Eluded (15 page)

They nodded their heads and began
going through each key. The looks on the women's faces were worth
it all. I'd do it a thousand times for that look of pure
bliss.

As a few of them cried, others
smiled. None had to speak a single word, because I knew each was
thinking the same thing: rescued,
at last
.

LAUREN

Nineteen

I
hung from the ceiling by
a rope tied around my wrists like meat. My feet dangled above the
floor and my arms felt like they had been ripped from their sockets
they were so sore. My neck ached, and my whole throbbed out in
agony. No telling how long I had been like this, hanging completely
naked. Laughter echoed from the corner of the dimly-lit room. As I
looked around, I saw nothing but blood on the floor, then black
hair, then his wicked smile. Derrick.

"I wondered how long you'd hang
there, lifeless," he said.

I didn't know how to respond. I
didn't know what he would do to me, and I didn't have an ounce of
trust in him, so I just stared, watching his every move as he
stepped deeper into the light. His skin seemed pale, and his
clothes were disheveled. As much as I wanted to struggle, I didn't.
I stayed perfectly still, only blinking every few seconds like a
helpless animal. That was how he liked me . . .
helpless.

Derrick grabbed my feet and spun
me around hard until the rope twisted and knotted.

Spinning. More circles.
Dizzy.

I closed my eyes and refused to
allow the motion to make me sick as I pushed away the pain.
Eventually, I wouldn't feel anything. Eventually pain would be like
breathing. Normal. Something that was second nature. He would abuse
me, use me, have sex with me, and
kill
me.

Derrick dug his fingernails into
the skin around my ankles and spun me harder. I imagined I was an
ice skater performing her finale, the big show that made the crowd
ooh and ahh, and I crossed my legs tightly together; only it
wouldn't end in a perfect pose or applause. Maybe it wouldn't end
well at all. Or maybe death would be the end.

He laughed as if I were a moth
that he peeled the wings from slowly or one that he would throw in
the flames. But I continued to spin and spin and spin and spin.
Then, with a hard grasp, he grabbed my ankles and stopped my body,
but my head continued to whirl.

"Do you want to die?"

The earth wobbled as I focused on
him. It was like he was standing on waves in the ocean.

"No, Derrick. I don't want to
die."

Calm. Stay calm.

"Are you sure? It would be the
ultimate release from me, since you want to be free."

I chose my words wisely. "I don't
want to be free from you."

He smiled as he rubbed his hand up
my leg. "You're lying."

"I'm not." I made sure there was
no emotion in my words, no expression on my face, as to not be
taken the wrong way. "I don't want to be free from you . . . " I
paused, then continued, "I want to be with you
forever
."

That. That was the lie that
started the war. That was the lie that would bring me down, and as
I said it, I knew. I knew that I should not have crossed that line
. . . but I did. And once it was said, there was no going
back.

"Do you mean it?" he asked. "Do
you promise to stay with me forever, no matter what?"

"I promise. No matter
what."

He sloshed through the puddle of
curdled blood and lowered the pulley that held the rope. When my
feet hit the floor, I slipped and fell. My equilibrium was off from
the drugs and spinning. I lay there, wanting to die, and he picked
me from the floor and carried me into a side room with an operating
table.

I had never seen so much blood.
Splatters covered the wall and puddles concealed the floors. Not to
mention the smell of rotting flesh. I swallowed down bile as he
placed me on the table. Cool liquid touched my back, and I thought
I would scream. Clean towels were folded on another table, and he
grabbed one to wipe away the blood that covered my skin. The smell,
it was one that I would never forget as long as I lived. It was of
death and pain. I didn't want to imagine what had happened here or
in the other room, or how many women had died by his hands, but as
much as I tried to block it out, the cruel images flowed like a
rapid river. Not only did Derrick taint my waking moments, he also
ruined my imagination and my dreams. The world seemed darker
already.

