Appetite for Innocence: A Dark Psychological Thriller Page 5

  All the energy gets sucked out of the room.

  “But... but, I don’t want to. I don’t want to lose my virginity. He can’t. He just can’t.” I shake my head.

  No. I won’t have it. I won’t let him.

  The dead look in her eyes is back. “You don’t have a choice.”

  SARAH

  (THEN)

  I’ve dried all the dinner dishes and put them away. The tea kettle whistles. I pull it off the stove and pour the water into his favorite mug. I plop his Chamomile tea bag in the water and wait for it to stew before spooning in the honey. Half a tablespoon. Never more than that. He doesn’t like too much sugar, but he refuses to drink his tea without it and he has to have his tea to go to sleep.

  I hear the sound of the shower turning off. He won’t be long now. I set his tea at his spot at the table and take my seat, waiting for him. I decided earlier today that I was going to bring up sleeping upstairs again. Last time he dismissed me, refusing to even talk to me about it. But he’ll be in a good mood tonight. He’s never more alive than when he’s brought home a new girl. His body hums with excitement and he practically skips when he walks. He arrives in his bathrobe shortly, his hair still wet from the shower.

  “Thank you, darling,” he says as he slides into his seat.

  “You’re welcome.” I keep my eyes down.

  “How is she doing?” He blows on his tea. It’s still too hot to drink.

  “Better today, I think. She still cries herself to sleep every night, but that’s pretty normal. It’s not the hysterical kind anymore and she ate a few crackers today. Finally. Paige coaxed her into doing it.”

  He looks pleased. “Good for Paige. I’m proud of her. I’m going to miss her.”

  Not me. I made the mistake of getting attached the first time he brought a new girl home. Her name was Tiffany and I was so excited. It was like getting the sister I always wanted even though she was older than me. We hit it off right from the start. We passed the hours in the basement reading to each other and making up stories. Sometimes we performed for each other like we were on TV. We created elaborate murals together and pasted them all over the walls. Pictures of trees and flowers. A great big sun shining down with a smile. We created an outdoor scene and spent hours looking at it, sharing secrets from our lives we’d never told anyone.

  I cried for days after she was gone. Her absence left a gaping hole in my heart. I wrote her letters for the next year. I knew it was silly but I missed her desperately and had gotten used to talking to her. I still have the letters tucked away in one of my boxes somewhere. I used to pull them out and read them, but I don’t anymore.

  I’ve trained myself not to care about the girls or let them get close to me. It’s easier that way. I won’t miss Paige when she’s gone.

  He interrupts my thoughts.

  “It’s been over a week. I think it’s time to bring her upstairs.”

  I nod. “I’ll prepare things for her.”

  “I think I’d like to do it myself this time. I have a feeling about this one.”

  I sneak a peek. A wide smile is spread across his face. He looks dreamy like he’s in another world. Why does he want to get things ready? I’ve been doing it for years. But sometimes he gets ideas in his head about the girls that I don’t understand. Like Bianca. He’d been so excited because she was his first black girl. He’d searched for her for a long time. He was giddy when he’d gone to get her, but their first meeting hadn’t gone well. Something happened. I don’t know what and he didn’t tell me. He never does. Sometimes the curiosity about how he is with them in the bedroom eats me alive and I have to work really hard at pushing it down.

  The next night when I brought her upstairs, he didn’t even bother to eat dinner with her. I’d worked really hard at figuring out how to make risotto that afternoon and was disappointed he didn’t get the chance to try it. He left with her immediately. I never saw Bianca again. Sometimes it was like that.

  “I have a request.” I have to seize his good mood.

  It’s been a few months since I’ve asked for anything so I hope he says yes this time. I purposefully avoided asking him for anything because there’s nothing I want more than to be out of the basement forever. I want to sleep in a bedroom that’s mine. One with real walls and a door I can shut behind me.

  “Yes?” I can tell by his voice that he’s only half paying attention.

  “I would like to sleep upstairs.”

