Consequences Read online

  Opening her locker, she pulled out a black dress. She hadn’t had much time this morning, but after shaving her legs, she decided to run to Greenbriar Mall and see if Macy’s had anything in her price range. It turned out there was nothing for free, but she did find a simple black dress on its second markdown. It was shorter than she normally wore, but it fit, and she didn’t have time to be picky. After a quick run through Burlington’s, a pair of simple black heeled sandals was purchased. She had a black cotton half sweater that complemented the dress well and would be perfect for a cool spring evening.

  After changing her clothes and stuffing her T-shirt and jeans back into the locker, she looked at herself in the mirror. She immediately felt silly. This wasn’t her. She was jeans, T-shirts, and tennis shoes.

  Some eyeliner, mascara, and lipgloss accompanied by a quick brush through her hair were as good as it would get. Judging by the hoots from both sides of the bar when she entered the front of the Red Wing, she did all right. “Check you out, hot stuff. Where are you going all dolled up?” Claire’s manager had a variety of voices in his repertoire. This was his flirting one.

  Feeling playful, she decided to throw it back to him and respond all Southern belle, “Why, sir”—the syllables drawn-out—“I don’t know what you mean.” He raised his eyebrows and stared. “Well, goodness gracious, I do have a little ‘ole date with a tall dark, handsome stranger.”

  A few minutes later, Claire saw a shiny black Porsche pull up to the front of the bar. “See y’all later. Don’t wait up.” The coworkers behind the bar did some more hoot’n and holler’n. Claire smiled as the voices faded into the sounds of the night on the other side of the door.

  Anthony got out of the driver’s side. Immediately, she was pleased that she decided to find a dress. His light-colored Armani suit was perfectly tailored. His greeting was polite as he once again kissed her hand and escorted her around to the passenger’s door. The simple act seemed elegant.

  Being a four-star authentic Italian restaurant in the heart of Atlanta, everyone knew Chez Czar had a reputation for being a difficult place to get reservations for. However, the hostess immediately guided them to one of their best tables.

  When the waiter arrived with menus, Anthony immediately asked for their best bottle of Batasiolo Barolo. After the waiter departed, Claire began to look at the menu. She couldn’t help notice there were no prices. What did that mean? When she looked up from behind the large leather-bound folder, Anthony was looking at her, not his menu. Once again, Claire felt her cheeks flush. “Do you already know what you want?” she asked.

  “I believe I do.” He reached for her menu. Claire released it, although she hadn’t had a chance to really see her choices. The whole “no price” thing had her a little be muffled. “And I can’t see you behind that big menu.” Claire smiled. She’d never met a man like Anthony. She felt like she had his full attention, and it was nice but unsettling. When the waiter returned with the wine, he poured a small amount into a glass. Anthony tasted the liquid and replied, “Ahh, yes.” The waiter poured two glasses.

  Claire wondered if this was what people talked about on a cruise ship with amazing service. Goodness knows no one was treated like this at the Red Wing or Applebee’s for that matter. Before she realized what happened, Anthony ordered dinner. “Well, thank you.” Her tone was tentative.

  “Do you not like Caesar salad and shrimp linguine?” he asked, dismayed.

  “Oh, I do. I just have never had anyone order for me without asking me my preference.” Claire thought to herself, But then again, I have never met anyone like you.

  The tips of his lips moved upward, and his eyes shone. “If you do not like your food, we can certainly send it back for something else.”

  She did like the food. As soon as the linguine arrived at the table and the aroma of garlic and butter penetrated her senses, she knew the taste would be even better. When the shrimp touched her tongue, she relished the seasoned flavor. Anthony was incredibly charming and polite. After dinner, as they waited for the valet, he gently placed his arm around her waist. He was much taller than she realized at the Red Wing. Leaning down to her ear, he whispered, “May I kiss you?”

