Dear Captor (Letters in Blood series Book 1) Page 3

  “Hello, Ms. Vi. I’m on my way back.” My voice is tense, but professional.

  On the other end of the line, I’m listening to her shuffling through something. “How far away are you?” she snaps.

  “Only got to catch the train, so about forty minutes still.” I hold my breath waiting for her response and begin to jog.

  “That’s not good enough. You know I need you here as soon as possible whenever I call. Do you not want this job? There are plenty of other girls who would die to be in your position.” Her voice rises in volume with each word.

  I stop still in the street, her words bringing me to a halt. The anger I had before rises to its maximum level, and I lose my cool. “How dare you threaten my job?” I hiss. “I’m the hardest worker, and I’m always there whenever you need me. I was visiting someone who’s like a mother to me tonight. It’s a regular thing, and I needed her. I had to leave early because you called.” The words spill from my mouth, and I can hear Ms. Vi sucking in a shocked breath as I continue. “I would never do anything to jeopardize this job because I do enjoy it. So don’t threaten to give it to someone else.”

  Silence falls between us. I’m still standing in the street, my hands shaking, and people pass by me, running to the trains.

  Do I even bother going back?

  “Well… excuse me, young lady. How dare you speak to me like that?”

  “Sorry, but I’m doing my best, and I’m one of your hardest workers. You’re threatening my position because I’m not there right now.” My voice is accusatory and stern. Tonight is probably the worst night to have this kind of conversation with her

  “That doesn’t give you the right to talk to me like that. I push you because I know you can handle it. We’re missing photos for a shoot, and no one around here has seen them. I need you here to help look.”

  Hanging my head, I suck in some hard breaths before I answer, because I know exactly where those photos are.

  “Ms. Vi…” My tone is steady as I rub my forehead, trying to keep it together. “I told you where those photos were before I left today, and you acknowledged that you heard me. Why couldn’t you ask me this before I began heading back? I could have told you over the phone.”

  Violet says nothing; I hear her breathing, though.

  After a moment’s silence, I can’t take it anymore. “Ms. Vi, are you there?”

  “Yes, I’m here. I’m sorry, Elle. Please tell me where the photos are.” Her attitude has turned around. She sounds kind and genuine.

  After telling her where to find the photos, again, our call ends. I’m still standing in the street and figure I may as well go home now.

  Finishing the trek to the station, I sit on a bench, waiting for the next train.

  A pricking sensation falls over my skin.

  My senses heighten.

  I feel eyes on me. I pull my jacket tighter around my waist. There’s too much emotion in the air tonight.

  The train ride home felt like the longest trip. The overwhelming feeling of being watched didn’t leave me until I was on the train. No matter which way I turned, I couldn’t see anyone, which scared me so much more. Once on the train and moving toward my apartment, the feeling slowly disappeared. The unease still sat in the pit of my stomach, bubbling with anxiousness.

  Finally entering my apartment, I’m welcomed with darkness. I was once afraid of being drawn into the shadows. A cold shudder would speed through me, as eerie shapes were cast on the wall. A burst of panic would cause me to fumble for the light switch. But now, the darkness within my apartment soothes me. This is my space, my safe zone from the outside world. Once inside, I turn a deadbolt to lock my door, then I go down to each of the other four locks. As each one clicks into place a calmness takes over.

  I drop my bag to the floor by the door and go straight to the bathroom. Uneasiness still sits with me. I turn the shower on as hot as I can take, stripping off my layers of clothing and stepping in. Spraying my body with the heat calms me. Lathering up my body scrubber, I wash away the dirt of the day. I lower myself to the floor of the shower and lean my head against the wall. My fingers graze over my scar once again, and I’m taken back to them… my parents.

  “Oi, scum! Get over here and clean this floor with this toothbrush,” my mother yells at me, waving a toothbrush in my direction. I bow my head, the dread filling me as I know I’m in for trouble. That’s my toothbrush, and I know they won’t give me another. What do I do now?

