Saras Story Ch 02

Ch. 2: Revelations

The following day Sara awoke. With memories still clouded in the fog of sleep, she wasn't quite sure where she was. The events of the day before tumbled through her mind in a roller-coaster of images and emotions that she would have just as soon forgotten. She pulled the blanket over her head and squeezed her eyes shut, wishing that when she opened them again she would be safe and sound in her own bed. She was dismayed, not surprised, but dismayed nonetheless.

She studied the features of her new residence. Her

temporary residence

, she told herself. The room looked as if it was taken from an

Ikea

catalog. On either side of the comfy queen-sized be she lay in were nightstands. Along the far wall was a stereo system and racks of cds. To the right of the stereo was a doorway that opened to a bathroom where she could see a double sink and mirror. To the left of the stereo another doorway opened to a closet. On the wall to her right was a divan accompanied by a small end table and reading lamp. On the left wall was a writing desk and a large bookshelf overflowing with books and magazines. There were doors on both walls. The room was well lit and cool and had a fresh, pleasant odor. Michael had gone to great lengths to give it a homey feel, and excepting the lack of windows, he succeeded. Then she noticed the cameras. Inconspicuously placed and arranged so that they covered the entire room, she counted five in all. Sara wondered if he was watching her even now. Not until she sat up in bed did she spot the large mirror set in the wall behind the bed.

No doubt a double mirror,

she thought.

She shrugged, kicked the blanket off the bed and stood. The thick carpet felt good under her bare feet. She wrapped the sheet around her toga-style, her blond hair a tangled, chaotic mop.

Another essential college skill put to practice in the real world,

she thought.

She padded over to the sink. In the bathroom she found all the usual accoutrements, but what she found bizarre was how closely they matched the things in her own bathroom, right down to the brand names. It was all new, still in the wrappings.

Makeup?

she thought.

He thinks I'm actually going to wear makeup for him?

She laughed at the thought and closed the drawer with a slam.

To her left she discovered another small room in which she found a toilet and bidet. There was a camera in the bathroom as well, but to her relief it pointed away from the toilet. She took her morning pee and after giving the bidet a second glance, decided to give it a try. She'd never used one before and curiosity got the better of her; it was an exhilarating way to start one's morning. Afterward, she brushed her teeth, washed her face, and moved back into the bedroom.

Next she went to the closet, hoping to find something to wear besides a sheet. What she found was lingerie.

You've got to be freaking kidding me. Lingerie? That's not clothing, that's discomfort. Where's the sweats? the jeans and tees? the pj's and wool socks?

Get real,said the voice in her head,

you don't really think he kidnapped you to watch you walk around in that funky Steeler's sweater you've had since college, do you?

"Dammit," she muttered aloud.

The closet offered two options: A pink, lace up chemise or a red corset with matching panties and lace stockings.

Not a chance in hell,

she thought, and walked back out into the bedroom.

Still wrapped in the sheet, she perused the bookshelf, hoping to find something to distract her for awhile. Then she heard Michael's voice coming from the speakers in the corners of the room, "Good afternoon, Sara. I trust you slept well?"

She resisted the urge to look at the cameras. "Could'a been better, I could be at home."

He chuckled. "In time, Sara, if you behave yourself. In the meantime, are you hungry yet?"

"A little," she said. She was starved.

"Good, I'll have breakfast ready for you in a few minutes. Before you eat, though, you have to do your chores."

The nearest camera received a withering glare. "Chores?"

"Make your bed. When you're done, go out the door to your left, make a left, and go through the door at the end of the hall. I'll have breakfast waiting for you."

With a grunt she turned and faced the bed. She was wearing the sheet, and wasn't about to put on lingerie, so she shook out the blanket and tucked in the pillows. Satisfied, she walked over to the door and gave it a tug. It didn't budge.

"Michael," she said to the camera, "you forgot to unlock the door."

"No I didn't," came the reply a minute later, "the job's only half-done,

you

forgot the sheet."

She stamped her foot in frustration. "If you wanted a bimbo, Michael, you got the wrong girl. I'm not playing dress up for you!"

