Appetite for Innocence: A Dark Psychological Thriller Page 12

  Nothing matters. My despair is like a cancer eating away at my insides, destroying more and more parts of me every day. I have nobody to blame but myself. This is all my fault. All I had to do was ignore him when he pulled up alongside me in his car. I replay the scene again and again just like I did when he first took me.

  I was running my four-mile loop. The same route I run most days except when I’m training for a long run, then I increase my distance. But Mom and I didn’t have another marathon scheduled so I was only doing four miles every night. I ran the route so many times I could run it with my eyes closed.

  I’m a creature of habit when it comes to running. Most long-distance runners are. We have systematic rituals of how we do things. When we drink water. How we drink it. The clothes we wear. Some of us listen to music while others don’t. I’m one that listens to music. My playlists are carefully designed and prepared.

  I always listen to music during the first few miles and vary my songs depending on my mood. No matter how I’m feeling though, once I’m about a mile from the end, I pull out my earbuds and run in silence. I like to just be present with my body and feel how my muscles have worked themselves out. I like how open and free my mind is. Sometimes I run just because it’s the only time my brain is clear. There’s not a thought in my head. I just listen to the sound of my feet pounding the pavement. No matter how bad my day might have been, I always feel better after I run. It uncoils me.

  I was nearing the end of my run, so I’d slipped my earbuds off and was inhaling my first breaths of clarity. His voice called out to me in the darkness.

  “Hey, miss, excuse me.”

  A car slowed next to me. It might have been a black car. Maybe not, though. It was dark. I would’ve paid more attention if I’d known what was about to happen. I don’t know what made me stop. I never stop. It’s not like people never call out to me while I run. It happens all the time. I ignore them even if they’re yelling out encouragement because that’s what you do. But I stopped. All I would’ve had to do was keep running. That’s it. A two-second pause changed my entire life.

  I turned to look at him. I couldn’t make out much of his face but he was smiling. It was a nice smile. Not the smile you’d expect to see on a monster.

  “I’m so sorry to bother you, but my wife and I live over on the next block and our dog, Cricket, just got out. She’s a small black poodle. Have you seen her?”

  I took a step closer to look at the picture he was holding on his phone. Why did I do that? I hadn’t seen any dogs. Why would I have to look at the picture? I was within arm’s reach of his window. Something shocked me. I remember a jolt of paralyzing pain and then another harsh pain on the back of my head before everything went black.

  When I opened my eyes, I was locked in a trunk. The space was tight and small like a coffin, a metal ceiling inches from my face. My hands were tied behind me and my feet were bound together at the ankles. My head throbbed. My body tingled. The orchestrated chaos of classical music filled my ears. The level of terror was indescribable. There were no words. No thoughts. Only sheer panic as I screamed, twisted, kicked, and writhed.

  Suddenly, gravel crunched underneath the tires. The car stopped. The cover was lifted. A man’s face above me. I pitched myself forward, screaming like a wild animal. He shoved me back in, but I struggled against him. I hurled myself out of the trunk again and landed flat on my face on the gravel. A heavy boot pressed against my back. The gravel burned my cheek. I arched my back and lifted my head. He slammed my head down with the other boot. I cried out in pain.

  “Help! Help! Help!”

  A sharp sting on my thigh and my muscles melted. I couldn’t help it. Then, darkness again.

  I was in the basement the next time I opened my eyes. I knew it was my fault then and I have the same sickening realization every time I open my eyes now. I did this. All of it. And when I had a chance to end it, I didn’t. He’s capable of killing me. That much I know for sure, but I was too afraid to let him. I chose to become his sex slave. I did this too.

  SARAH

  (THEN)

  I love living upstairs. It’s exactly like I always dreamed it would be. Even better. I don’t have to pretend the house is mine or that I belong here anymore. It is mine—all of it. It’s worth every test he put me through. I try not to think too much about the things I’ve done because I had to do what I had to do to prove myself to him. There was no other way.