  Feeling the unstoppable sensation of his stare, Claire only nodded. As his lips touched hers, they were soft and full. Momentarily, she felt the rest of the world disappear. It ended too soon. When he pulled away from the contact, Anthony smiled, and Claire felt her cheeks flush. Once they were back in the car, he asked, “Are you ready to go back to the Red Wing, or should I take you to your home?” Claire contemplated her options. He offered her a third alternative. “Or would you like to join me in my suite, perhaps for some more wine, or we could call room service for dessert?”

  Smiling, she responded, “I like dessert.”

  The hotel’s foyer was exquisite—marble floors, large glowing chandeliers, and huge floral arrangements. Claire tried not to look around. She’d never entered such an exclusive establishment. His suite at the Ritz Carlton was large like an apartment, and once inside, he remained suave and sensual. His eyes were deep. They gave her the sensation of chocolate, dark and melted. Although she didn’t know him that well, she agreed to romance and sexual pleasures. He was romantic and attentive. There was something about him that made her break all her own rules.

  It was after midnight when Claire lifted her head to meet Anthony’s now milk-chocolate eyes. “I really need to get back to my place.” Claire had enjoyed the soft 700-count sheets too much. “I don’t want to disturb you, so I can get a taxi downstairs.” She started to shift away, when he gently reached for her.

  “If I promise you a ride in the morning, would you consider some more dessert?” Anthony’s expression as well as another of his features informed Claire that he wanted her to choose the dessert. She knew she wasn’t scheduled to be at work at all the next day.

  “I don’t want to disrupt your schedule. I am sure you are busy.”

  “I promise this is not a disruption. And maybe after more dessert, we could have another glass of wine. There is still some in the bottle from room service.” The last time she looked at a clock; it was 1:15 a.m. Even at that moment, Claire didn’t realize the consequence of their napkin agreement.

  As Claire lay on the sofa recalling the events that led her to this place and this situation, she couldn’t recall traveling. She remembered a car but couldn’t recall any other part of this house. She couldn’t remember any other memories of Atlanta. That time, 1:15 a.m. was her last conscious memory of her life.

  From the other windows near the bed, she could see only trees. She must be at the end of the dwelling because she couldn’t see more of the house. Her windows were far from the ground. Even if they opened, she would break something from this height. Day after day, the sky would lighten to shades of gray and then darken too soon, keeping track of the days became difficult.

  Wondering where she was, Claire told herself that when Catherine returned she would ask about their location. Catherine didn’t come, the young non-English speaking man did. Day after day, no one came to talk to her. The food came and the room was cleaned. Clothes were miraculously washed and returned to her closet or drawers, but no person was ever seen. She was alone. The isolation was hell. It may not leave physical markings, but it was a neater form of Anthony’s abuse.

  Claire was never a TV watcher, and the TV in her suite didn’t receive many stations. However, she did check the news each morning to learn what day it was. They had begun to blend. On April 2, she finally heard a repeated knock at the door.

  The past thirteen days hadn’t been a total loss. After two or three, Claire realized the weather channel would do local weather. The first time she sat to watch, she was stunned. The midnight announcer, Shelby, graduated from Valparaiso the year before her. Claire watched in disbelief. How could Shelby be on the Weather Channel and she be held prisoner in a house in Iowa? The local weather came from Iowa City, Iowa.

  She discovered
her windows faced southeast. The sun shone on a few of the thirteen days of her seclusion. The hours of sunshine grew in length by minutes each day, but it still looked cold. With the insulated windows and warm fireplace, Claire’s only knowledge of outdoor temperature remained Shelby and her coanchors.

  As a means of escape, Claire turned to reading. The built-in bookcases were filled with current bestsellers. There were series and individual books. She loved to read when she was a child, but life had become too busy. That didn’t seem to be a problem any longer.

  She also discovered a small refrigerator that was always stocked with water and fruit. No one ever asked what she wanted to eat. Truly she wasn’t hungry considering she didn’t do anything to build an appetite. She showered, dressed, and primped a little. The rebellion seemed meaningless with no one to rebel against. One sign of progress, the bruises faded from red, to blue, to purple, to green, and now a very indistinct yellow.

