Chapter 15

Fifteen

I wait a few minutes to make sure they’re really gone before rushing off the frame and over to Anders. My ankle restraint stops me short, but I can reach his face if I stretch and lift my bound leg in the air. I’m suddenly grateful for the ballet lessons Mum let me go to when I was a little girl, which have surely prepared me for this moment.

With the tips of my fingers barely able to get a purchase, I gently pull the blindfold from Anders’s eyes. I look over his damaged face—it’s worse up close. His face is so drawn, cheeks hollowed, and there’s bruising under both his eyes. But at least the bleeding on his head has definitely stopped, with only dried trails on his face now.

“Hey! I need you to wake up,” I whisper, still not trusting us to be alone enough to use his name.

I look around again, taking in as much detail of the room as possible. I can’t see any cameras, but in this day and age they can be so small and blend in, so I can’t take any chances.

The room is small, with two solid concrete walls. High windows run along the top of the third over where I was being held, but they are far too tall for me to reach. The last wall has a solid metal door with what looks like a slot that can open from the outside. It’s currently closed. There’s a dripping sink and a bucket in the far corner, and a couple of long fluorescent lights in the ceiling. The two bed-type torture frames are the only “furniture.”

It’s a prison cell—of that much, I’m sure. I just don’t know where. I try to shake Anders’s shoulder, but I can’t quite get enough of a grip, so it is more like a gentle poke. I’m turning to look back towards my outstretched leg, wondering how I can get a little more length, when I notice the drain. It runs along the middle of the floor, the whole length of the room. That’s ominous.

Anders starts to stir, letting out a moan. His eyes crack open, but he immediately closes them again tightly against the harsh light. I shift a little to the side to block what appears to be the afternoon sun from his face as best I can, though there is nothing I can do about the lighting. His eyes open slightly again, and he blinks rapidly, looking around slowly. His eyes widen when he looks over and sees my face. I put my finger to my mouth to quiet his words when he opens his mouth to speak.

“I am so sorry,” I whisper, so only he can hear me.

“Where are we?”

“I don’t know,” I admit. “I don’t know if the walls have ears, so be careful what you say.”

His eyes dart around this time, and he lifts his head to get a better view, but groans and drops it back down before he can rise.

“You took a blow or two to the head by the looks of it. You might have a concussion, so just go slow.”

He reaches his hand up to his head where it’s split, though thankfully no fresh blood comes away when he checks his hand.

“Do you know what happened? Or how long we have been here? The last thing I remember was falling asleep,” I say with a slight blush, somewhat thankful that under the premise of not giving anything away, I also don’t have to say what we did out loud.

Anders furrows his brow, clearly trying to piece his memories back together as well.

“I don’t feel like a lot of time has passed, but judging by your appearance, it looks like they have been starving you for days,” I murmur.

His eyes dart to mine again, and he raises his hand back to his face as if he can feel what I’m seeing.

“I don’t remember being taken, or anything, until now. Not since that night. Are you okay? Are you hurt?” he asks a little frantically, eyes roving over my face and body.

I shake my head, and move back a little, lowering my leg. He looks down and sees the binding. He turns back to look at his own legs and notices his bound leg as well. Going slowly, he sits up and turns to face me. I take the opportunity to sit back down on my table and rest. Standing on one leg for an extended period is not a skill I have much practice with, and my muscles are burning a little.

“Aside from the obvious, I’m fine, though I do intend to write a strongly worded email to the manager regarding the severe lack of amenities in this place when we get out!” I try for a little humour to lighten the mood. But my words fall flat even to my ears.

“We will get out of here, Aria,” Anders says with such conviction that I believe him. “Have they told you what they want?”

“Ahhhh, well. Not exactly,” I hedge.

How in the hell am I going to tell him what is really going on here, when I am still trying to process it myself? I am saved from having to reveal that particular bombshell just yet when footsteps sound again outside the door.

“Just stay calm and let me do the talking,” I say hurriedly, before the key in the lock can be heard, and our captor enters with two bottles of water. He stands in the doorway and throws one to each of us.

“Food is on the way,” he announces, then closes the door again.

I don’t hear the key, or his footsteps, so when I look over and Anders opens his mouth to say something, I shake my head quickly, and open the bottle of water, taking small sips. My mouth is so dry, but I have seen enough movies to know there’s a chance the water is spiked, so I try to limit how much I take in.

Anders’s cinematic education is clearly lacking, however, and he downs the bottle in one go. I resist the urge to roll my eyes when he looks back at me once he’s done.

I hear more footsteps approaching and internally pray to any higher being that might be listening that they do not belong to my father. I absolutely am not prepared for that interaction.

So, Anders, this is my deadbeat absentee father, who I am pretty sure is responsible for kidnapping us and beating you up. Dad, this is the man I let eat me out on a dining table and take my virginity last night. So glad you could both meet under these circumstances...

When the door opens again, thankfully it is just our captor carrying in food on trays—the other person must have just delivered it while he waited. He places the trays on the floor and slides them over, warily noting Anders is awake and we are both sitting, watching him. He notes Anders’s empty water bottle on the floor, and mine with barely any gone still in my hands.

“It’s not poisoned, and neither is the water.” He nods towards the tray at my feet. “Best eat up and get some rest, but you can expect more questions in the morning.”

With that, he turns and leaves, locking the door behind him. Neither Anders nor I move until both sets of retreating steps are gone.

Anders grabs his tray and digs in, practically inhaling the fast food piled on the tray. Maybe they have been starving him. Maybe we’ve been here for days, but they have kept me fed somehow. I check my arms for needle wounds, but aside from some redness still around my wrists from the bonds, I can’t see any blemishes.

Nothing on the tray appears tampered with. A wrapped burrito, an apple, a small packet of salted chips, a bottle of orange juice, and another bottle of water.

I take a sniff of the burrito once it is open, but I can’t smell anything off. I dart my tongue out to taste the fillings, but nothing tastes strange. I don’t feel overly hungry, but I pick through the first half of the burrito before grabbing the apple and juice, then I shift back to sit cross-legged on the frame.

I look over at Anders, who has practically licked his tray clean during this time, and is eyeing off the other half of my burrito. I raise my eyebrows in question, and he nods vigorously, so I carefully wrap the half back up, and toss the burrito over to him. He catches it and barely gets the wrapping open before descending on it like a starved wolf.

I have had multiple meals with Anders over the last few months, and whilst he has never been shy about his appetite, I have never seen him consume this much food in one sitting, let alone so quickly. It has me on edge, and even more concerned about the amount of time we have been here. My mum must be losing her mind!