CHAPTER 14

I was instantly woken, and the atmosphere was dark. There was only a lone lightbulb suspended from the ceiling, softly swaying on a loose wire. The light it emitted was weak, not really bright enough to read well, and it had a soft flicker, creating long, moving shadows on the walls. The room was chilly, far colder than I had anticipated, causing goosebumps on my skin. I scanned around, but the walls were difficult to see clearly. They were empty and bare, not even a sign or a picture hung on them. No window or anything to catch a whiff of fresh air. Nothing but four white, dull, constricting walls gradually closing in.

My arms were pinned behind my back, and I felt no movement. They were taped there, tightly, awfully. Thick tape was smushed over my mouth, muffling all I tried to say. I could feel it seeping into my skin, choking out my air. My heart pounded in my chest, and I just kept and kept wondering where was I? What had happened? How did I get here?

A chill of fear swept through me in its wake. Panic filled my mind. My stomach was knotted tightly, and I sobbed uncontrollably down my cheek. They were warm to the chilly outdoors. My whole body trembled uncontrollably, as though I was in the midst of a storm that I could not stop. I attempted to recall what I'd been doing recently. I kept reliving my past memories....to be with my mother, to be with Liam's hand, to be safe. Those had been calm moments. Now all seemed wrong, turned around.

There were seconds going by. Or maybe longer, time was difficult to quantify. Every second was taking an eternity. Then I heard something. The sound of footsteps echoed down the quiet...slow, slow steps approaching. Out of the darkness stepped a man. I didn't recognize him at first. He had a coarse face and seemed to be in his late forties. He had a perverted, sadistic look on his face, a smile that gave me goosebumps. His eyes were filled with fury or anger. He had a wooden rod in his hand. It was smoothed and gleamed, but I could tell that it was deadly. It appeared out of place and appeared to be done to injure.

He looked straight at me with that strange smile.

My voice shook, broke, and quivered. "W-who are you?" I tried to say, but my voice broke with the effect of fear.

His smile broadened, nearly as broad as a murderer's. "You're the one responsible for my daughter's name being in shreds," he answered purposefully. "You humiliated her. And now… now you'll pay for every minute she endured."

The words tightened my jaw. I chilled to the bone. Was this Jessica's father? The realization made my heart race even harder.

I was outraged with rage and confusion. "She was the one who initiated it," I yelled between my tears. "I didn't do anything—"

But he interrupted me. "She would've never embarrassed you if you hadn't seduced her man," he snarled, voice hard and brutal.

I couldn't keep it in any longer. "I didn't! Klein had stated that he wasn't—"

I was caught in a gasp as the stick cracked across me hard on the side. Pain cut through my ribs. I cried out, the pain acute and almost too much to tolerate. Tears welled up in my eyes as I fought to catch my breath. I could sense the searing from the blow, the shock jolting through me like fire.

"You ought to have known better," the man growled again, his tone with venom.

His face contorted with rage. I pleaded with him to leave me alone, my own voice shaking and desperate. "Please, sir—" I managed to get in before the stick hit me again.

I felt another shock of pain within me, suffocating everything else. It just kept coming.....hit after hit, blow after blow more brutal than the previous one. I could not remain conscious, but the room was spinning. My body complained at this nightmare to end. The pain, the helplessness, the dizziness. The room moved in closer. I was dizzy, fighting just to remain awake, as every inch of me pleaded with the pain to end.

Suddenly, there was a voice in the silence. Deep and thunderous, like thunder. "Stop!!!", the voice bellowed.

It sounded out so loudly, ringing in the little, dark room. The sound halted the man for an instant. Then pounding feet came in, more and more people, more and more confusion....shouting, rushing. Was it the police? Rescue was arriving? That momentary flash of hope flickered through my mind.

The voice approached. "Come here. I am sorry I was late," it said to me in gentle, soothing command.