  “Yes,” I answer, my voice barely a whisper. She shoves the brush at my chest, and I take it, because I know what will happen if I don’t. My eyes focus on the dirty floor of the kitchen. Grime fills the grout of the tiles. My mother isn’t a cleaner, which means I’m practically her servant. A bucket is kicked toward me, it tips splashing scorching-hot water over my tender skin. I suck in a harsh breath, not allowing her to see my pain.

  “Now scrub.” She grabs a handful of my hair, pulling it toward the ground, causing my body to follow. My head connects hard with the floor. Another tug of my hair and my face looks straight at hers. Her ice-cold blue eyes are like mine.

  “Do not miss one. Single. Spot.” They’re her final words, as she keeps hold of my head and slams it back down on the tiles with such force that spots dance in front of my vision. I watch her high heeled feet and toned legs walk away from me, leaving me to deal with my injuries.

  My head stays on the ground until it stops spinning. I open and close my eyelids a few times. I know she’s busted the skin on my forehead. I feel the warm drops slide down my face. Finally, I manage to get up and sit against the cupboard. I’ve left a puddle of blood mixed with the water on the floor. My fingers reach up tenderly to feel the wound. There’s about a three-centimeter gash on my eyebrow. I have no rag or towel to use, so I strip off one of my shirts. I wear about three, because I know that some days it’s better to have some cushioning from the sting of the belt across my back. Dipping the shirt into the water, so hot it burns my hands when I wring it out, I place it against my face. It stings, but at least it’s being cleaned.

  Picking up the toothbrush with my free hand, I start scrubbing in between each tile, while the other applies pressure to my cut in an attempt to curb the bleeding. I try my hardest to keep my tears at bay. My parents will never see me break. I’m stronger than they know. They built me to become immune to this treatment.

  After my parents go to sleep tonight, I’ll sneak out to Suzie’s. She’ll take a look at the cut and dress it for me.

  Suddenly, the front door slams and panic grips my chest.

  He’s home—my father.

  “Why is this still filthy?” he roars when he sees the floor in the same state it was when he left. I’d heard him tell Mom to clean it this morning, knowing that it’d be me doing it. What I didn’t expect was for her to leave it until just before he walked in the door.

  Now I’m in for it.

  I don’t look up at him because it’ll only make him angrier. My head stays down, and I keep scrubbing. Then I hear it. The clink of his belt being taken off. I grip the towel on my head and the toothbrush tighter in my hands.

  Crack!

  Crack!

  Crack!

  Tears sting my eyes, but I profusely blink them away, hoping and praying for them not to fall. Another crack to the back equals another chip away of my heart.

  I need to get out of this house.

  I keep scrubbing because if I stop, the belts will keep coming.

  But today they do anyway. They always keep coming.

  A loud bang sounds at my door. My heart thumps against my chest. I almost slip while getting out of the shower. Grabbing my towel from the hanger, I wrap it around my dripping body and then pull on my robe. Hesitantly, I head toward the door. Thankfully, there’s no more banging. I look through my peephole. There stands one of my few friends, Lewis, from the apartment across the hall.

  I unlock the locks. He stands there with such sadness on his face. He and Rebecca were g
reat friends, as well. I believe he wanted more from her, but her head was always somewhere else, or on someone else.

  “Oh, Lewis.” I open my arms for him, and he falls into them, hugging me warmly.

  Lewis has been away for a business trip, and judging by the suitcase on the floor beside him, he’s just gotten in. “What happened, Elle?”

  “I don’t know. I don’t know many details. I’ve rung her family but haven’t gotten through. Were they away again?” I speak softly into his shoulder.

  Lewis is tall and built. His arms are perfectly sculpted, and his chiseled jaw does things to most girls. Add in his devilish grin and you have a gorgeous man. He’s been one male who hasn’t made me feel uncomfortable, he’s so easy going and makes me laugh. I honestly don’t know why Rebecca never went for him—he seems perfect to me. He did try with me when I first moved into the building, but I put a stop to it.