  I spent every day trying make myself useful to him and wracked my brain for anything I could do to become indispensable to him. I scrubbed and polished the house. I made sure there wasn’t a speck of dust on anything or a droplet of water on the floor. I made every bed even though the only one ever slept in was his. I remade them all, making sure there wasn’t a wrinkle on any of the comforters and that the pillows were perfectly arranged.

  I washed the bedding from the room he took Tiffany into and replaced it with fresh sheets every morning. I sprayed the comforter with lavender to give it a hint of freshness. I primped the flowers arranged on the nightstand. They looked real, but they weren’t. There weren’t any real flowers allowed in the house.

  All the dishes were scrubbed. I made sure there weren’t any water spots. I wiped every counter. Sprayed all the appliances to make sure they gleamed like they were brand new. I pushed in each chair at the dining table so there was an equal distance between each. Four inches on each side. Eight inches apart. I used a tape measure to make sure. I had it down to a science.

  I ironed all his clothes. Not just his shirts and his pants. I even ironed his socks and boxers. I organized his closets and drawers. Everything hung straight, the blacks and whites separated.

  I obsessed over cooking shows. It was the one area I struggled. I didn’t know how to cook. I’d only ever heated things up in the microwave. I didn’t know how to use the stove, especially not his with all the strange buttons and knobs. I took scrupulous notes from Rachel Ray and Bobby Flay as if I was preparing for a huge exam. I was sure each time he ate one of my overcooked vegetables or hard-as-rock chicken that it was going to be over for me. After he spit out what I had cooked one night, I spent the next hour promising him I’d do better until he finally told me to shut up and go back downstairs.

  It took a while, but I got better at cooking and it wasn’t long before I was actually good. I started catering every meal toward his preferences. If it wasn’t something he liked, I never made it again. I had lists for every meal that I kept arranged in alphabetical order.

  At first, he only let me upstairs for a few hours and only when he was present in the house. I wanted to jump around the house dancing the first time he left me alone, but I kept my routine. The blinking red lights strategically placed in all the rooms were a constant reminder that he was always watching. I stared at the huge glass doors leading out to the patio. I’d return to them again and again, wondering what the alarm would sound like if I pushed open the door. How long would it take for him to arrive? Did he really have pit bulls outside in the yard? Why didn’t I ever see them?

  Even though I wasn’t going to leave, I couldn’t stop the thoughts. The door intruded on my work all day so I forced myself to stay busy and stop looking at it or imagining what it would feel like to breathe fresh air again. How long had it been? One year? Two? I wasn’t even sure anymore. I kept reminding myself I had nowhere to go. There was no home to return to.

  When he got home that night, he didn’t say anything to me. Just gave me a nod but we both knew I’d passed his test. My ultimate test was with Tiffany a few nights later.

  He pulled me aside before he summoned her upstairs and handed me a small plastic baggie filled with white powder. “I want you to put this in Tiffany’s water tonight before you serve her.”

  I nodded. I knew it was only a matter of time before he got rid of her when he’d brought home a new girl two weeks ago. My hands shook as I dumped the contents of the bag into her water while he bathed her. It was the same powder he�
�d probably put in my water the night he tried to get rid of me. What was going to happen to her when she drank it? I told myself I wasn’t a part of whatever he was planning. I was only following orders. It could be Tylenol or some other medication. Maybe it was an aphrodisiac. He might have something special planned for them tonight that I didn’t know about. It was possible.

  It was hard to keep my composure while I served them. I watched as she drank, never taking my eyes off her. I held back the urge to slap the water out of her hand. We’d spent months living together and even though my loyalty was with him, it didn’t change the fact that she’d been my friend even if we ignored each other now.

