Make Me: Twelve Tales of Dark Desire Page 14

  Sources say her name is Claire Nichols, but who is she? Mr. Rawlings’s publicist would not comment regarding speculation that there could be someone special in his life.

  Claire stared at the photo in disbelief. Tony was forty-five, really? And who cared that she was at the symphony? Well other than her, since it was her first time allowed out of the house in two over months. Has Emily seen this? What about her friends in Atlanta?

  The stupid magazine was supposed to take her mind off everything, not make it public. Claire flipped the magazine over. It was dated June 14. Today was Sunday, but what was the date? It was August, August 8, and Tony won’t return until the eighteenth. Thinking of it that way made it seemed even longer. She smiled, dropped the magazine on the ground, and closed her eyes. The clock by the pool house read 3:15 PM when Catherine woke her again.

  “I brought you something special, Ms. Claire.” Claire opened her eyes to see Catherine holding a tall glass containing something resembling a smoothie. “It’s my secret recipe: banana, strawberry, and yogurt.”

  Claire appreciated Catherine’s persistence and took the drink. Her concoction tasted sweet and felt cool in her throat as she swallowed. The nutritional ingredients provided her body with the sustenance it needed. While she drank, Catherine pulled up a chair and chatted. Claire knew she was being watched, not by a depraved voyeur, but by a friend. It was a simple act of compassion and concern. Catherine didn’t talk about anything that happened, she just talked. Once Claire finished, Catherine left with the glass.

  Closing her eyes, Claire recognized a new sense of emptiness and relief. Four months of despair and misery had been washed away through gallons of tears. She remembered her grandmother’s saying—sometimes we all need a good cry. To that end, Grandma would read a sad book or watch a sad movie—Claire watched the movie.

  Although the sun still shimmered on high, it began to move toward the front of the house, casting shadows on the pool and deck. Claire decided to go back upstairs, but realized she had no privacy in her suite.

  At that moment, she noticed the trees. Her mind worked slowly; it had been through quite an ordeal in the past twenty-four hours. Staring at the green leaves and thick forest, she saw freedom. Not freedom to Atlanta or completely away from Tony, but freedom from cameras, instructions, rules, and freedom to relax. The realization energized Claire like nothing else had all day. Tomorrow, she was heading into the woods.

  Monday morning Claire woke with a start. She’d been dreaming, but she couldn’t remember about what. She just knew her heart pounded, she gasped for breath, and she felt like she was suffocating. As her mind cleared and she looked around her suite, she saw reality. She was alone, the night had been peaceful, and today was a new day. She quickly showered and dressed for her exploration. When she stepped from the closet/ dressing room, because she vowed to never be unclothed in her main room again, her door closed.

  “Wait please,” she shouted toward the door.

  “I’m sorry, miss, I should have been faster.”

  “Oh no, Cindy, you’re fine. I just need a favor.”

  “Anything, what can I do for you?” Claire explained she planned a day trip into the woods. She needed a packed lunch and some water bottles. Cindy listened intently and promised to help.

  Claire sat down to her breakfast. It wouldn’t take much for Claire’s appetite to disappear, just a few thoughts of reality. So, she chose not to do that…she’d get those thoughts into that compartment no matter what. Instead, as she ate and thought about her impending adventure—about hiking boots and bug spray.

  There was a knock on her door. Claire called for the person to come in.

  Catherine’s expression matched the concern in her voice, “Ms. Claire, could you please explain to me what Cindy is asking?”

  Claire told Catherine about her plans to explore, how she didn’t want to return for lunch, and she knew Catherine wouldn’t want her to skip a meal. Therefore, she would need a packed lunch and some water bottles.

  Catherine seemed apprehensive. “I’m sorry, but what if you didn’t come back?”