  “Yeah, I think they’re on a cruise or something.” He releases me, looking at me. “How are you holding up?”

  I step away to hide the sadness that’s written ll over my face. I’ve already had my cry today. “I’m okay. Things at work are all up in the air, and I miss my friend. I miss seeing her bright face every day, and I miss having her tell me to wake up to myself.”

  We both laugh.

  Lewis, Rebecca, and I were great friends. Now, it’s as though a limb has been removed, so we have to learn to walk again. It’s a little wobbly at the moment. Eventually, we’ll learn to live with it.

  “Come in. Let me get dressed. Help yourself to the cold drinks in the fridge. Let’s celebrate the life of our friend.”

  She saw me.

  How stupid could I be?

  Thankfully, it was dark. I couldn’t risk taking her in that moment, it didn’t feel like the perfect time. I kept watch though, witnessing sadness on her features, like perhaps she was voicelessly screaming, battling a silent war within her mind.

  Breaking her will please me immensely. That hair being wrapped around my wrist and pulled, hard… I can’t wait to enjoy her cries in the night. Her screams will be my pleasure.

  Watching her sit on the chair at the station gave me goose bumps. Something shifted tonight. I’m not sure even I can explain what came over me. I wanted to go to her, sit beside her, talk to her, to know what she’s like. To know how hard I have to push to get her to break into a million sniveling pieces. I’ve never done it with the others—I simply take them, play my games and get my thrills. Since I wasn’t able to take her, I followed her instead, and now I know where she lives. This could work for me.

  Standing out on the sidewalk across from her building, I look up at all the windows, wondering which one is hers. Then I see her. She stands at the window on the fourth floor, gazing out on to the street. I skulk back into the shadows. Her face turns toward where I’m standing. Her eyes don’t leave the area for what seems like forever.

  I desperately want to grab her now. As I’m about to make my move, a man moves in and stands beside her. His arm drapes over her shoulders. She rests her head on his chest. This makes me angry as I battle with my emotions. No one can touch her. I’ve not seen any evidence of a man in her life during the last few days while I’ve watched her. He could be a friend.

  Right now may not be the time to take her. He could wreck my plans, and that doesn’t sit right with me.

  My master taught me this at a young age. He schooled me well in how not to be seen, not to be heard, and especially how not to feel. You could almost call me robotic, except I bleed, just like my victims.

  My master enjoyed inflicting pain on me when I got something wrong. If I made a mistake once then I never made the same error again.

  Master is no longer with me in this adventure. I grew sick of his bossy, domineering ways. Being constantly reminded of being chosen for this was a great privilege began to grate my nerves. When I was strong enough, I took matters into my own hands. Took pleasure in taking my master’s life, the same way I take pleasure in breaking my girls.

  My gaze falls back on the window again. She’s still there, but the guy isn’t. The door to the building flies open and out he steps. Damn!

  I quickly retreat down the alley, taking one last glance back over my shoulder at her.

  Soon, my precious princess, I’ll be taking you home and taking pleasure in your pain.

  Dear Diary,

  It’s been years since I’ve written an entry. Two, to be exact. I have no idea why I felt the sudden urge to write in you again—perhaps I just need to vent. You were always a good venting mechanism for me.

  I lost a friend who was close to me, and the memories of my gruesome parents have come flooding back to the forefront of my thoughts. Last night, I remembered the time I got the scar above my eye. I suppose a lifetime of abuse will leave scars, mentally and physically.

  Some days I’d like to think I’m past it all, but then it rears its ugly head and brings me slamming back down to Earth, face first on the pavement.

  Rebecca was one of my best friends. How am I supposed to move past her loss?

  Lewis came around last night, and we had a good, but very gloomy, catch-up. Now that this horrific thing has happened to our friend, it just shows me that there’s something out there that’s much more evil than them… my parents. Yes, they were the evil in my childhood, and now there’s evil in my present.

