The Locket (24 page)

In that moment, I imagined two entirely different Logan’s. One was a child lost to something traumatic, and using his anger to disguise his agony. He protected his heart deciding if he could hurt first, then he didn’t have to feel. The other Logan was kind, with a conscience, the one who knew he was doing something wrong, and brought food to compensate. The one who wanted to be in control but often lost the fight, as anger was stronger than kindness. The Logan before me was not someone I wanted to get to know better. Using his drunken state as my opportunity to escape, I attempted to shoot past him through the door.

He laughed a full belly laugh as he caught me around the waist. “Nice try,” he snickered, tossing me back with enough force that I fell over. I stood up quickly.

My body was still weak with my separation from Brent. I concluded that it would be pointless to try and escape again. Even if I breached the door, I didn’t have the strength to outrun Logan. The room started spinning and my eye lids felt heavy. I saw Logan in a blurry haze in front of me. His traitorous grin told me all I needed to know. He drugged me. I hit the floor with a solid thud, out cold.

When I woke, I had a throbbing headache and strained to open my eyes. I saw immediately that my environment had changed. Windows lined the walls, brightly lighting the large room that appeared to be some sort of loft.

I was unable to move my right leg. My ankle ached as though it was bruised and felt like someone was holding onto it. Making out some rope through my foggy vision, I followed the line of twisted nylon, seeing one end was tied to a huge radiator in the corner and the other knotted to a metal shackle around my right ankle. It was cold against my skin. The length of the rope was enough for me to move about the room, but denied my escape.

Oh, my God! He tied me up.

My entire body trembled reminding me how much I needed Brent. Straining to sit up, I shook, struggling to steady myself. I crawled over to the wall for support and rested against it. Thinking I could work the knot on the shackle, I pulled at it, but my fingers failed me. I had lost all dexterity in my weakened state. We were no longer at the mill. This could be anywhere and the thought frightened me. I had no idea how long I was out or how far we traveled.

Tears wetted my eyes again. Straining to hold them back because I was sick to death of crying, I chose not to be defeated. Feeling this sick, I knew escaping was not an option. I needed a method to diffuse Logan’s anger. My mind recalled that look of regret on Logan’s face earlier. Remembering that Logan was insecure and craved attention, I knew that feeding on those emotions would be my only hope. If I kept him calm somehow, he might make a mistake. I could get away. Or if he stayed sober long enough, his guilt would force him to release me. The mere thought of being kind to Logan made me wince, but I had to give it a shot.

My body continued to feel deflated – every muscle ached, longing for Brent.

“Uh…hum,” Logan coughed, interrupting my planning. I saw he was sitting in a chair across the room watching me. I looked up at him fearfully, measuring his mood. He stood and slowly ambled toward me. Obviously, he sobered up in the time I had been out.

This is your chance.

Logan took a seat next to me on the floor, brushing his finger down my cheek affectionately. My body revolted in response and I flinched.

Remember Claire, he craves attention
.

I fought my instinct to slide away from him. His body went stiff when I sighed and rested my head on his shoulder, but he didn’t move away. We sat there like that for several hushed minutes as I tried to think of just the right thing to say so I didn’t arm his defenses. Words escaped me, so I took his hand in mine and intertwined our fingers. He flinched this time, shifting uncomfortably. He started to release my hand but I squeezed hard.

“It’s okay,” I whispered.

“Claire, I…I…”Logan stuttered.

“Shhhh…” was all I said in response, wanting him to think about his actions – absorb his guilt.

After a few more minutes, he unlaced our fingers and sat on his knees in front of me. Our eyes met with uncertainty. Pushing away all feelings of hate, picturing him as the sweet infant wrapped in his mother’s embrace from my vision, I stuck with my plan. He cupped the side of my face with a gentle touch, softness in his eyes surprising me.

“Are you hungry?” he asked. I nodded.

