Chapter 25

I'd been reluctant to leave Arianwen behind earlier. Her clinging to me was a nice surprise, and to have her willing and warm in my arms has been playing on repeat in my mind as I went about my mindless tasks with Danvers.

The police had some questions about some missing woman – apparently she'd been spotted talking to me last week at a party. But as I told them, I'm a widower with no time for relationships, my time is dedicated solely to my step-daughter.

With no evidence, and no further questions, I was free to go but it had soured my mood, especially given that I had to leave my princess at home alone to waste my time with the investigation.

As I make my way to the solarium, where I'll no doubt find her sleeping, especially since I'd given her something a little stronger last night and I may have added a little extra to her tea mix, a glint of metal catches my gaze on the patterned carpet.

My keys.

Why were my keys out here on the floor?

Had I dropped them?

Frowning, I head to the west wing needing to reassure myself that everything is still on track. My plan will not fail, not this close to the finishing line.

As I stride down the dark corridor, everything looks the same. I open the rooms, but nothing appears out of the ordinary.

Taking a seat at my desk and glancing out at my private family museum, I grin. It may not appear as though there is anything of real value in here, but amongst the mundane artefacts, are trophies from throughout the centuries.

They say my family is cursed, a punishment from a local witch, but as my eyes land on mementos of the lords and ladies who came before me, the corner of my mouth pulls up into a smirk. We were gifted. Powerful. Untouchable.

I slide open the bottom drawer in the desk and find the hidden button at the back, pushing down on it hard. As one of the portraits swings away from the wall, my eyes catch on something.

The blue folder.

It's not at the bottom of the pile of paperwork where I left it. Flipping it open, I go through the contents, realising that some of them are out of order.

I stop on the last clipping. Running my finger over the blurry picture, I drink her in. All that beautiful silver hair. Big blue eyes, wide and empty. A perfect doll.

Keeping the newspaper article clutched in my hand, I step through the doorway behind the portrait and follow the stone steps down. This secret passage had first been built for smuggling, but my ancestors had gotten a little more creative and…bloodthirsty over the years.

The stone chamber looks exactly as I left it, and I survey my playroom with a restless glee. Soon.

Quiet whimpers come from the corner of the room, but I ignore them and add the clipping to the others.

I've waited a long time for her to be mine. To own her, body and soul. It almost feels like a lifetime now, but it looks like I'm not the only one getting impatient. I may have to move up my plans by a day or two after all.

Soon, princess. Soon.

My head is fuzzy as Carter helps me sit and tries to push two pills into my mouth but I let them fall off my tongue and into my lap.

Something is wrong.

These aren't my normal pills, these are an olive green colour and oval. There's a frantic glint in his eyes I don't like as he picks them up.

"Come on, darling, swallow these for me," he coaxes as he holds me upright, his fingers digging into the skin on my arm as he tries to put them back between my lips.

My eyes dart around as I try to process what's going on. The sun hasn't set yet, the long summer day drawing out the last vestiges of the light.

Where are my monsters? I want Sax. And Jas. And Mal.

"Later," I try to say, my words coming out slurred.

He grunts, grabbing my face and pulling my chin down, "No, princess. Now."

"Don't want." I try to shrug him off as he pushes the pills into my mouth and back into my throat but he's too strong. "Mhft. No."

With my jaw still in his vise-like grip, he lifts a glass of water and pours it to my mouth, forcing me to swallow.

Sputtering and coughing, I slap out at him. "Waz wrong wi…you?"

"Just be good for me," he says, stroking my hair and placing kisses on my forehead. "You almost ruined everything, so please my love, just do this one thing for me."

I ruined what?

My head spins, the green hues of the solarium becoming a whirlpool of colour before my eyes.

I can't stay…

I need to…

Why?

No.

When I finally come around again, it's with a sudden jerk as something sharp and overpowering attacks my senses. I do not like whatever is being held under my nose. I try to pull away but I can't move my body.

Then it's gone and I can breathe a little more easily.

Barely lifting my head, I keep my eyes closed as I try to work out what's going on.

