Consequences (2 page)

The three doors she’d counted earlier were arranged, two near the bed and one by the sitting area. Claire knew the lone door was her passage to freedom. She wrapped a sheet around her aching body and slowly approached the massive barrier of solid wood. The doorknob was the kind that was really a lever. Anxiety caused her hand to tremble as she slowly reached for the cold metal. If it moved, would she flee wrapped only in a sheet? Hell yes!

Excitement quickly turned to disappointment as the lever remained perfectly horizontal. It didn’t even wiggle as many locked doors do. The solid impenetrable barrier stood unyielding. Despite the expected outcome, disappointment caused the ache within Claire’s body to intensify. Turning around, she viewed her cell. One of the other two doors had the best chance of holding her desired destination. She opened the first door and revealed a closet, one the size of most bedrooms. It could more accurately be considered a dressing room with built-in drawers, shoe racks, shelves, and hanging racks. Surprisingly, the racks and shelves were full. These clothes seemed to come straight from a Saks photo shoot, not the kind Claire would or could choose for herself. She was more the Target or Vintage type. These clothes belonged to someone who lived the life of the rich and famous. Who was that someone? Claire wondered why she was in that person’s room and why she remembered being told it was hers.

Opening the next door, Claire found her destination. She stepped into a bathroom like one she’d seen on television, large and very white. The coolness of the tile hit the soles of her bare feet. White marble, white porcelain, silver accents, and glass surrounded her. If it weren’t for the plush purple towels, the room would be totally devoid of color. There was a large garden tub and a full glass shower that sported large and small showerheads from every direction. The sink adjoined a dressing table with a large lighted mirror and stool.

She turned to see the person in the mirror. The image frightened Claire as she studied the reflection. Her tangled brown hair framed an unfamiliar face. There were bruises around her lips trying to match the color of the towels, and her left temple appeared red and swollen. Slowly dropping the sheet, the visual evidence of the soreness she experienced could be seen as red and purple bruises over her body and extremities. The vision restarted her tears. With steely determination, she gripped the lever of another door and found her destination.

A plush white bathrobe hung near the shower. Twisting the knobs to adjust the water, Claire decided a shower would make her feel better. Hot steamy water hit her skin as she stepped into the spacious shower. The prickling sensation of a thousand needles pierced her shoulders as the hot water flowed over her battered muscles. It was a sensation of both pleasure and pain. She allowed the water to continue its assault, and as time passed and the temperature remained high, her muscles relaxed. The sweet floral aroma of the shampoo and body soap replaced the odors of last night. A renewed sense of strength filled her resolve. Somehow she would survive this nightmare.

Claire developed a plan as she used the luxurious lavender towel to dry her battered body. She would talk to Anthony and explain that this was a mistake. They could split ways, no questions asked and no charges pressed. The soft robe warmed her, providing a bogus sense of security.

The woman in the mirror looked better. However, her dark hair now fell messily in wet tangles. Without thinking, Claire began to open drawers and cabinets. Just like the closet, the bath was fully stocked. In front of her, she saw thousands of dollars’ worth of name-brand cosmetics. She found everything from skin care to eyeliner. Of course, there was also an array of hair supplies. She was wearing someone else’s robe, sleeping in her bed, and showering in her bathroom. Using her hairbrush only added to the list of intrusions. Claire didn’t have many options.

In the medicine cabinet, she found a toothbrush still encased in cellophane. Claire couldn’t resist. The shower, soap, shampoo, and now toothpaste all helped her feel less soiled.

When Claire opened the door to the bedroom, she was startled to see a tray of food waiting on the dining table. Prior to that moment, she ignored the pangs of hunger. God knows the thoughts of the previous night made her stomach turn. Yet the aroma from the covered plate intrigued her. She lifted the lid to discover steaming scrambled eggs, toast, and a side of fresh fruit. On the tray, she also noticed a glass of orange juice, one of water, and a carafe of coffee.

With her stomach full, body relaxed from the shower, and no immediate path to freedom, Claire decided she wanted more sleep. It was then that she realized the bed hadn’t only been made, but the sheets had also been changed. The room appeared as though the horror of last night never occurred. Her body told her otherwise. She pulled back the covers, climbed between the soft satin sheets, inhaled the fresh clean scent, and closed her eyes. It wasn’t the escape she wanted, but it was a temporary diversion.

The knocking at the door near the sitting area woke Claire. She’d been somewhere in a dream far away. The knock and the unfamiliar surroundings left her temporarily disoriented. How long had she been sleeping? Sunlight, though not as bright, continued to seep from the edge of the drapes. The repeated raps brought her emotions and thoughts dramatically to the present. Fear gripped her being as she considered who was on the other side of the door. Yes, she was a twenty-six-year-old adult. Yet at that moment, Claire decided to behave as any five-year-old child would and imitate sleep. Lying still in bed, she heard the door open.