  “Honey, we’ve talked about this before. You know how I feel about it.” He shakes his head, sipping his tea.

  “But I was hoping you might change your mind after you had more time to think about it. It’s just so depressing down there.” I almost leave out the last part because it sounds a bit whiny and he hates whining, but he hates it even more when I get depressed.

  He reaches over to take my hand. His big hand encircles mine. His fingernails are cut short, perfectly manicured.

  “You know that can’t happen. I need you down there. You have to be my eyes.” He traces circles with his fingertips on the top of my hand.

  “I don’t. Not really anymore. We have the cameras.”

  “I said no.” He jerks his hand away.

  I stare at the table top. I don’t dare argue even though I’m fuming inside. I hate that he gets to make all the rules. It’s not fair.

  “Don’t ask me again.” His voice is harsh and stern. He gets up. I flinch, but instead of coming toward me he walks over to the sink and pours what’s left of his tea down the drain. “It’s time for bed.”

  I stand and push in my chair. He walks over and pats me on top of my head. “Now be a good girl and run along to bed.”

  I trudge down the stairs. The beeps sound behind me.

  SARAH

  (NOW)

  I stare at the victim’s advocate. I can’t believe she actually works for the FBI when she looks like a hippie who sits around and smokes weed during her spare time in a garden with a Buddha statue. Her presence is so calm it’s unnerving and she asks me permission to do anything. I’m annoyed with her already and she’s only been in my room for five minutes.

  “I just finished meeting with Ella and she told me about Paige. I told her what I’m about to tell you—we are going to do everything we can to find Paige. Do you think you could help us with that?”

  What did Ella say about me? I want to ask, but I don’t want her to think I care about what she thinks about me.

  “I’ll try, but I don’t think I can really help. I was upstairs when the fire started.”

  “And where was she?”

  “In the basement.”

  What do they know about our life? How much has she told her?

  “When did you notice the fire had started?”

  “I smelled smoke, but I didn’t really think anything about it because I was too freaked out about the alarms going off. And then when the other alarms started going off, I just thought they were more house alarms.”

  “House alarms?” She raises her eyebrows.

  “The house was wired. John set it whenever he left. If anyone opened any of the doors or windows, the alarms went off and sent a signal to his phone,” I say, remembering the only other time the alarms had been triggered—the time I set them off. The memory makes me cringe. “We weren’t supposed to leave.”

  “Is this hard for you to talk about?” Concern lines her face.

  I shrug. “A little. Everything just happened so fast.”

  “So, when did you notice the fire?”

  “I saw smoke coming from the back. That’s when I ran out of the house too.”

  “But you stopped in the yard? Isn’t that where the police found you?”

  I nod.

  “Why didn’t you keep running?” She fixes her eyes on me.

  I twist my hands together on my lap. “I didn’t know what to do.”

  “Why didn’t you go over the gate?”

  I hold back the urge to laugh. “Have you seen
the gate?”

  “No, I haven’t. Would you like to tell me about it?”

  “It’s huge.” It was massive, encircling the entire property like we lived in a medieval castle.

  “Ella got over it, didn’t she? How’d she do it?”

  “I have no idea.”

  I’d wracked my brain trying to figure that one out too. There was no way to climb it because it was made of sleek aluminum. You couldn’t jump over either. John made it that way on purpose. He’d showed me all the pictures while it was being constructed. I often wondered what the neighbors thought about it.

  “Did you think about going back for Paige?” She eyes me quizzically, her head tilted slightly to the side.

  “I just froze. I didn’t know what to do. I figured she’d make it out too.”

  “Weren’t you worried that she wouldn’t?”

  “Of course I was worried,” I snap.

  “But you didn’t go back to check on her?”

  “No, I didn’t. I already told you that.”

  “I noticed you didn’t ask if she made it out,” she says, pointedly. Her statement looms in the air.

  I shrug. “I figured if she was dead, somebody would’ve told me.” I don’t want to talk about Paige. I change the subject to what’s important. “Have you found John?”