Logan pointed to a door just behind me, informing me that it was a bathroom if I needed to use it or I wanted to wash my hands. He turned and left the room.

It’s working. Keep it up, Claire.

Dragging the rope with me, I crawled into the bathroom because I was too weak to walk. I used the sink to support myself while I pulled myself up to my feet.

I didn’t recognize the girl in the mirror. My hair was a ratted mess and my face was filthy. There was a small cut above my eye with dried blood around it. I figured I must have hit it on the shelf when I passed out at the mill. My cheek was swollen with a baseball sized bruise where Logan had struck me. I shook away the memory. Turning on the water, I waited for it to heat up. Soaking a towel I found on the shelves behind me, I washed my face, and used my fingers to brush my hair. It didn’t help much, but it made me feel a little better.

When I returned, Logan was back with a large paper bag that said
Rino’s Place
on the front. Not recognizing the name of the restaurant. I squinted to see if there was any more writing on the bag that might indicate where we were. There was nothing more than small letters boosting authentic Italian cuisine.

Logan laid out a blanket and signaled for me to sit. The aroma from the food filled the air and smelled amazing. I felt my mouth watering as Logan handed me a foil pan full of ravioli and a bottle of Perrier. I had never been a fan of sparkling water, but as the moisture coated my throat, I considered it to be the best thing I had ever drunk. He handed me some utensils wrapped in plastic, and I ripped them open hastily. I dug right into the ravioli, sauce escaping the sides of my mouth as I inhaled the food, and I wiped it quickly with a napkin. I noticed Logan was watching me with an amused smile on his face.

“What?” I asked him, before shoving another bite of pasta into my mouth.

“Nothing,” he responded shyly, turning his head.

“Come on, tell me. I think we’re past embarrassment here, Logan,” I ribbed, hoping it wouldn’t alarm him.

“I’ve just never seen a girl eat like you before,” he admitted, looking down at his hands while he spoke. His body language suggesting he was worried he might have offended me.

Your plan is
totally working
.
You need to keep the conversation going, Claire
.

I wanted to scream at him, something to the effect of how starving I was, and what a jerk he was. But I stuck to my plan, placing my hand on my chest in mock offense. Using my best southern bell drawl I asked, “Why, whatever do you mean?”

Logan looked up, letting out a laugh. “Well,” he started. “It’s just that most girls I know eat slowly, worried they might spill a tiny bit. I like the fact you’re not worried about what anyone thinks of you.”

It’s you, Logan. I’m not worried what you think about me
.

“Oh. Well, a girl’s gotta eat, right?” I said smiling, keeping the mood light and playful while I continued shoveling the pillowed pasta into my mouth.

I decided it was time to shift the conversation to Logan.

“So, since we’re spending all this time together, tell me about yourself.” I suggested, taking another large swallow of water, letting it slowly slide down my throat.

Logan’s jaw twitched, his brows wrinkled with apprehension.

“Relax, Logan. I’m just trying to get to know you a little,” I assured him, taking another drink of water, continuing to relish the wetness in my mouth.

“What do you want to know?” he asked, hesitantly.

I paused briefly, trying to think of something.

“Do you have any siblings?” I questioned making an effort to look as though anything about him actually interested me.

“No,” he snapped, hunching his shoulders.

“Oh,” I said gently, noting his discomfort. I decided to play on it. “It sucks not having any siblings, huh?”

He relaxed his shoulders and hung his head in thought
.
I was right. Something was wrong in Logan’s house.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to pry,” I consoled him, continuing my plan.

“It’s fine,” he said, pulling a metal flask from the cargo pocket on his shorts. He turned the lid taking a large sip, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

I set my food on the blanket and slid close to him, placing my hands on his knees.

Keep him calm, Claire.

“Logan, you don’t need that,” I said firmly. He eyed me with his dark stare. I didn’t move away, opting instead to put my mouth next to his ear and speak sweetly. “I’m not going to run. I just want to get to know you, Logan.”