  Although that sounded wonderful, Claire was surprised by Catherine’s concern. “Catherine, I have no intention of that. First, I wouldn’t do that to you. I can only imagine Mr. Rawlings’s reaction if I didn’t return, and second, his reaction. I can truthfully say—if I left—I’d be looking over my shoulder for the rest of my life”—which, she didn’t say audibly, she believed deep in her soul, might not be very long—“I just want to explore and be outside, away from everything. Mr. Rawlings has given me permission to go into the woods. I’ve done it before. I just want to be out longer, without concern for curfews. Besides, we both know this conversation is being recorded. I promise to return. If I don’t, he’ll see I lied. You just believed me.” Claire reached for Catherine’s hand. “I promise I’ll be back.”

  There was a spark in Claire’s green eyes—the same eyes which, only yesterday, were red, swollen, and lifeless—Catherine told Claire she would have her lunch and water packed in a few minutes, but asked that she be back by 6:00 PM for dinner. Claire promised she would. As soon as Catherine left the room, Claire went to the dressing table and found her watch. She didn’t want to disappoint her.

  That morning, Claire abandoned her strategy of dissecting the woods. She remembered the large clearing with the flowers and headed in that direction. In the past, she only went as far as the clearing, today she planned to go beyond it. She found the clearing right where she thought it would be. The heat of the summer transformed the green grass into long brown straw, only the weeds were green. Claire didn’t mind, the weeds had pretty, colorful flowers. Unlike Tony’s flowers, which were sentenced to his yard, gardens, or clay pots, these flowers grew free wherever they wanted. Furthermore, weeds were survivors. When all else died, the weeds remained. Yes, Claire liked weeds.

  She glanced at her watch. She’d reached the clearing by 10:00 AM.

  When she left the house there was a slight chill, so she brought a sweatshirt. With steadily increasing temperatures, now it’s only purpose was to sit upon. She laid it out in the middle of the clearing and sat. A faint breeze blew her hair and caused the leaves of the trees to rustle. Even though it was only the beginning of August, due to the recent dryness, the leaves were beginning to change.

  That bothered her. She moved—or was brought—to Iowa in March. At that time, the leaves hadn’t formed, and now they were beginning to change. Time slipped away from her, and she couldn’t hold on. It made her think of a soap opera her mother used to watch. The opening said something like, “Sands through the hour glass…”

  She laid her head on the hard ground and gazed at the open sky. There were a few white fluffy clouds. The expanse of the sky glowed blue and clear. The longer she lay immobile, the more she blended into the surroundings. First, she noticed the butterflies which fluttered just above the grass. Then, she saw the chipmunks. One would run around a tree, the next would run up the tree, chasing and being chased. Eventually, she sat up, opened one of her water bottles, and continued to sit and contemplate.

  Once she stepped through the trees, leaving the confines of Tony’s backyard, Claire believed she escaped the range of his top-notch security. It felt like being released from prison. Even the air smelled sweeter as she inhaled and relaxed. She smiled at the irony; she definitely felt more secure without security.

  Claire didn’t look at her watch, enjoying her freedom. After much consideration, she decided to head west—northwest. There was no reason for that direction—more of a yearning—but it was solely hers, so she did it. She walked and walked. Close to the earth, she experienced a coolness that comes only from the shade of very tall trees. When she looked up, the trees reminded her of a kaleidoscope. The blue sky radiated beyond the ever-changing design of leaves. Since she hadn’t checked the time when she left the clearing, she didn’t know how long she’d walked when she reached the shore.

  The lake wasn’t
big, but then again it wasn’t small. She could see the other end, a distance away. Nothing but nature surrounded the water in every direction. Looking down as she stood on the shore, her boots stood upon thousands of small smooth pebbles. Suddenly, she wondered if she could skip one. Remembering from childhood, she knew it needed to be smooth. It took her three tries, but she did it. It skipped four times, each hit going a little deeper, creating a slightly larger ring upon the water. The rings grew until they faded into the waves of the lake. For the first time in days…she felt hungry.

  Catherine never disappointed when it came to food. Claire found a sandwich—turkey or chicken—she would soon find out—fruit in a small sealed cup—and some carrots. She sat at the water’s edge, broke off some of her bread and threw it in the water. The crumbs floated, rising and falling with the water. Suddenly, each crumb became surrounded by four or five minnows. They jumped and nibbled. Once they ate all the bread, Claire broke off more and fed them again. This time, more minnows came to the feast.