  She shakes her head. “We’re still looking. We’ll know more soon.”

  I wish they would hurry. I don’t know how much longer I’m going to be able to stand this.

  ELLA

  (THEN)

  Sometime in the afternoon—at least I think it’s the afternoon—Sarah comes downstairs with the scissors. They’re the same scissors she used to cut my ties off last time. I’m so excited I can barely sit still while she snips, but my excitement is short-lived when she asks me to follow her upstairs. Since my talk with Paige, I’ve been hoping I might be different and he’s decided just to keep me downstairs.

  My legs and wrists feel strange without the ties binding them, but it’s my fear that makes it difficult to walk up the stairs to the steel door I pounded on a few days earlier. It already seems like a lifetime ago. This time when we approach it, Sarah pushes it and it swings open. It clicks shut behind us, followed by the beeps that have become the soundtrack of my life.

  I squint my eyes, blinded by the sunlight streaming in from the windows after having been in the dimly lit basement for so long. We’re in a short entryway that opens up into an expansive hallway. I stand trembling, wringing my hands together. Sarah pulls me forward through the hallway and I scan the upstairs in shock.

  In my imagination, I envisioned upstairs being rundown and filthy. In all the movies I’ve seen, the creepy bad guys always have disgusting houses. This place is beautiful, like a limestone museum. Everything is blindingly white. The walls. The ceiling. The marble floors. It’s all pristine and perfect. Floor-to-ceiling windows line the open space. They sparkle and shine like they’ve never been touched, revealing a breathtaking view of mountains in the distance. The smell of lemon-scented bleach surrounds me.

  Sarah stops and doesn’t take me any further into the open space. I sneak a peek at the sprawling kitchen on the right. It’s sleek and modern, so clean it looks like it’s never been used, with granite countertops and stainless steel appliances. There’s a huge central island ringed in cabinets. Barstools stand at attention around it.

  The sound of footsteps moves toward us from somewhere in the house. My heartbeat explodes in my ears. I can’t swallow.

  Then, he appears.

  “Hello, Ella. I’ve missed you,” he says, his face breaking into a smile, exposing perfectly straight white teeth. He looks me up and down.

  The world spins. I put my hand out to steady myself on the wall, afraid I’ll fall if I don’t. I break into a cold sweat. He doesn’t look like a monster. He’s handsome—the kind of man that makes women blush—not hideous like I expected. He looks like he stepped out of a business magazine. He’s over six feet tall and dressed in a black suit, a stark contrast to all the white surrounding him. His short dark hair is neatly combed, every piece in place. His face is perfectly symmetrical. Distinct cheekbones and an angular jaw. Arched eyebrows form a perfect moon over his steel-blue eyes framed in dark lashes. His lips are pale and thin. His skin flawless. He’s as impeccable as his house.

  He steps toward me and with each step he takes, I move away from him until my back is smashed against the basement door and I can’t go any further.

  “There’s nothing to be afraid of,” he says. “It’s time to get you cleaned up.”

  I don’t move. I’m frozen to my spot. I furtively look around for Sarah, but she’s gone. I don’t see her anywhere. He grabs my arm. His fingers are cold. I jerk away.

  “Please, just let me go home. I won’t tell anyone. I promise. Nobody has to know. Please, just let me go.”

  He shakes his head. “It’s time to clean you up.”

  “Why are you doing this to me? Please, just let me go,” I whimper.

  He reaches for me again and I move to slap his hand away. He catches my hand. His grip tightens around my fingers, crushing them. He moves into my space and presses his forearm against my chest. He pins his body against mine and his face contorts into anger.

  “You do as I say. Do you understand me?” His words seep into my insides like ice water moving through my veins.

  I nod, gulping down the sobs threatening to escape from my throat.

  He releases me and pulls me forward, then places his hand on my back. “Move.”

  He shoves me forward into the house, quickly moving us through the living room and into another hallway. My eyes take in everything like snapshots. An L-shaped couch in front of a stone fireplace. More windows. Three doors in the hallway. All of them shut. He opens a door on the right and pushes me into a bathroom. He locks the door behind us.