  At first nothing happened. She picked away at her pork chop dribbled with marmalade. She hated pork. She’d been a vegetarian before, but he forced her to eat meat because he said she needed the protein. She nibbled on the string beans as he chattered away about his day. I watched as her lids grew heavy and she slunk down in her chair. I snuck a peek at him. He watched in fascination as she slumped further and further down. Eventually, she slid onto the floor with a loud thud. I gasped. I couldn’t help myself. It just slipped out. Was she dead? Did he kill her?

  His feet clacked on the floor as he walked around the table to her body. He kicked her shoulder with his toe. She didn’t move. “Petra, I want you to stand and watch her while I run and get changed.” His tone was even and calm.

  I nodded. Too nervous to speak. What would I do if she came to while I stood over her? Even worse, what if she was dead and I was standing in the dining room with a dead body? I couldn’t help myself. I crouched down and brought my face next to hers. I felt her breath on my cheek. I looked at her chest. It was still moving. I breathed a sigh of relief. I just wanted it to be over and for him to get her out of my sight. I didn’t want any part of it.

  It wasn’t long before he returned dressed in a sweat suit like he wore on the weekends or whenever he worked out in the gym. He squatted down, picked her up, and slung her over his shoulder. He struggled to gain his balance under the weight of her.

  “I need you to open the door for me,” he grunted.

  I moved around him, trying not to touch either of them. It felt surreal to put my hand on the doorknob and turn. I waited for the alarm, but nothing sounded. He must’ve turned it off.

  “Shut it behind me,” he said as he stepped outside.

  I slammed it shut quickly after they left. I stood motionless for a minute, trying to erase what I’d just seen and done. I forced myself to move. I cleared the table and did the dishes. I finished the dishes and then did them all over again. I had to do something with my hands to keep them from shaking.

  “C’mon,” he said from behind me.

  I jumped. I hadn’t heard him come back inside.

  “What? Huh?” I stammered.

  He pointed toward the door. “I tied the dogs up. You’ll be fine. Now, hurry up.”

  I followed him outside onto the patio like I was in a trance. The sun was setting. We walked down a few steps. A long black Lincoln town car sat idling in the driveway. He opened the passenger door for me. I got in, sliding in on the leather seats. I sat on my hands so he couldn’t see them shake. I crossed my legs and twisted my ankles around each other to steady my legs.

  The headlights cast an eerie glow down a long driveway that seemed to go on forever. Trees lined each side of the car. The driveway ended at a steel gate. He reached above me and pushed a button on my visor. The gate slid open and he made a left onto the street.

  He was the perfect driver as we wrapped around winding curves. We passed other gated homes. Ominous doors hid their inhabitants just like us. We twisted through them until we reached a gas station on the corner where he made another left. I stared out the window at all the lights until they blurred together. He switched lanes and entered a wide freeway. Once there, he turned on the radio filling the car with classical music.

  He drove for hours. He didn’t speak. Didn’t look at me. I kept sneaking glances at him. I couldn’t read his face. I’d never seen this one. It was focused, unmoving. He stared ahead. His lips pursed in a straight line.

  Where were we going? Where was he taking me? What about Tiffany? The same questions ran on a repeated track. The city lights disappeared behind us. This time when he turned, it was onto a bumpy service road that led to a gravel road. We took one gravel road after the next. I lost all sense of where we were. In the beginning, I kept track just in case I needed to find my way back, but I was lost. Finally, he stopped.

  He got out first, walked over to my car door, and let me out. We were in the middle of a desert. All I saw for miles was flat land with a few silhouettes of cactus. The moon was hidden by wispy clouds and even though the sun was down, it was still hot. I wrung my hands together. My heart pounded in my head. He opened the back door and pulled out a long shovel, then reached in again and pulled out another one. He handed one to me. He started walking into the night so I followed, trying not to trip. We only walked a few feet before he stopped.

  “Dig,” he said pointing to the ground.

  I started to cry. “No, please. Please, don’t do this to me. You can just leave me here. I’ll probably never find my way back into the city anyway. I won’t tell anyone anything. Ever. Please, you’ve—”

  He interrupted me, “Dig.”

