I already have a weapon of sorts.  It will be dangerous, and John will have to trust me enough to let his guard down.  The timing has to be perfect, as there will only be one chance to get this right.  I still don't know what lays outside my prison door, so that bit I'll have to make up on the go.

~.~

A good work out and some relaxation exercises have me feeling better, and back in control.  It is going to be a long night and I'll need some rest.  Shortly after John has brought my evening meal, and I've eaten, I make up my bed in the bath tub, swallow two Advil with some water to ease the bruises and the tension headache I've developed, and climb into my bed.  I mentally tune out the TV and the lights, and fall asleep dreaming of Chayton gazing into my eyes, telling me everything will be alright.

~.~

15th July

I wake in the morning and check the television screen.  It's a few minutes after seven am.  In a couple of
hours, John will be bringing me breakfast.  I watch the news headlines scroll along the bottom of the screen.  There is nothing interesting, so I get to work on my exercise routine.  I have had to be inventive, as there is only so much I can achieve, with one hand cuffed to the bath.  I manage most of my usual stretches, several sets of fairly intensive sit-ups and loads of squats.  The push-ups get a bit creative.  I do several sets with my feet on the floor and hands on the edge of the bath, tucking my elbows close to my body.  I then do some more balanced over the bath, hands spread wide on either side, and feet hooked on the end.  A few more stretches to cool down and unwind, and I'm ready for a quick sponge bath, before breakfast.

Today sets the
tone and routine for the next few days.

I wake up early and work out, then have a sponge bath. 

John brings me breakfast, and I try and strike up casual conversation.

I watch the news. 

I practice my relaxation exercises.

John brings me lunch, and I try
to strike up conversation, requesting a magazine or newspaper to break the boredom.

I read for a while.

I work out again.

John brings me dinner, and I strike up conversation, then, ask him to return in an hour, so I can change and bath.

John returns at seven and undoes my cuffs. 

I have half an hour, to bath and change.

John redoes my cuffs.

I tidy up my space.

Watch the evening news until I have seen all of it twice, including the celebrity news.

Then I tune out and sleep.

~.~

17th July

Wednesday is the first break in my routine.  John has just left my lunch and a magazine.  He is getting more chatty and relaxed with me.  I have also discovered that he has an evil sense of humour.  Monday's reading material was the 'Hustler'.  Pages and pages, of porn.  Yesterday was 'Barely Legal'.  Great porn featuring - as it says on the tin - teenagers.  Today - to my absolute delight-
not
- is 'Taboo'.  

Maybe he's realised I played him, with my 'allergies' shopping list, and this is his revenge.  I'm flipping through pages of BDSM photos, noting that this magazine is at least a little more imaginative, than the other two.  I pause when a picture of an attractive woman, trussed to a huge cross standing up in the middle of a room, catches my eye.  She isn't dressed in the ridiculous and totally useless PVC gear, I've seen in the other pictures.  Just her naked body all trussed up and vulnerable.  I wonder idly if I could enjoy anything like that.  With Chayton maybe?  I imagine him teasing me, teasing my body and me being totally powerless to stop him.  Totally out of control.  That thought should scare the crap out of me-but
oddly, it doesn't. 
Jeez!
  I squirm as my body responds to the thought. 
Damn, the man has me hot and turned on - and he is not even here! 
On cue, my companionable newsreader mentions his name and my head jerks up.

"C.J. Donavan has posted a reward for information, regarding the disappearance of Ms. Acacia Ward.  Ms. Ward disappeared from Central Tacoma on Friday, after a lunch meeting in the city centre.  Viewers might
remember that Ms. Ward was formally Mrs. Acacia Jones, wife of Seattle Businessman and Philanthropist, Robert Jones.  A case against Ms. Ward for fraud is still ongoing.

"When questioned by our reporter earlier today, Robert Jones alleged that, and we quote: 'As you know, my ex-wife has been charged with fraud, and is no doubt on the run, trying to escape from her responsibilities.  This only serves to prove her guilt,' end quote.

"When asked why she would run now, when the on-going case is into its third year, he refused to comment.

"Police and the public prosecutor, have both refused to comment on Robert Jones allegations, but have however, requested that members of the public come forward with any information available about her whereabouts."

BASTARD! 
It is comforting to know that a search is on.  I am hopeful, the celebrity news, will mention the story tonight.  Painful or not, I long for another glimpse of Chayton.  I return to my routine, looking forward, for the first time in my life, to the celebrity news.

~.~

John returns in the evening with my meal.  Bangers and Mash. 

"That boyfriend of yours is well off then?" he enquires, as he balances the tray on the sink.
  He’s seen the news. 

"By that if you mean, will he pay you more than Robert?  Then yes,
” I return, slightly hopeful.