Someone is moving around near me, something wet and slushy and there's this awful smell in the air, like earthy damp with metallic hints.

Rotting.

Something is rotting here.

My arms are pinned to my sides and as I shift, I realise that I've been bound with rope to a chair. My hands and feet are tied, too, and tugging on my bonds sends pain shooting through my shoulder.

My heart hammers, my skin is raw and I choke back a sob. I don't want to open my eyes.

I know whatever I see is going to ruin me.

"Are you awake, love?" Carver calls, his voice echoing slightly.

Are we underground? It's cool and dank, and somewhere in the room something is dripping. Is it water?

"Don't worry, I'll have this all cleaned up in a jiffy, princess."

Biting down on my bottom lip, I slowly raise my head.

Open my eyes.

And scream.

In front of me, on a stone altar lies the missing blonde woman. Or what's left of her.

He's hacked her up into little parts and put some pieces in jars. Others in slop buckets on the floor. Cool boxes sit behind the altar, and I can only assume he's harvesting her organs too. I want to vomit.

The steady dripping is blood, trickling down the rock into the dirt. Rivers of crimson cover everything.

But her head…

It's still on the table, facing me. Her eyes are now flat and lifeless, but she had clearly been terrified, her mouth twisted open in a silent scream.

"Don't worry about her love," Carver croons, as he drops a handful of fingers into a glass jar filled with liquid. "She meant nothing. She was something to amuse myself with while I waited for you."

I swallow back bile and say nothing as he wipes off his saw on a rag before swiping at his brow, leaving a ruby smear on his forehead.

"I'd been keeping her in there." He motions to a huge metallic contraption I'd only ever seen in history books. It's the shape of a person, and open with shallow blood-covered spikes lining the back of the door.

Why does Carver own an Iron Maiden? We learnt about them in history class when we studied medieval crime and punishment.

He carries on, oblivious to the tears streaming down my cheeks.

"But since you snuck into the west wing it was clearly time to move up my plans."

Carver knows. He knows what I did, and now he's angry with me. I know this man – no, this monster – and while his tone is light and conversational, I know he's furious at me for ruining his evil plans. I've forced his hand somehow, and he took it out on her.

I swallow back my sobs in big gasping breaths, my whole body trembling.

"I've been so very patient, you know." He tilts his head, motioning an arm to a shrine of sorts on the wall parallel to the altar. "When I first saw you, I knew you were the one. But it was too soon. You were too young. If I'd made my move back then, you would have broken far too easily."

Narrowing my eyes, I squint in the dimly lit cavern room. The shrine comes into focus. Newspaper clippings from my mother's funeral, their wedding, pictures where the three of us had been out in public together…and my school pictures. Pictures of me in the school yard. Pictures of me playing in a park. At the beach with my mother.

All taken years before Carver came into our lives.

"I needed to be near you, to keep you safe until it was time." He lifts the dead woman's head by its hair before dropping it into a bucket with a clang, the sound echoing slightly on the stone walls.

I gag.

My stomach rebels as I struggle to keep from throwing up, Closing my eyes, I turn my head away. This can't be happening.

"Arianwen, sweetheart," Carver croons. I shudder and shake my head, refusing to look at him. "Look at me, Rapunzel…Look at me!"

There's a metallic bang that makes me jump and my eyes inadvertently fly open. Carver has kicked the bucket in his anger and the woman's head has rolled out, coming to rest at my feet. Her wide, terrified, unseeing eyes stare up into mine, as if begging for my help.

"That's better," he says with a faux calmness. "I need you to understand that…I never loved your mother. It was always you."

Carver married my mum when I was ten.

He loved me?

Horror slicks over my skin like tar and settles in the pit of my stomach, the acidic taste choking me.

"What did you say?" My voice barely scratches out a whisper, trembling like my limbs.

"I said, I never loved her," Carver repeats, the madness in his eyes evident now. "I loved you. The moment I saw you, I knew you were the one."

He steps towards me, stopping when his toe hits the decapitated head between us. With a sigh of annoyance, he reaches out with his foot and nudges it out of the way, before closing the gap.

With his hands resting on the arms of the chair, he leans down until our faces are almost touching.