"I'm sorry for hurting you. I
thought you were trying to leave me; that you wanted to get away by
the way you looked at me. How when we made love, you didn't fully
give yourself to me."

My arms were still tied together.
Derrick grabbed an electric knife from the table next to him and
cut the rope. I wondered if he had sawed through flesh and bone
with it, because of its sharpness and the patterns of blood sprayed
around. All I saw was red as I heard the gnawing of the blade on
the twine.

"I have nowhere to go, Derrick.
You're my only home." More lies.

He ran his fingers through my
hair, bent down, and kissed me on my mouth. As he pulled away, he
whispered in my ear, "This was a warning. If you or Sophie tries to
run away, I'll kill you both. My dear, you live to see another day.
But. Don't. Fuck. With. Me." And just like that, Derrick had
flipped his switch. He carried my naked body to the limo and sat me
inside.

My arms ached, as did the rest of
my body. I would now be more careful when eating and drinking in
front of him. Though I knew I was his personal sociological science
project, I didn't want my body to end up in plastic bags or on the
streets. I would have to safely play my cards. I would have to tell
myself that I didn't want to leave Derrick. I would have to start
believing my own lies.

He threw my clothes at me and
instructed me to get dressed. I looked down and saw that he had
shaved me, every inch of me, with meticulous care.

"Thank you," I forced out,
willingly playing the game.

"For what?"

"For saving me." The words tasted
metallic on my tongue, but I'd lie. I'd lie to live.

As the car sped down the road,
Derrick moved closer to me. His breath was toxic on my skin, as was
his touch, but I leaned into it and looked into his cold
eyes.

"Are you hungry, love?" The word
"love" made me sick. Terms of endearment from a monster didn't set
well with me.

"Mmmhmm," I said, then sucked in a
deep breath.

He nodded his head and the driver
pulled over a few blocks later. We exited onto a busy street.
People with shopping bags and coffees chatted on their cell phones,
oblivious to the fiends who stalked their streets. Eye contact
didn't work, and it took every ounce of willpower not scream out or
run away. He was stronger, and I was sure he was faster. If I ran,
he would be like a lion taking down a gazelle. As if he knew what I
was thinking, he laced his fingers with mine and pulled me closer
to the entrance of Market Steakhouse.

After we entered, we were seated
immediately. The atmosphere and lighting were warm. A couple not
too far from us was celebrating their anniversary and spoke in
hushed whispers as the manager congratulated them with a bottle of
wine. Derrick stared at me as I read over the menu, wondering if I
could really eat without regurgitating everything. Unsurprisingly,
he ordered a steak, rare, as if all the blood he had stood in an
hour earlier wasn't enough. I ordered soup, because it was about
the only thing that I could stomach.

Derrick brushed his hand against
mine, and I stared into his eyes and smiled. Looking at us from the
outside, we might have seemed like a perfectly happy couple
enjoying a nice dinner together though my hair was matted and
pulled back into a bloody ponytail. He had done a good job cleaning
the blood from my body, but the smell, the smell seemed to be stuck
to my skin. On the inside, I squirmed, fought, and cursed. The
white ghost of a once-worn engagement ring wrapped around my
finger. Being in the sun had done that, and now it was a constant
reminder of what could have been. I placed my right hand over my
fingers so I wouldn't have to see it.

Our food arrived and I took my
time eating to make sure it would stay down for good. Derrick cut
the steak with a sharp knife and jabbed the fork into it as redness
dripped from the sides. The sounds of him chewing, cutting, and
chewing more made shivers run up my arms.

"How's your dinner,
Love?"

Force a smile.
"Delicious.
The soup is the best I've ever had."

The waiter walked up and refilled
Derrick's wine. I turned my head and, over the man's shoulder, I
saw tanned skin and dark hair.