  I love you, Rebecca. I hope you hear my constant thoughts about you, and the laughter of our memories together.

  Well, it’s time to get ready to face the day, and Violet, after my unprofessional outburst last night.

  Being near my parents’ place has really affected me, even more so this week. I always get a twinge in my heart when I go to Suzie’s, but yesterday was the tip of the iceberg, and my ship crashed right into it, headfirst.

  Things will improve—one can only wish.

  Until next time.

  Closing my notebook, I place it in my bedside drawer and lie back on my bed. My clock reads 6:30 a.m. I don’t start until nine, but I thought I’d go in early today and try to earn some brownie points with Violet. I still can’t believe I lost my cool. That’s a first for a while. Usually, I’m cool, calm, and collected, but not yesterday.

  Dragging my butt out of bed, I step into the kitchen and tip some muesli into a bowl, followed by milk. The coffee percolator sounds and I pour myself a steaming hot cup of black. Settling myself in my favorite spot on my window seat, I soak up some sun through the window and enjoy watching the bustling street below.

  This is where I stood last night with Lewis when that sense of being watched made the hairs on the back of my neck stand up, and my skin littered with goose bumps. Lewis knew something was up, so he went out and picked up more alcohol when we finished what I had, and we enjoyed a night of each other’s company, as friends. As bad as the situation is, he can still make me laugh, which puts my mind at ease, if only for a while. He left in the early hours of the morning, and I already know tonight I’m going to be ready to pass out as soon as I get home from work.

  Once I’ve finished breakfast, I shower and dress in a simple slim-fitting cream dress that sits just above my knees. Not too revealing, but beautiful, and with the right accessories, it’s perfect.

  Putting on my jacket and flip flops, I place my red heels in my bag to slip on when I arrive at work. I lock everything, and check it all twice. It’s a ritual—I check every window and make sure I’ve locked the door, then I do it over again. I was never allowed locks on my door at home; my parents would punish me if I tried to block them from handing out their agonizing strikes or terrible punishments.

  One day, that all changed. I grew a spine and stood up for myself. I couldn’t take it anymore. From that moment on things were different.

  When I arrive, I spot Violet in her office. Crap! She’s here early. Silently, I attempt to put my stuff under my desk and swap my shoes over, and as I’m about to bolt out the door again to rummage up some coffee, her cold voice ech
oes out to me.

  “Elenore, come in here… please.” She hesitates on the please. Manners don’t come easily for her.

  Holding my breath, I slowly step into her office, waiting for something to happen. It’s as though I’m tiptoeing on a minefield, waiting for one wrong step causing them to blow. I’ve seen her mad before, especially when people have done something seriously wrong.

  For what seems like forever, she doesn’t speak, but continues fussing over paperwork strewn over her unorganized desk.

  Hang on a minute. Is that her outfit from yesterday?

  “Umm… Ms. Vi? Have you gone home yet?” I hesitantly ask, as my fingers twirl in knots with each other. She drops her pen and takes her glasses off, dropping them on her desk. Her gaze is fierce.

  “After our little chat last night, I was so frazzled because I could not find those damn photos and then, I had to finalize all pages for the magazine to go to print today. So, no, I haven’t been home yet.”

  My eyebrows shoot up in shock. I specifically remember telling her where those photos were. I press my lips together to refrain from saying anything.

  Violet’s eyes burn into me. I must choose my words wisely. “Ms. Vi, I’m sorry about yesterday. If you had listened to me last night when I told you where those photos were…” I take a step toward the desk and pull out the red folder from under the mess she’s accumulated overnight. I’m becoming concerned for Ms. Vi, perhaps it’s the stress of work and Rebecca weighing on her. She snatches them from my hands and returns back to what she was doing.

  “Ms. Vi, go and get freshened up before everyone arrives.” Stretching out my hand, I place it over hers, and she takes a moment and closes her eyes, hanging her head then releases a sigh.