I want to pull away, but there's nowhere to go.

"But you almost ruined it," he whispers, his breath warm on my cheek. "You could have ruined everything."

"I'm sorry." The words fall pitifully from my lips, almost inaudible. The need to apologise, to comply, to go along with his insanity is automatic.

He's unhinged, and part of my brain is screaming at me to do anything to avoid making the situation worse.

"That's why she had to go. Your mother. It was almost time. And the pair of you kept fighting. She wasn't keeping you safe. You kept pushing back. If I didn't intervene, you would have done something reckless."

"What do you mean, she had to go?" I frown at his ramblings and shake my head, refusing to accept his narrative. Unwilling to process his words.

"She died in a car crash," I whisper, "a drunk driver,"

"That is what all the reports said, isn't it?" He chuckles. "I guess when you have as much money as me, you can embellish the truth a little."

The truth? What was the truth? Did he even know anymore with all the lies and scheming?

He continues, sounding pleased. "And there you were, the poor, grief-stricken, rebellious daughter who blamed herself for the entire thing."

I can't unsnarl the tangled web of lies and manipulation I've been wrapped up in. He wanted me to be sick. Wanted me to break under the weight of my grief and depression. Fed me pills, like he was helping me and all he was doing was turning me into his pliant little toy.

He grins. "You have no idea what I've done to keep you safe."

He nods to where the head rolled, and pain lances through my chest. "Every time the…urge got too much, I used them instead. I had to keep you safe. It wasn't time yet."

My heart sinks, and I wonder how many people have lost their lives at his hands. How many families have been torn apart because of him? How much more blood must be spilled before this nightmare is over?

His voice drops to a low growl. "I did it all for you. So I could be close to you, to watch over you, to protect you. There was only ever you."

The words echo in my mind, overwhelming me. Grief and horror swamp me, like mud or quicksand, pulling under. How could my own mother be a pawn in this twisted game? How could Carver have manipulated her – and me – so completely?

My head throbs, and the room seems to spin as I struggle to keep my head up.

"Now," he says, his voice softening, "We'll start anew."

"What does that mean?" I ask, my voice barely above a whisper.

"It means that it's time for me to make you mine completely." he replies, his grin widening.

My stomach churns, and I think of the innocent souls he's taken for no reason. No sane reason.

He wanted me, so he was forced to kill? I don't understand.

The woman at my feet…it's not the first time, and I know in my bones, despite his words of starting anew, that it surely won't be the last.

I glance at the lifeless face, her unseeing eyes a reminder that her story doesn't end here. She had a family, a life, and now she's gone because of his sick obsession with me. I shudder at the thought of what he'll do next. I can't let him harm anyone else. I don't know how, but I have to find a way to end this nightmare.

My monsters were right. I should have let them kill him. There's no blackmailing – or reasoning – with someone as desperately unhinged as he is.

I need to figure out what Carver is planning and find a way to counter it. I have to buy some time, to find some way to outsmart this madman and get out of this hellish situation.

Carver continues his rant about how he'll make me his as I stare into his eyes, searching for any semblance of sanity. But all I see is darkness.

I give him a weak smile, hoping to buy some time to think. To plan. To flee. The words burn my tongue, but I force myself to say them anyway. "I'm yours. Whatever you want, it's yours. Please, don't hurt anyone else."

His laugh is chilling, and he reaches up to grab my chin.

"That sounds like a deal, my dear," he says, a malicious grin spreading across his face.

He releases his hold and takes a small step back, but I know I'm not truly free from his madness.

"Your snooping forced my hand. But it's okay. I can keep you down here until tomorrow."

I frown. "W-what's tomorrow, Carver?"

"Why have you never called me Father?" He sighs, sounding disappointed as he strokes my hair away from my face, and I grit my back teeth to keep from flinching.

"I…" I need to lie. "I've never l-loved y-you like a f-father. That's why I couldn't say it."

He looks at me, his eyes filled with something akin to longing, and then nods. "Alright, then. Tomorrow is the anniversary, you know."

"Of your wedding to Mum?"