  The sounds of the lake exemplified peace. Claire closed her eyes and lost herself in the rhythm. Small waves lapped the earth making a consistent beat, swoosh, swoosh, swoosh. The leaves rustled, creating a gentle on again, off again reverberation. The sun moved steadily toward the other end of the lake. Claire’s new sunglasses were a smart accessory for her adventure. It wasn’t just the sun, but its reflection off the water, that sparkled and shined, as prisms of light and color danced off the waves. She could sit and watch for hours. Occasionally, there would be a splash, and Claire would see the telltale rings left behind from a fish that jumped out of the lake only to go back down.

  Just before Claire decided to check her watch, she saw—about one hundred yards down the shore—a doe and a fawn. They cautiously approached the lake’s edge. The doe kept a watchful eye on the surroundings while the fawn concentrated on drinking the cool clear water. She didn’t want to move or disturb them, but the sun continued to lean west.

  With a heavy heart, she looked at her watch. It was 4:30 PM. It took forty-five minutes to get from the clearing to the house, but she didn’t know how long it took to get from the lake to the clearing. Tony wouldn’t be home, but Catherine had been so kind and supportive. She didn’t want to disappoint her either.

  Slowly, she stood, having no idea how long she’d been sitting on the shore. Her muscles ached. She wondered if the cause could be sitting on the smooth pebbles or perhaps the activities of Friday and Saturday night. When those memories entered her mind, she felt her stomach knot. Eight more days—she knew without a doubt were they would be spent.

  Survival is not so much about the body, but rather it is about the triumph of the human spirit.

  —Danita Vance

  Chapter Fourteen

  ‡

  Wednesday arrived sooner than Claire hoped. Since the discovery of her lake oasis, she spent every day there and returned to the house by 6:00 PM, as promised. Truly, the first night was close. She even needed to run part of the way, but she made it. Now, she knew the way and knew each direction took an hour and forty-five minutes to walk.

  As the week progressed, Claire took more supplies: a blanket, a book, and her lunch with water to drink. She even started wearing her bathing suit under her shorts so she could sunbathe on the shore. The bathing suit was a lot like underwear. This rebellious act brought a smile to her face.

  Nearing the lake, she began to recognize the sights, sounds, and scents—a clean fresh aroma penetrating deep into her lungs. As the days passed, she soaked in the serenity of this secret haven and her strength and resolve returned. When Tony left for Europe, she’d felt as low as she had felt since her arrival—actually—in her entire life. She wanted out and would have been willing to die to accomplish that goal—if only the means had been present.

  Now, she was thankful that they weren’t. When he returned, he’d be the same, but she would be different. He hurt her—not just physically—but also emotionally—down to her core. Since her arrival, he humiliated her routinely and seemed to enjoy humiliating her. Forcing her to view herself in those situations was agony. Previously, she tried to put away the memories—to create a separation between her daily life and her daily duties. To some extent, she’d been successful. This compartmentalization facilitated her survival. His appalling videos documenting his brutal treatment and merciless instructions exposed her—to herself. It broke her.

  The lake, nature, sunshine, and freedom, rejuvenated her. She felt like the Six-Million Dollar Man—stronger, faster, and better. She would gain sustenance and strength from the memories of the crystal waves shining and flashing in the sunlight. He could say, do, or make her do anything, anywhere, and her mind would be hearing the leaves rustle, birds sing, and waves lap the shore. She knew it wouldn’t be easy, but she also knew the routine. There would be breaks when he needed to travel and hopefully be gone—faraway for long periods of time. She would live for those breaks, until the time came when her debt was paid and she’d be the one to leave.

  It didn’t surprise Claire that Catherine didn’t know the time of his arrival. It was part of his game—a test to learn if she’d read his note—if she’d be prepared. Claire knew what she needed to do. When he arrived she planned to be ready, and she was.

