"Oh, do you mind if I sit here?"
Always while she was focused! Her reverie shattered, Emma tore her eyes from her book. A tall woman stood awkwardly before her, tendrils of steam drifting from the coffee in her hand. Emma quirked an eyebrow.
It was hardly crowded, of course. It never was on Thursdays; the majority of the usual clientele were at work, only drifting through for brief moments to grab their morning fix—never to linger. Emma relished these slow mornings at the cafe—but now, someone saw fit to interrupt her.
"I'm sorry, I don't mean to be a bother—you seemed lonely!" The woman grinned, her emerald eyes glittering in the light. "Certainly a coffee is better with company—don't you think so?"
Lonely?
Emma stifled a groan. "I suppose so. I guess I'm not doing anything important."
"Oh, great!" The woman lowered herself to the table, her cup clinking as she set it down. "My name's Veronica. How are you doing today?"
"Emma. I'm fine." Emma took a sip of her latte, swells of soft jazz filling the brief silence. "I'm not much for conversation."
"It's a pleasure to meet you, Emma," replied Veronica, flashing a smile of perfect, straight teeth. "That's okay. I'm pretty good at getting people to talk, anyway."
Emma returned the smile. As irritating as it was to be interrupted, Veronica
was
attractive
—
her low-cut v-neck hugged her ample chest in all the right ways, accentuating the contours of her body. Flowing, shoulder-length auburn hair framed high cheekbones, casting her like an angel in a Renaissance painting. Emma's gaze traced the woman's tall form—her book could certainly wait. "You must be special, then. I've never had much luck with people."
"Maybe that'll be different with me." She paused. "You're awfully cute, you know that?"
Blood rushed to Emma's face. Had Veronica caught her looking? "I—um, thank you?"
"You're very welcome," Veronica winked. "You come around her often, sweetie?"
This was unusual. Was Veronica flirting? Emma found it hard to believe—rarely did anyone attempt to woo her. Her stony, disinterested exterior usually stymied any attempts, and she didn't mind that at all. Yet something was different this time. Something about Veronica put Emma at ease. She had a calmness about her—a sense of passive reassurance, a feeling that everything would be all right. "Y, yes," stammered Emma, words suddenly heavy in her mouth. "I like to spend my mornings here, um, reading."
"Oh?" Veronica leaned forward, her face much closer than Emma was comfortable with. "I read a bit myself. What do you like?"
"W, well, I was in the middle of, um," Emma gestured to her cheap horror paperback
,
left splayed half-open on the table, "—that."
Veronica made eye contact, pausing for a beat to flutter her eyelashes. Dishes clinked in the background. "Me, I prefer to read
people
, you know? I just find others
so interesting
."
Emma laughed, unsure how to respond. Her face burned—she was certainly red as a tomato, and that fact didn't help her confidence. "That makes one of us, then."
"But you, you're
especially
interesting, aren't you? Something tells me there's more to you than meets the eye." Veronica sipped her coffee.
Emma's heart rose to her throat. She was
definitely
being flirted with—and by someone exactly her type. She couldn't let this one go. "I, uh, don't think so?"
"The best ones
never
think they're interesting. It's always sweethearts like you that catch my attention. Say, how long were you planning on staying here?" Veronica took another sip. "The coffee's good, sure, but—not to brag—the coffee I make at home is better. How about you come by and sample a cup?"
Emma blanched. "Excuse me?"
Veronica grinned, her laid-back tone easing Emma's anxiety. "I'm asking you to come by my place, silly. Didn't you say you had nothing important going on?"
This was it. She was being asked out. "Sure! That, um, would be wonderful—I'd love to get to know you." Emma cringed as the words left her mouth.
I'd love to get to know you
—what a cliche and boring thing to say!
Veronica didn't seem to mind. "Did you drive here, sweetie?"
"No, I live, um, right down the street." Emma downed the rest of her coffee in one gulp, eager to have a moment where she didn't need to speak.
"Perfect! I did, so why don't we ride over to my place right now?" Veronica leapt to her feet, her half-drank beverage an afterthought. She extended her hand.
"N, now? As in, right now?" Emma stammered, fidgeting with her mug. "Isn't that a little, uh, forward?"