Maria. I thought I would die where
I sat when I saw Henry. My breathing increased and adrenaline
rushed. Maybe, maybe he would see me, notice that I was gone, and
take me with him. This was my chance to get away from Derrick, to
be rescued from it all. God, I wanted them to see me. I wanted
Henry to recognize this wasn't me, this wasn't my choice, and the
clothes I wore weren't my style.

As if an angel had spoken to
Henry, he made eye contact with me from across the room. I smiled.
He didn't. As much as I resented him, as much as I despised what he
did to me, he was my only hope. When he walked to me, relief
blanketed me. The waiter walked away, and in his place stood Henry,
with Maria behind him at a distance.

"Lauren," he said, then turned and
looked at Derrick. "And you are?" Henry asked.

Derrick smiled and wiped his mouth
with the crisp napkin that had been folded neatly in his lap. "Who
is asking?" His voice was calm, calculated almost. I watched the
monster in action.

Henry's nostrils flared, and he
whipped his head around and looked at me. Hurt and shock covered
his face. He opened his mouth and closed it several times before he
spoke. "Is this is your . . . your
boyfriend
?"

That was when a heel dug into my
toes from under the table. I swallowed down the pain and a yelp and
spoke. "Yes. This is my new boyfriend—"

"Jeffrey," Derrick interrupted,
and stood, towering over Henry. But neither backed down from one
another. Derrick balled his hands in fists, and I knew that Henry
couldn’t take Derrick’s beating. The man had never been in a fight
in his life, whereas Derrick fights every day of his. I stood
quickly and got between the two, making sure to throw my body over
Derrick, almost as if I was protecting the bastard.

“
Henry. Stop this. You made your
choice,” I stressed. “You made your choice . . . and I’ve made my
mine.” I interlocked my fingers with Derrick’s, and he pulled me
closer to him.

As if the manager knew a
confrontation was taking place, he hurried over and asked if
everything was okay, not wanting us to interrupt the restaurant
full of people in nice clothing. Henry stormed away with Maria
trailing behind him, and Derrick and I sat back at the table. Our
ticket came soon after. We were rushed to leave.

In the limo, I thought about how
much Henry didn't care about anything but himself. He should have
seen me openly lying. The way I looked into his eyes, like I was
afraid for my life. The borderline-skanky clothing I wore. He
didn't notice anything, other than the fact that I was with another
man. As I thought about it, I realized Henry didn't know me at
fucking all, which caused my heart to shatter into a million
pieces.

ABBOT

Twenty

W
e climbed the stairs two
at a time. The floor above the cages was nothing more than a large
empty space with boxes. The fourth floor was the same thing, but
the fifth floor was different. The room was full of tables with
plastic tubs on top. I opened one of them and it was full of
nothing but cocaine. The texture between my fingers felt fine, and
as pure as baby powder. Every container, hundreds of them, were
full. I found the home of the kilos upon kilos of drugs that had
been floating the streets of London.

"Fuck," I yelled, and my voice
echoed through the room. I let my anger get the best of me as I
knocked an entire tub of cocaine onto the floor. The bags busted
open and the fine dust left a poof of white in the air. I shoved a
few of the small bags into my pocket, and instructed everyone to
follow. I would have it tested when I returned to the
warehouse.

The other floors had tables set
up, ready to be filled with plastic tubs of drugs to be packaged
and distributed. They’d end up on the streets, in the hands of
mothers and children. On the way down the stairs, I kicked a can of
spray paint. It looked like the room had been tagged with wanna-be
gang signs ages ago. Though the button was hard to push and the
paint was old and runny, it would do what I intended it to
do.

The second floor had been cleared
of women. All of the vans were gone and I felt good about freeing
them all. The group was worth millions, and if I would have played
my cards correctly, I could have stacked my account. But it wasn't
about the money. It never had been. It was about doing what was
fucking right, no matter how many things I did wrong in life. Maybe
the little acts of kindness that I pushed forward would help me
redeem myself and bury the demons that constantly followed close
by.