  Wednesday afternoon, Claire ate lunch in her suite and sat on the sofa reading a book, a crime novel—except it was funny—the fifth in a series. She didn’t know for sure how many there were—but she enjoyed reading them. Since she didn’t know when he would arrive, she didn’t want to risk being away from her suite. Claire painstakingly chose her attire: white capris, a black and white top which accentuated her figure, and black sandals with a shorter heel. Since March, her hair had lightened and grown quite long. She styled it half up and half down, with the ends curled, and her make-up was flawless. If he didn’t show up until later, she had another outfit prepared. Claire planned to meet him head-on. The miserable wretched woman he left was gone.

  The door opened without warning. Claire’s heart skipped a beat, but she controlled her breathing, and remained still. She appeared relaxed as she looked up from her book. Tony walked in and greeted her, “Good afternoon, Claire.”

  Slowly, she placed her bookmark in her book, laid the book on the end table, and stood. Her smile radiated as pleasant a welcome as she could muster. Her mask was not only on—but polished. “Good afternoon, Anthony”—their eyes met—“It’s nice to have you home. How was your trip?”

  She didn’t walk toward him, but stood straight, tall, and defiant. He stepped forward. As their proximity decreased, he watched for her reaction. With their bodies nearly touching he looked down into her eyes. She stood her ground, smiling, waiting for his reply. She knew asking for a verbal answer to her question wasn’t a good idea, so she remained silent and maintained eye contact.

  “My trip was long. I’m pleased with your greeting. Does this mean your temper tantrum, from before my trip, has reached its conclusion?”

  She could smell his cologne and feared if she inhaled too deeply, their chests would touch. “Yes, I believe it has. I apologize for my behavior. It was childish and unnecessary.”

  *

  He grinned, trying to decipher if her words were sincere or if she was playing him. His tone and words tried to enlist her motivation. “As I recall, a great deal of your behavior was far from childish”—he paused—no reaction—“but my memory could be failing me, it has been a long trip. I know how we could find out”—another pause—no reaction—“or review?”

  Claire didn’t react. She didn’t take his bait. Instead, she responded, “You’re right, it was very adult. I’d be glad to do whatever it is you tell me to do again. I believe I have a debt to repay; my goal is to make that happen sooner rather than later. Fulfilling my contract is the means to that end.”

  He pulled her against him and looked down into her eyes. He saw a fire, one which ten days ago had been dowsed with tears. She smiled, said all the right things, b
ut her eyes were fighting. He bent down and kissed her. It started slowly, but soon became hard and forceful. She hesitated for only a split second and responded with equal force. Tony hadn’t intended for their reunion to go this direction. He’d expected someone different.

  About 6:30 PM he used his cell phone to call the kitchen and have dinner brought to her suite. The flight was long. By 9:30 PM he was sound asleep in her bed.

  *

  For a few moments she sat up in bed and watched him. She still loathed him, but Claire felt she’d won this battle. She stood strong and quieted the fury in his approach. She gave in without incidence, making him less aggressive. The final outcome would be similar no matter the mode, but this way it happened—without violence and without video replay. To Claire that was a victory. She read her book for a few hours before joining him in sleep.

  The next morning when she awoke, he was gone. She knew the tedious schedule of her daily duties had resumed. She didn’t mope. Instead, she headed to the exercise room and worked out, back to her suite and showered, then ate breakfast and learned of Tony’s location. Today, he was at the office, not home. She sighed with relief. That meant she had until 5:00 PM to do whatever she wanted. Already 10:00 AM, traveling to and from the lake, a three-and-a-half-hour journey, would monopolize her day. She would need to get up earlier on days she wanted to go there. Perhaps, that would be something she did on days he was out of town. Claire would miss her lake, but she was determined she wouldn’t risk losing her piece of paradise. She’d wait until a better time to go. Of course, that didn’t mean she couldn’t go into the woods for a walk. So she did. Just get away from the cameras felt liberating.

  She spent at the pool, returned to her suite, showered, and was ready for instructions by 5:00 PM. Catherine brought word: Mr. Rawlings would be home and they would dine in the dining room at 7:00 PM. Claire didn’t need Catherine’s help with appropriate clothing—dining room meant formal. She knew how to follow the rules.