Then warm hands released me, feeling comforting and secure. Someone wrapped a warm coat around my shivering form. I was lifted up, shoved out of the nightmare, carried towards safety. My head was fuzzy, thick with pain and confusion. I felt I was floating. My heart was beating rapidly, not only due to fear and agony, but also for the abrupt transformation.

And then I relaxed my eyes, breathing deep for the first time since awakening. Something within me continued to nag at me that whoever had me in their control at the moment, whatever this individual's real motives were, would never allow me to get into harm's way again. I sensed the slightest spark of hope for the first time after all that I'd endured. All I realized was that I was safe at the time, and the nightmare had finally ended.

The first time I opened my eyes, there was nothing familiar to me. The room was painted with whites and light grays, so it was very clean, up-to-date, and classy in appearance. The furniture was plain but elegant, and whatever I had around me seemed to be purposefully selected for beauty and comfort. My eyelids were weighed down by my eyelashes but I struggled to keep them open.

Glancing about, I could see out the large clear glass balcony window, a man standing outside. He held in his hand a glass of wine and was taking small mouthfuls of it, looking out over the city or maybe the view beyond.

I sat up in bed slowly, my eyes feeling the smoothness of my dress glide beneath me as I moved. My gaze was caught short by a burst of bright color, a purple guitar against a chair, or more likely a small stand over there. It was out of place, this so brightly purple of a guitar. I could not fathom why anyone would have left such an item here so casually. Perhaps it was for his girlfriend, I had thought.

Then something occurred to me. Where is my stuff? I turned once more, attempting to locate my purse, my phone, or any hint of where my things were, but none of them were within reach. Had I left them somewhere? Had I put them somewhere when I woke up? My mind was abuzz with questions, but before I could seize a little more information or stand up and look for them, there was a voice. Smooth, steady, familiar. It wrapped around me and made my heart skip a beat.

"You're up," the voice said softly, like a gentle reminder.

I had turned to face the noise and saw a gentleman stride by me without any kind of hesitation at all. He placed his wine glass onto the table.

I was able to whisper, "Liam?" as my voice still shook a little.

I was in shock. I could not believe that he stood before me. He never changed the same calm and cool and even a very slight smirk on his lips as if he knew something I did not.

He continued walking, walking towards the small kitchenette, and as he moved, he carefully set his glass down on the table and grasped his apron. He did not hurry, but tied it around his waist with intention, as if this were just another routine day, a routine morning. His calm was unruffled, and he moved as if this were the routine manner of things.

"Why the surprise?" he asked, not attempting to hide the smirk anymore. His voice had that usual tone that made me tally the times I'd ever heard it.

I paused, searching for the right words. "Y-you saved me?" I asked my head, still trying to wrap my own mind around what had occurred.

He shot a swift look over his shoulder, eyes now in harmony with some internal consideration, and a faint smile wrinkled his lips. "Why?" he jeered, voice not kindly but not out of the ordinary either. "Did you think spineless boyfriend was going to ride in there and save you?".

My belly twisted upon hearing what he said. I said nothing. I just stood there, frozen by what he was telling me.

I attempted to deflect the mounting panic rising within my heart and shook my head. "No… I was taken aback," I gasped, not knowing myself, not knowing anything anymore.

Liam picked up on my unease. Without hesitation, he inquired in a relaxed tone, "Hungry for some breakfast? I can whip something up for you." He walked towards the tiny kitchen alcove as if it was nothing, just one more ordinary chore.

I hesitated, then recalled I was hungry. "Bacon and sandwich… if that's alright," I panted. I was little more than a whisper. That was easy enough, soothing even, after all that had happened to me.

He stopped, then glanced over his shoulder at me with a smile. "That's all." He sounded taunting, but didn't wait for response.

Obviously, he understood that I was accustomed to elaborate meals. I nodded a little, experiencing the flash of appreciation and interest.