  I sobbed as I began digging my own grave. I cried harder with each load. I couldn’t believe that after all I’d done, it was going to end like this. No one would ever find my body. No one ever looked for me anyway, but somehow, people not knowing I ever existed was even more painful.

  He helped me dig. My palms burned within a short period of time. It wasn’t long before they blistered, but I kept shoveling. My shirt stuck to me with sweat. Sweat poured from his forehead and after a while, he took his shirt off. Still we dug. It was exhausting. The heat was blazing even though it was pitch black. The headlights formed our only light.

  He went back to the car and came back with water. He took a drink and gave it to me. I gulped hungrily this time, hoping he’d given me whatever he gave Tiffany. I wanted to fall asleep before I died or be dead before he threw me in the hole we’d dug. I couldn’t think of anything worse than being buried alive.

  He sat to take a rest while I continued to work. I waited to feel something, but all I felt were my muscles screaming at me. It felt like I’d been digging for hours. He joined me after his break and jumped down into the hole. He started shoveling dirt and sand out of the hole, and over his head. He wiped the dust and sweat off his forehead and climbed out when he was satisfied it was deep enough.

  He tossed his shovel to the side. I stood holding mine. As he walked back to the car, I plotted how I would smash him in the back of his head with my shovel when he turned around and steal the car. I had to make sure I hit him hard enough to knock him unconscious or he’d be on me in no time. I tried to catch my breath as he popped the trunk and prepare myself for what I had to do. He grabbed a backpack and strapped it on.

  He yanked Tiffany from the trunk. I had no idea she was in there. She was screaming and crying, but couldn’t move because her arms and legs were tied. She spotted me. Her eyes were filled with unimaginable terror.

  “Sarah! Sarah! Sarah!”

  I stood rooted to my spot.

  “Please let him kill her first. Please let him kill her first,” I pled to a God I didn’t believe in.

  He threw her onto the ground. She screamed again.

  “Shut up!” He pulled out duct tape from his backpack and slapped it across her mouth, tearing it with his teeth. Her eyes bulged out of her head. She kept screaming underneath the gag, but her screams were muted. She crawled along the ground, trying to get away.

  He reached into the backpack again and pulled out a gun. He ran after her and stamped on her back with his tennis shoes, smashing her into the ground. She flailed about, whimpering the most distressed cries I’d ever heard.

  “Petra, get over here,” he said. He
motioned for me with the hand holding the gun.

  I walked in slow motion over to them. I stared at him in horror.

  “What did you think I’d do with her? Send her back home to mommy and daddy? Did you really think that’s how this played out?” He snorted, threw his head back, and laughed.

  He handed the gun to me. I took it because I didn’t know what else to do. My hands were shaking so much I was afraid I’d drop it. He had her pinned to the ground with his feet. He pulled her head up by her hair, snapping her back. He pointed at me with his other hand.

  “Shoot her,” he said.

  Everything froze. Still. I shook so hard I could barely stand. Tears streamed down my face. I didn’t realize I was crying.

  “No,” I whimpered. “I can’t do it.”

  “You said you’d do anything for me.” Tension curled his words.

  “Please, don’t make me do this. I’m not a murderer. Please. I don’t know how to shoot a gun. I’ve never even held one before.” I was sobbing as loudly as Tiffany. I couldn’t help myself. “I don’t know how to shoot a gun.”

  “Get over here!”

  I stepped toward them. He grabbed the hand holding the gun and moved it so the barrel met the back of her head. “There’s nothing to it. Just pull the trigger.”

  “I can’t. I can’t. I can’t.” I babbled incoherently.

  He snatched the gun from me and I fell to the ground, burying my face in my hands. Suddenly, the gun was at the back of my head, pressed against me. Pee pooled between my legs.

  “Oh my God, no, please, don’t. Please, don’t. I’ll do it. I’ll do it!” I screamed.

  “Last chance,” he said.