Veronica's laugh rang over the music, lilting and clear. "Maybe, but who cares? It'll be fun!"
Fuck it. Now or never.
Emma stood up, taking Veronica's hand. It was warm, soft, smooth—the hand of someone delicate, unblemished by the callouses of work. Her heart, already racing and primed to burst, beat at a speed she hadn't thought possible. Emma opened her mouth to speak—but nothing came out.
"I'll take that as a yes!" Veronica tugged Emma's arm, taking a few steps toward the exit.
"My book!"
"I'll buy you another one. Come on!" Unperturbed, Veronica dragged Emma to the doorway—and led her outside. Gentle sunshine greeted them, a mild breeze drifting through the crisp autumn air. "I'm right beside the building. Let's go!"
By the time Emma had a second to mourn her lost book, Veronica had pulled her through a dingy, narrow alley to an expensive-looking two-door coupe. "
This
is your car?"
"Impressed?" Veronica said, unlocking the passenger's side. "I'm sure I have plenty of other surprises for you. Hop in!"
Taking a deep breath, Emma opened the door. Her thoughts struggled to catch up with her nerves—her, on a
date
? Emma couldn't even remember the last time she was on a date, let alone one with someone as attractive as Veronica. What about her had caught the woman's interest?
Hot breath crawling along her neck snapped Emma from her thoughts. Veronica was practically on top of her, delicate, plush lips painfully close to Emma's own. She froze.
Veronica spoke, her voice a low, seductive purr. "You're such a precious little thing—so innocent and soft. I always love the first time I get to be with someone like this. It almost makes me feel a little guilty."
Emma had only an instant before the needle pierced her neck. It was over immediately, Veronica injecting its contents and removing it before Emma had even a hope of responding. A stinging sensation coursed through her body from the point of contact, transitioning to a thick, heady numbness just seconds later. She tried to climb to her feet, but her legs refused to respond—instead, Veronica's hands guided her, holding Emma in place with minimal effort. Her vision swam, pinpricks of darkness in her periphery growing bolder and larger the longer they persisted. Even the fear that tore through her was dull, muted—as if it too was suppressed by whatever she'd been stuck with. "Let go! Let go!"
"Shh, honey," Veronica whispered, caressing Emma's face. "It'll be over soon. Don't be afraid."
Emma opened her mouth to speak—to cry for help, to ask why, to say
anything
—but her lips disobeyed her just as her legs had. The spots swirled, at last overcoming her vision and dragging Emma down into blackness.
- - -
Consciousness returned slowly. Dimly, Emma became aware of a low drone—a hum that sounded as if it was both close and far away at the same time, coming from all directions and yet nowhere at once. Her limbs were stiff; the slightest twitch was met with great resistance—like moving through a thick liquid. As her senses returned, Emma managed to open her eyes.
"Basement" was the wrong word for her surroundings—"dungeon" was vastly more appropriate. Stone brick walls surrounded her on three sides. The fourth consisted of wrought-iron bars on a swinging hinge—fitted with a sturdy-looking lock. A solitary light bulb swayed above her, casting a dim glow through the otherwise dark room. Emma had been placed on a coarse straw bed at the far corner of the cell.
Emma knew she should be terrified. And yet—panic refused to blossom. In its place was a dull sense of unease—weak, just like the the fear she had felt after being injected. Logically, her emotions should be running wild, lost in the endless possibilities of what could happen to her now—but they weren't. Had something more been done to her? Emma's bones popped as she rose from the bed, her aching legs carrying her to the bars. Straining her eyes, she made out a narrow stone corridor—terminating in stairs upward. Veronica was nowhere to be seen.
Veronica! The name hit Emma with the intensity of a truck, the memory of what happened flooding to the forefront of her conscious. She had gotten into the woman's car—only to be drugged and kidnapped, whisked away to her current location. Damn! Emma cursed herself—she should have
known
something was off. And yet, she allowed herself to be taken in by someone showing an interest in her, inadvertently handing herself over on a platter. Even her anger at her own foolishness felt soft, pliable—as if she wasn't certain she was supposed to feel that way. Emma tested the bars—but the cold metal of the impenetrable wall before her resisted, reaffirming her all-too-real predicament. And what was
with
that humming sound?