"I'm used to it.," I grumbled to myself. "Nobody actually cooks for me… except Camille." My sentence faded away. She tied my stomach in knots. I wished I knew where she was. Was she okay? Did she believe that I was okay? I could not stop the sense of loss, the sense that something was amiss, that I was still trapped in the depths of the hotel's seedy past.

Liam's piercing gaze observed the shift in my mood. He stopped, regarding me. "What is it?" he asked, his tone gentle but with an undertone that warned me to keep quiet.

"N-nothing," I replied, attempting to keep my fears concealed, yet I knew that he would see through me.

He went on quietly tying his apron, not wanting to push it further. He kept speaking, though, in a firm but calm tone. "You received a letter. Top drawer, next to the bed," he informed me while tightening the strings, his tone cool and friendly.

I nodded slowly, perplexed and curious. Who would send me a letter? Why now? My mind was spinning, attempting to understand.

Questions swirled through my head, wondering where the note had said, what it could possibly be saying, and if it was related to all the other things it had been happening.

In this age of instant emails and phones, the thought of a paper letter seemed old-fashioned but strangely reassuring. It was a step into the past, something that was real that contained someone's ideas and feelings. I bent over and hesitated before I opened the drawer. My fingers shook a little as I took out the letter, a tiny creased piece of paper folded inside. When at last I pulled it into sight, my own breath caught, suspended in my throat. There, nourishing my nerves, was Mom's writing.

Her even, known script gleamed on the page, indubitable. My heart thudded all the more fiercely, each beat a refrain from the onslaught of questions seething through my mind. I lashed back into the kitchen, the tile floor hard and unsteady beneath my feet.

Liam leaned against the kitchen, dressed in a white sleeveless top and simple office slacks. His wide shoulders seemed even wider in morning light, which streamed into the kitchen from the window and bathed him with soft yellow light. His resolute jawline reflected the light, casting it onto the hardness of his face. The manner in which the sun had clung to his face heated everything else for me, or perhaps it was he. The way he moved....so quietly and with such precision while he laid out the table was entrancing. Spoons, forks, knives....just so they rested on the table. I just stood and watched while he laid out the glasses, added bits of bread and fruit, and poured a glass of what appeared to be wine. A shroud of confusion enveloped me at that moment.

I wasn't accustomed to seeing him thus, so peaceful and steady. I lingered, my head mired in a stupor.

I swallowed down a constricted piece in my throat and forced out a whisper, "I-I don't drink," with a bitter smile.

That suggested that I was not going to have any wine today.

Liam's face eased a bit, and he smiled gently. "I'll get you a juice instead," he said in a gentle, calm voice.

Turning aside, as he prepared the drink, I at last mustered up the courage to open the letter.

Unfolding it carefully, I was able to see the words rimmed by reassuring pencil scribbles. Mom's handwriting swept across the page, easy but full of love.

It informed me that she loved me more than there were words to tell and that she'd provided her reason for leaving. She said she was returning to my sister, who was in the hospital. That news hit me hard. My sister's illness was something we'd all been worried about, but hearing she was back in the hospital made my stomach turn in worry. Mom had stipulated that having seen me safely in Liam's hands was sufficient for her to sleep. She promised she'd return as soon as possible.

The final words from her hand were full of love and reassurance—"I love you always."

That's when I heard Liam's voice break the silence, audible behind me. Low but distinct—"Sweet." There was a gentleness in his voice that I had not expected.

I spun my head around, and in a flash, we were nose to nose, nearly. I could sense his breath on my skin. His eyes blazed with some feeling I couldn't identify....possibly sadness, possibly yearning. And then his eyes drifted down to my lips, and it remained there for a moment.

My own lips clamped down over themselves, silent. I longed to say something, anything, but nothing emerged. Instead, I was there, stiff, holding breath. We were both standing there, not breathing, suspended in a tenuous silence that floated in the air. And in that moment, I wondered what he saw behind my eyes, desire, understanding, something else? And why, all of a sudden, did my heart race when he gazed at me like that?