  The knock came again. Food usually entered after the first knock, this person was waiting for an invitation. She didn’t think it was Anthony, he didn’t knock. Could it be Catherine? Slowly, Claire approached the door.

  “Yes? Who’s there?” The anticipation of actually hearing a voice respond to her was stimulating.

  Disappointment to a noble soul is what cold water is to burning metal. It strengthens, tempers, intensifies, but never destroys it.

  —Unknown

  Chapter 5

  “Ms. Claire, may I come in?”

  Claire’s heart leaped. The woman she barely knew was the one person Claire prayed would come to her each of the last thirteen days. Excited to use her voice again, she said, “Yes, Catherine, please come in.” It wasn’t as though Claire could open the door from her side.

  Claire heard the beep. Catherine opened the door and smiled sadly at Claire. Claire wanted to hug her, but something in Catherine’s eyes said, “No, not now. I was not able to come up here before.” It was as if she spoke, yet her lips never moved.

  “Ms. Claire, you seem . . . well rested. I have a message for you.” Claire nodded, anticipating the message from Anthony. “Mr. Rawlings will be coming to see you tonight. He will be late in the city. He said to expect him between nine and ten.”

  Claire looked at the clock near the bed. It was only 4:35 p.m. “Okay.” She didn’t know what to do. She couldn’t exactly refuse his entering. He didn’t ask, only proclaimed. “Will we be dining?”

  “You will dine alone. He will be here too late for dinner.” Catherine looked as though she wanted to say more, but knew better. Maybe someday Claire would be like that, know better. Then again, hopefully, she would be out of here before then.

  “Catherine, could you please help me prepare?”

  “No, miss. I am sorry, but your attire and presentation are to be of your own doing.” Catherine turned to leave the suite.

  “Please wait. Catherine, can’t you please stay and talk to me, even for a little while? After all, we have five hours before Mr. Rawlings will arrive.”

  “I must go, but may I say you look beautiful. I like your face . . . well, ah . . . clear.” Catherine smiled a real and tender smile and exited the suite.

  Somehow Claire knew it was a mind game. He was testing her to see how she would dress, look, and act. He was also testing her to determine if his mere presence caused uneasiness. She decided this examination was an opportunity to respond to her circumstances instead of reacting. He would take her body. That reality was made painfully clear. However, she would not let him have her mind. He wanted her to spend the next five hours alone dreading his arrival, filled with fear and trembling. She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction.

  She had five hours to prove she was in control of her life—if not to him, then at least to herself. She walked into her closet and, like a general selecting his soldiers, perused the racks and shelves selecting an outfit that would bolster her self-confidence. She found it—a black dress with a long flowing skirt. The idea of being near him in a dress made her queasy, but she liked the boldness.

  With each flash of the mascara or zip of the flowing black satin dress, she reviewed her decision. Escape from this room is not possible. The only way to get out of here is to concede to whatever he demands and find another way out. Looking at herself in the mirror, Claire straightened her neck, righted her shoulders, and confirmed her mission. Physically fighting had been counterproductive, it only seemed to intensify Anthony’s resolve. She needed to yield, temporarily, to his demands in order to access a means of exodus. Completing her hairstyle, she dissected her plan. It seemed like surrender, but her gut told her that resigning to him with a straight face and experiencing the effects of her verbalization took more control than the pleas, accusations, and fighting of two weeks earlier.

  It was eight forty-five when Claire buckled the Jimmy Choo sandals. She felt confident she looked the part. She just needed to perform it too. At nine thirty, her nerves were wreaking havoc with her stomach. Damn him! That was his plan. She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction. She reached for her current novel by the bed and went to the overstuffed chair and sat down. She started to read, but the words made no sense. Her chest thumped as her heart beat too rapidly, and her mouth tasted like cotton. Getting up, she retrieved a bottle of water. Her sweaty palms made opening the cap difficult. The water helped her dry mouth until it hit her stomach. Fearing she would need to run for the bathroom, she remembered to breathe deep cleansing breaths. Her nerves began to calm. The flames of the fire warmed her as she attempted to concentrate on the words of her book.