I felt his tension releasing, fully aware this could go either way. He inhaled deeply, twisting the lid back on the flask. He flung it across the room and it hit the wall forcefully. His eyes filled with tears. He dropped his head in his hands sobbing inconsolably. Careful not to disturb him – hoping the guilt coursing through him stirred his conscience, I waited for him to speak. He finally lifted his head and I saw a glint of remorse in his eyes.

“Claire, I hoped you’d stay. I need you so much.”

What?

Logan’s words were alarming, sending up giant red flags. His words also pierced my heart. Logan was severely damaged. Something happened in his life to break him. It made me really sad knowing he was mistreated. It made me even sadder knowing my move to Northfield had made things worse for him. Kace used him while he was at his weakest, adhering to him, and forcing his demons to the surface – turning him into someone to loathe. I knew he was not going to let me go. Any attempt would bring out the vile beast that lay inside of him. I needed to focus my attention on keeping this gentler Logan around. That would be my best chance to get free, hopefully freeing him in the process.

Logan peered up at me, his eyes gentle. They looked bright for the first time since I met him. They were an amber shade of brown reminding me of the rocks in Jasper, making me smile. He smiled back mirthfully.

We continued eating in silence. He started to speak several times, stopping himself before he did, silently showing me he had conflicting feelings about keeping me there.

I thought back to the conversation I had with Brent about apparitions. When one is returned to its human form, the spirit hangs on for a while. Thinking maybe it was the same when an Adherent left its Anchor, hope poured into me. The spirit Logan was entertaining was fading. I felt it. Trusting my instincts as The Locket, I knew with certainty, that’s why he was softening. I knew I just had to keep him calm until the Adherent faded completely.

Logan started cleaning up the trash from the blanket, placing it back in the paper bag. “Are you okay? Do you want any more water?” he asked.

I wiped my mouth with my napkin one last time before tossing it into the bag. “Yes, please,” I answered.

Logan gave me another bottle and carried the bag out of the room. When he returned, he was carrying his lap top. Putting it down on the blanket, he addressed me. “I have some movies on here if you want to watch one.”

Guh! No, I don’t want to watch a movie with you. I want to get the hell out of here.

Keep him
calm, Claire
.

“Sure, what do you have?” I inquired, exhaling slowly to stay calm.

After browsing through dozens of titles, we decided on
The Princess Bride
, one of my all-time favorites. Logan said it was one of his favorites too.

He laughed as he quoted Vizzini. “Inconceivable,” he belted, laughing again. “Classic,” he said, looking like a high school kid hanging out with a friend.

Seeing him that way warmed my heart, and I wanted to shout at him, forcing him to see what he was doing was wrong. Deciding not to, I continued with plan “appease Logan”. I quoted one of my favorite lines from the film. “Hello. My name is Inigo Montoya. You killed my father. Prepare to die,” I howled, laughing at my ridiculous Spanish accent. Logan laughed with me. “Now, that’s a classic.”

We were both chuckling as we said different lines from the film and at the same time we shouted, “As… you… wish.”

Logan looked at me nervously. “That’s one of the best movie lines ever. Can you imagine loving someone so much that you’d do anything they wished?”

My smile faded just a little. I didn’t have to imagine it. I did love someone that much and I missed him.

“No,” I mumbled, quickly returning the smile to my face hoping that Logan hadn’t noticed its brief departure. If he did, it didn’t affect his mood. He started the movie and sat down next to me. I put my head on his shoulder knowing it would affect him, but also because my body ached with fever, sick from missing Brent, and I wanted to be close to someone.

The movie played in the background of our chatter. Logan had started the conversation talking about this being his mom’s favorite movie. He never met someone our age that had seen it – let alone knew it so well. I told him it was one of my dad’s favorites also, and how we used to watch it together on VHS.

“You were pretty close to your Dad?” Logan stated as a question, drawing his brows together.