  I stare in horror at the claw-shaped bath tub filled to the top with bubbles. There’s lit candles on the vanity and tall ones on candelabras next to the tub. Their flames cast an eerie glow against the white-washed walls. The room is filled with the scent of lavender. He points to the vanity and that’s when I see it—a small gun.

  “I’m not a violent man. I’d never do anything to hurt you, but I’ll do what needs to be done if you get out of hand.” He rubs his thumb across my cheek.

  I cringe. “Please, don’t hurt me.”

  “I’m not going to hurt you. I just want to get to know you.” He smiles down at me. “Take your clothes off.”

  “Please. Please, I don’t want to. I don’t want to do this.” I’m crying so hard I can barely speak.

  “Take your clothes off.” His voice has lost his even tone. It’s laced with anger and threat.

  I try to move around him. His body blocks the door. His crystalline blue eyes are cold now. They’ve turned to ice. His smile is gone and replaced with a sneer. I back away.

  “Take your clothes off. I will not tell you another time.”

  I shrink before him. But I can’t move. I know I should take my clothes off, but I can’t do it. My arms won’t work. I can’t control them or stop my body from trembling. I’ve lost all control of myself. He grabs me and slaps me with the back of his hand across my face. The taste of blood fills my mouth. I reach my hand up to feel the sting. He grabs a chunk of my hair and snaps my head back.

  “You will do what I say and I said to take your clothes off,” he says through gritted teeth.

  I nod frantically. He releases me and I stumble backward. I sob harder as I strip my clothes off. The harder I try to stop, the more I cry. I step out of my shorts and pull my shirt over my head. I stand in front of him in my sports bra and the same underwear I’ve been in since he took me.

  “Everything.” He narrows his eyes to slits.

  I’ve never been naked in front of anyone besides Mom. I struggle out of my sports bra and gingerly pull my underwear down my legs. I stand in front of him with my arms across my chest. I’ve never b
een so exposed. Shame rises to my cheeks. I hang my head, refusing to look at him.

  “Now, get into your bath.”

  I hurriedly step into the bath so he can’t look at me. The water is hot, scalding my skin but I don’t care. I slide underneath, sinking underneath the bubbles. I want to disappear. My heart thuds. I lay there for what feels like hours, too afraid to make eye contact with him to see what he’s doing. His feet click on the tiled floor as he walks to the tub. He kneels next to it. All my muscles tense.

  Before I know what’s happening he picks up a washcloth and begins washing my back, stroking it up and down softly.

  “I really wish you hadn’t made me do that,” he says as he continues washing my back. “I’ve been waiting for this all day. I couldn’t stop thinking about you at work.”

  It’s excruciating not to move as he touches me, but I don’t dare.

  “Let’s lay back and work on that hair. You have such beautiful long hair. It’s a shame to see it so dirty.”

  I force my body to lean back, staring up at the ceiling while he pours water over my head and begins lathering my hair with shampoo. It smells like flowers with a faint tinge of mint. After he’s washed it twice, he fills it with conditioner and piles my hair on top of my head to let the conditioner soak in.

  “Sit up,” he says softly.

  I do as I’m told.

  He’s back with the washcloth. This time he goes to work on my body. I burn with shame as he moves between my legs. I stare at the small tiles in front of me, focusing on counting each one. I keep losing track and have to start over. I multiply the numbers by three and then four. Over and over again as he scrubs. He rinses the conditioner out of my hair. Finally, he’s finished and I’m scrubbed clean, but I’ve never felt so dirty.

  ELLA

  (NOW)

  Even with Mom asleep in the fold-out bed they brought in for her, I can’t sleep. All day during the relentless questioning, all I wanted to do was go to sleep, but as soon as they dimmed the lights, I was suddenly wide awake. A new officer is standing outside my door and Randy assured me he wouldn’t leave his post all night. She also promised to be back first thing in the morning.