"Well, this isn't about what you want, Sara, it's about what I want. You can stand there in the sheet 'till hell freezes over, but you're not getting breakfast or anything else until you put something on besides a sheet, or you can just go around naked, it's up to you. I make the rules here, Sara. The quicker you learn that the quicker you get to leave. Got it?"

Sara let out a sigh and leaned her forehead against the door. "Yeah, sure, I get it." She walked back over to the closet and let the sheet drop to the floor. She chose the corset and stockings over the chemise, based solely on the fact that it covered more flesh. After remaking the bed, she returned to the door. This time she noticed that the little LED next to the lock had gone from red to green. She gave the door a tug, it opened, and she stepped out into a hallway. There were several doors, but only two of them had green lights, one at the end of the hallway were he told her to go, and the other on the wall to the right of it. The door to the right opened to a large bathroom with a standing shower and jacuzzi sized tub. She walked down to the end of the hallway and went through the door.

She found herself standing in a large living room. There were doors on the opposing walls, and like the bedroom, plenty of cameras. There was a large couch, a table, and a very expensive entertainment center. In one corner of the room was a kitchenette. It seemed Michael had spared no expense in preparing this place. Mounted on the wall was a large flat-screen tv. Underneath was a dvd player, a stereo system, a playstation 3 and an xbox 360.

How'd he know I was an avid gamer?

she wondered.

Before she could fully take in this new expansion of her domain one of the other doors opened and Michael walked through. He was wearing a black neoprene mask that covered the upper half of his face, but besides that he looked much the same as she remembered from the night before, and a familiar lump of fear welled in her throat. If he sensed her trepidation, however, he gave no impression of it. He simply through the room and into the small kitchenette. "Breakfast is served. I hope you find it to your liking," he said as he laid the tray down on the table.

She did her best to appear calm and composed as she joined him at the table.

"You look lovely today, Sara," he said as he took the top off the platter. He had made her french toast, scrambled eggs, bacon, and black coffee. It was one of her favorites, and it smelled delicious.

She said nothing while she ate, content to let him initiate any conversation. She didn't have to wait long. He asked her about everyday things, what her favorite movies were, what books she liked to read, what music she liked to listen to. Her replies were curt, and she was very careful to add nothing to them. On reflection she had to admit that it was perhaps the most surreal conversation she had ever had in her entire life. No one really imagines that they will one day be kidnapped, that their prison be more agreeably furnished than their own home, and be forced to wear lingerie and ponder with their captor whether

Radiohead

was the greatest band of the 90s.

Michael left after she finished eating and Sara once again found herself alone. She browsed the selection of dvds before flipping on the television to find a distraction. It was her third trip through the dial before she realized that all the local channels were blocked.

Sneaky son of a bitch,

she thought before popping a dvd into the player without bothering to look at the title. It was an old Bill Murray flick, the one were he relives the same day over and over to much comedic delight. It was one of her favorites. The irony caught her like a slap in the face just minutes into it. She turned off the tv and headed out into the hallway to explore. That's when she found the exercise room.

It's not Bailey's,

she thought as she looked around,

but it'll do.

There were two lockers, she opened them and to her delight found some decent clothes to wear: sneakers, socks, plain cotton panties, gym shorts and a sports bra. She stripped out of the lingerie - the cameras were getting easier and easier to ignore - cranked the stereo as loud as it would go and started with the elliptical.

Thank the lord for Mastadon,

quipped the voice.

She went through every machine he had. By the time she was finished, hours later, she was drenched with sweat. Maybe it was the music, maybe it was the sense of empowerment she always got after a good, long workout, but she could feel the rage broiling inside her. She thought about her cat, her car payment, her job, her softball team, but most of all she thought about her mother and how much she'd worry about her. The punching bag did nothing to sate her anger, even though she pummeled it until her knuckles were split and bloody. She wanted it to be

him

, not the bag taking the blows from her fists and feet. Finally, exhausted, she snapped up a towel and went back to the living room.

"You need to shower," said Michael as she plopped down on the couch. "Go back into the hallway. It's the first door on your left."