  At nine fifty-eight, preceded by the beep, her suite door opened. Anthony walked in like he was there earlier that day, not two weeks ago. Dressed in a dark gray double-breasted silk suit, he appeared heavier than she remembered; maybe not heavy, massive, broad-chested. She wasn’t sure of his height, but would guess about six four, an entire twelve inches taller than her. His age showed in fine lines around his dark eyes, estimating, Claire figured, late thirties.

  “Good evening, Claire.”

  The heat from the fireplace helped to ward off trembling. Claire stood and nodded. “Good evening, Anthony.” Taking command, “Shall we sit?”

  Anthony sat on the sofa, leaned back, and unbuttoned his jacket. Claire sat on the edge of the chair and looked directly into his eyes. She wouldn’t show fear, although those dark eyes were the scariest things she’d ever seen.

  “Do you think you are ready to continue with our agreement? Or do you need some more time alone to consider the situation?”

  “After consulting my attorney, I feel I have no choice but to continue with our agreement.”

  Anthony’s eyes darkened at the mention of a consultation. “Claire, I know you are joking. But do you really think that is a good idea? Considering your circumstances?”

  Keeping her smile intact, she said, “I have had a lot of time to think, joviality has sustained me.”

  “I must say your demeanor impresses me. I will need to deliberate on this new personality.”

  The two sat in silence while the fireplace blower hummed in the background. Claire used every ounce of control to appear calm while Anthony pondered. He remained seated against the back of the sofa, yet his jaw seemed to clench as his eyes devoured her, scanning and taking her in. She wished she could read his eyes. Then suddenly they caught hers. “Tell me what you have learned during your reflection time.”

  “I have learned I have many clothes, very nice clothes, may I add. I have a balcony that I cannot access because the door is locked. I have a refrigerator and small microwave. But honestly, the microwave seems unnecessary as I also have food brought to me three times a day.”

  “That is all very nice,” Anthony said with a hint of sarcasm. “But what have you discovered about your situation? Do you even know where you are?” His expression was confident as if only he held the answers to her questions.

  Claire contemplated her response. Should she be honest and tell him she learned Iowa
City from the Weather Channel? What if that resulted in loss of TV stations, she might not know what day it is. Then again, if she lied and said she didn’t know and he caught her in a lie, what would happen? Maintaining an air of confidence, she said, “I am in Iowa, or at least somewhere near Iowa City.”

  Gripping the arm of the sofa with his right hand, Claire saw his muscles tense. “And you learned this from whom?” Each word became more exaggerated as he spoke.

  “I learned it from the Weather Channel, Local on the Eights. The local weather for this area comes from Iowa City, Iowa.” Claire continued to sound as lighthearted as possible.

  Anthony’s body relaxed, and he nodded his head in approval. “Very well, that will spare me telling you that information.” Claire wanted to ask how she got there. “For the sake of clarity, since that seemed to be a problem in the past, you are aware that your indebtedness to me can only be determined paid by me?”

  Claire swallowed. This is what she anticipated, smiling she nodded her head yes.

  His voice strong and authoritative. “I prefer verbal confirmation.”

  “I am aware that you are the only one who can decide when my debt is paid in full.” Even Claire was surprised by the calmness of her voice. She said a silent prayer that he wouldn’t notice her hands balled into fists with her nails biting into her own palms. If she concentrated, she could remember how to relax her hands. But at this moment, her concentration was needed elsewhere.

  “You are also aware that your duties require you to be available to me whenever, wherever, and however I demand?” His eyes never faltered from her, yet his body language looked relaxed, arrogant. He was a man willing to push Claire to the brink. It was like watching a poker game, pushing the odds. Would there be a payoff? Or would someone blink?