"Yes. But that's not important. It's the anniversary of when we first met. Well, when I first saw you. I knew right then you were the one, and I've waited such a long time for you. I want everything to be perfect, my dear."

Sweat is trickling down the back of my neck, and my heart is pounding like an ominous war drum. I need to get out of this place. I need to find a way to escape this twisted game that Carver's been playing for too long.

"That's why we must wait until tomorrow. One more night won't hurt us."

One more night won't hurt us, my arse. I'm trapped in a basement full of body parts with a woman's head at my feet.

My mind races with ideas, with plans to get away from him. I can do this. I can find a way to break free from his grasp. I just have to be patient, and keep my wits about me.

As I sit there, bound to the chair, I can feel his eyes on me. Feel his breath on the back of my neck as he paces and pauses to sniff my hair.

The more I try to think, the more my thoughts become jumbled. Fear seeps into every pore of my body, and I know that if I don't do something, things are only going to get worse.

I swallow hard. Carver is a monster, and I don't know why he's fixated on me.

Carver rummages around. A few moments later, he brings back a tray of food and drinks.

"I didn't want you to go hungry," he says, his voice surprisingly gentle. It's like he's trying to brainwash me into thinking that this is normal, that he's a caring and considerate step-father instead of my captor.

I shake my head, trying to clear the fog from my mind. "I don't want to eat or drink anything."

He laughs, a cold, chilling sound. "That's not how this works. You'll eat what I give you, and you'll drink what I give you. You'll do as I say, or I can make you."

I look him in the eye, but there's something about the intensity of his gaze that makes me falter. I don't know what he's put in the food or drink, but I can't risk it. What's worse, succumbing to whatever drugs he might be slipping me, or enraging him? He's already said he wants to wait until tomorrow to make me his, so I have to trust that if I'm compliant he won't hurt me. Yet.

Nodding, I take a sip of the water as he holds the glass up to my lips and force down several small pieces of bread which he hand feeds me.

"There, my sweet Rapunzel, that wasn't so bad was it?" I shake my head and he hums his approval. "I'll see you in a few hours."

"Carver wait!" I cry as he turns to leave. He pauses. "Please don't leave me down here."

He turns back to me, his eyes glinting with a mixture of amusement and triumph. "Don't worry. I'll be back soon enough."

"Please," I beg.

Carves sighs but returns to me. "I suppose there's no harm in me staying a little longer. I have to say, I do like you awake like this, Ari. I didn't think I would. I normally prefer you to be compliant and doll-like, but knowing you're aware of every minute, fills me with joy."

As he speaks, he undoes his trousers and takes out his cock. Saliva pools behind my back teeth, a sure sign that I'm going to be sick, as he begins to slowly stroke himself.

I shake my head vehemently, my eyes pleading with him to stop. I don't want to see him doing this, let alone be forced to watch him pleasure himself. My body clenches involuntarily, trying to ward off the nausea that's threatening to overtake me.

Carver smirks, seemingly enjoying my discomfort. "You're such a delicate little flower, aren't you?" He takes another tantalising stroke, his eyes never leaving mine. "But don't worry, my dear. After tomorrow you'll understand what it means to bloom."

His closeness now as he presses against me is even more suffocating than the stifling room. The scent of his sweat and arousal mixes with the blood and decay.

He doesn't seem to care that I turn away as he lifts my dress and presses himself against the soft skin of my thighs. The wet sounds of him taking care of himself fill the room, along with his laboured breathing and grunts as he thrusts and ruts against my unwilling body.

My heart races with fear and disgust, a mixture of emotions that leave me feeling violated and helpless.

Is this what he's been doing to me? All of those days spent in medicated fog so he can take pleasure in my body without my knowledge or consent?

Finally, he grunts and the heat of his hot cum splashes against my skin. Tears prick at the corner of my eyes as I stare at the ceiling and try to block everything out.

On my thigh, his cum is rapidly cooling, causing goosebumps to erupt on my skin. I shudder and bite back a sob.

I'm left shivering in the chair, bound tightly and a helpless mess. The tears fall, and there's nothing I can do to stop them.