"Piss off, Michael." she shot back, not bothering to direct her words at any single camera. "I'll shower when I feel like it, and I'll wear whatever the hell I want."

Minutes later a door swung open and Michael stormed in. He stood between her and the television and jammed a finger in her direction. "You'll do what I say, Sara Kierson, when I say it."

She leapt to her feet, her finger inches from the mask that covered his face. "Like hell I will, Michael. You don't own me. I'm through with this stupid game. Whatever it is in that sick little mind of yours that you think I'm going to do, whatever you think you're going to accomplish here, forget it," she spat. "I'm done with this. Let me go." Her face was now inches from his.

The muscles in his jaw quivered. His lips drew to a thin line. "How's your backside, Sara? Still sore? From the tone and posture I can only assume you want some more."

Hazel eyes narrowed and caught fire.

Not. This. Time.

Sara balled up her fist and swung, a perfectly executed upper-cut that connected just under the chin. Michael's head snapped back and he stumbled, turning his back to her.

This is it, no going back now,

she realized. Instinct took over. She fell into a boxer's stance: fists up, feet light and quick. She stepped into the next punch, a well-placed blow aimed for the kidneys that nearly sent him to his knees. Michael recovered quickly, though, stepping back into Sara's next swing and sent her stumbling sideways with a quick elbow to the shoulder.

He faced her, still rubbing his jaw, and assumed a defensive stance, shaking a crick out of his neck.

C'mon, you sonofabitch, let's settle this,

she thought. The dance began. They circled; again and again Sara darted in with a lightening quick strike, seeking to land a lucky blow. He deflected those punches aimed for his face, the others he shrugged off with a grunt. Sweat stung her eyes, her heart pounded. Already worn out from her earlier workout, she lacked the endurance of a drawn-out contest.

He's wearing me down,

she realized

He's got the strength, he's got the mass. All you had was surprise, and you blew it. Shoulda gone for the nose, not the chin,

said the voice.

The dance continued.

I've been working that left side,

she thought,

he's got to be feeling it. Maybe one solid hit can drop him.

Sara moved in to finish him. This time she feinted with her fists before delivering a wicked kick to his side. But he anticipated the move and trapped her foot with his arm. Already off-balance, he sent her flying back with an open-palmed blow to the sternum. She landed on the couch in a heap.

Then it was over. She was spent. Her rage drained away and left her with fear.

Now the beat down begins,

said the voice. She sunk into the couch, threw her arms up over her face and waited for the blows to begin.

He stood over her, fists clinched. "Look at me. Look at me!" he shouted. "What do you think is going to happen to you if you knock this mask off, Sara? Did you think about that?"

She peeked over her arms and shook her head, dumfounded.

"You will never leave this place. Understand? I wear this mask for

your

protection, Sara, because if you can ever identify me, I'll never let you go. So think about that before you do something stupid."

"I-"

"Not a word, Sara." He held up a finger in warning. "I want you to listen. If you want to stay here, just keep it up. I promise you, I can wait longer than you can. If you want to leave, do as I say. Make it difficult for me, and I'll make it difficult for you. And believe me, I can make it very difficult for you, Sara. You're used to being in control, I understand that. But now you're not, so I suggest you get used to it. If you want control, then control your own actions. The sooner you give me what I want, the sooner you go back home!"

"I have no idea what you want, Michael," she said looking up at him, on the verge of tears. "how the hell am I supposed to give it to you?"

"Oh, you'll find out soon enough," he said, and sat down on the couch beside her.

They sat there for several minutes in awkward silence. Sara looked at her captor. He just sat there, rubbing his jaw.

Any other guy would have beat the hell out of me for that. Why didn't he?

He's not just any guy, he's a psycho. He's got other means,offered the voice.

"That's a mean right hook you've got there," he said. He then reached over and took her right hand, examining the split and bloody knuckles. "Next time you use the bag, wrap your hands. I'll give you some tape." She was dumbstruck.

"Why aren't you angry, what are you going to do?" she asked, taking her hand back and rubbing the knuckles in question.

"If the gym is going to cause this sort of reaction in you, I'm going to have to take it away. Control yourself in the future."

Minutes passed, both content to rest.

"You're going to whip me again, aren't you?" she finally asked with a sigh.

When he didn't answer immediately, Sara began to fear the answer was yes, but at last he said, "No. I'm going to send you to bed without your dinner. Now, go take a shower and go to your room."

Sara's mouth opened and closed several times, as if she were about to say something and then reconsidered. Finally she stood and walked back to the door.

"And Sara," he said, "leave the clothes here. You won't be needing them again tonight."

She hesitated, then obeyed, stripping off her clothes and leaving them in a neat pile by the door.

Sara showered and crawled into bed with a Mike Hammer novel she pulled off the shelf. She was about halfway through it when the door opened and Michael walked in. He was carrying a tray. "It's not much," he said as he set the tray down on the table next to the bed. On the tray was sliced cheese, sausage, apples, some crackers and an open bottle of red wine. "I didn't want you to go to sleep without any food at all. I hope you like it." he said.

Sara sat up, careful to cover herself with one hand while restoring order to the blond tangle on her head with the other. "Thanks, she said, "I'm starved. This looks great."

He stood there, as if in doubt of himself, saying nothing. She looked up at him with raised brows, the white sheet tucked under her arms, wondering what he might do next. "I'm leaving for a few hours," he said at last, "try not to destroy the place while I'm gone."

"I'll try to resist the temptation."

Michael nodded, started to speak, stopped himself, then turned and left the room.

...

Charlotte woke with a start. She was aware of her nakedness first. Charlotte never slept in the nude; papa always told her nakedness was a sin. She became aware of her strange surroundings only after she wrapped her legs up in her arms and curled into a ball. She was sitting on a cot in a small room that was not her bedroom. Besides the cot, which wasn't covered with a sheet she could use to clothe herself, there was nothing but a small sink in the far corner, a large mirror set in the wall facing her, and two doors on opposite walls. She also noticed cameras up in the corners of the room. They were staring down upon her naked flesh,

recording

her. Papa always told her that no one should ever look upon her while she was naked, except her husband when she married. She was very confused and alone and afraid. Charlotte began to cry.

She expected that at any moment some man would come in and do things to her that he ought not. Sinful things. She would try to fight, but Charlotte wasn't a strong girl, and she knew it. But as time went by, and no assailant burst into the room to take her innocence, Charlotte wiped away her tears and started to calm down a bit. Time continued to pass and Charlotte began to gain a little courage. What if her kidnapper had left? Maybe she could walk out and run for help. It would be a sin to go outside naked, but wouldn't it be more of sin to wait until her kidnapper came back?

With that, she decided to act. Charlotte had long, curly black hair that flowed past the middle of her back. She used her hair to cover her ample bosom and with her hand covered her forbidden place. She tried the first door, but it refused to open. She pushed on the second and it opened with a click. She peeked outside and saw a short hallway. With a great deal of trepidation, she stepped out into the hallway. The door swung shut behind her with another click, and as an afterthought, Charlotte tried to open it again. It was locked! Charlotte started to panic. There were so many doors, and someone could be hiding behind any one of them. Taking a deep breath, she stepped over to the first door and gave it a tug. Nothing. She tried the next, and then the one after that. She started to worry that they all were locked, that she'd stand here in the hallway until her kidnapper found her. The last door on the left, however, opened when she pulled it.

...

Though an empty wine bottle lay on the nightstand, Sara did not fail to wake when the door to her room opened. Light spilled in the dark room from the hallway and presented the silhouette of a head peeking into her room; a

woman's

head, Sara's muddled senses informed her. Curiosity quickly chased away the warm buzz of the wine. She waited. She could just hear the soft, quick breaths of this new stranger. She seemed to linger in the doorway, as if unsure what to do. Sara sat up in bed, covered herself and reached over and flicked on the light.

The woman gave a yelp of surprise and started to shut the door. Then her eyes fell upon Sara, and she hesitated. She was young, Sara thought, a teenager perhaps. Black hair framed a porcelain face, cheeks stained with tears and puffy, red eyes. Yet her face was an open page to Sara. First, shock, then fear, followed by indecision and lastly, hope.