Tentatively opening her eyes, she watched as a woman quietly entered the room. Given Claire’s perspective, it was difficult to tell; but the woman appeared taller than her by a few inches, with salt-and-pepper hair. Claire assumed she was about the age of her mother, had her mother been alive. As the woman approached, Claire decided to speak. “I’m sorry if I’m in your room.”

“No, Ms. Claire, it is your suite, not mine. I am here to help you get ready for dinner. My name is Catherine.”

Claire slowly sat up in amazement. What the hell did she mean get ready for dinner? She was being held prisoner in some luxurious suite, covered in bruises, and this person was supposed to help her get ready for dinner. “I’m not trying to sound ungrateful. But what do you mean ‘ready for dinner’?”

“Mr. Rawlings will be here precisely at 7:00 p.m. for dinner. He expects you to be ready and dressed accordingly. I presumed you might need some assistance.”

At first, Claire couldn’t wrap her mind around the entire scenario. He wanted her
dressed
for dinner. Who the hell did he think he was? “Listen, if you want to assist me, let me out of here.” Claire did her best to keep her voice from rising another octave, yet the fear of seeing Anthony and the possibility of escape made that all but impossible.

“Ms. Claire, that is not up to me. I am here to assist you as I can.” It didn’t make any sense. Yet in the desperation of the situation, for some reason, Claire believed this lady. Catherine continued, “We only have an hour. Perhaps we could begin with your hair?”

Undaunted by Claire’s appearance or even the circumstance of her presence, Catherine’s calmness eased Claire. She shook her head and sighed. Remembering the resolve from her shower, she spoke with a convincing authority. “Catherine, thank you for offering to help, but I don’t plan on dressing for dinner. I actually believe there has been a mistake. I will be leaving here soon.” While Claire explained the misunderstanding, Catherine came and went from the closet with a blue cocktail dress and matching shoes. “Oh, I don’t know whom those clothes belong to.”

“Why, miss, they belong to you. Now we really should move along. And even if you do not plan to eat, do you not need to wear clothes?” Claire noticed her pattern of speech seemed formal. She couldn’t place the origin. It definitely wasn’t the Georgia accent she’d learned to appreciate and tried desperately not to duplicate.

Catherine gently took Claire’s hand and walked her into the bathroom. Claire obediently sat at the dressing table as Catherine began to gently brush her hair, deciding she wouldn’t protest Catherine. Instead, she would save her energy to face Anthony.

“There are cosmetics in the drawers in front of you. Perhaps you could begin to apply some while I do your hair.” Then she added, “You are very pretty without it, but after sleeping most of the day, I believe it will make you feel better.”

Claire looked into the mirror. Seeing her eyes, temple, and lips, she began to cry. It wasn’t the sobs of earlier, but a rush of tears quietly flowing down her cheeks.

“Now, miss, that will not help the situation. Mr. Rawlings appreciates punctuality. Crying will only make the cosmetics run.”

She began to explain to Catherine her desperation, “I don’t want to face him.” But after the first sentence, she hesitated. Claire didn’t know this woman. She obviously worked for Anthony. Why would she confide in her? Then Claire looked in the reflection, not at herself but at the woman behind her. Her eyes were the color of steel, gray and soft. Her expression wasn’t one of duty or pity, but somehow Claire sensed compassion. It may have been wishful thinking, but for some reason, the words continued to flow. “After last night, I feel so . . . dirty. You don’t know what he did, what he made me do. I am too embarrassed.” Her words came accompanied by tears, and her nose began to run.

Catherine’s voice held no judgment for either Claire or Anthony, instead a means for understanding, as if that could be possible from Claire. “I have known Mr. Rawlings for a long time. Did anything happen last night that he did not want to happen?”

Claire shook her head
no
. “Everything that happened
he
wanted to happen.”

“Then there is no need for you to be embarrassed. It is when you do something that he doesn’t want you to do. That is when you do not want to face Mr. Rawlings.”

Catherine went to the cabinet, removed a washcloth, and wet it in the sink. She handed it to Claire, who compliantly wiped her face and began to apply makeup. It wasn’t long until they were satisfied with the results. The bruises were concealed quite well under a covering of foundation and powder. The lipstick made the swelling less noticeable. When Catherine entered the bathroom with the dress, Claire realized she was naked under the robe.

“Umm, I don’t have any lingerie.”

“Yes, miss. Do you not remember Mr. Rawlings’s rules?” Without waiting for a response, Catherine continued, “No underclothes, ever.” Claire fought the fog of last night. She couldn’t understand why the memories were so fuzzy. Yet somewhere she had some recollection of such a conversation or, more accurately, a demand. But once again, this entered the world of ridiculous. Who the hell was he that he even thought he could make such demands and they would be followed?

Catherine assisted Claire with the dress so as not to mess her hair and makeup. Claire vowed to herself this fiasco will be over.
I
am
not
sure
how
or
when.
But
I
will
leave
here,
get
away
from
him,
and
go
to
a
place
where
women
wear
underwear.

Catherine smiled approvingly at Claire as she stepped in front of the mirror. “Mr. Rawlings will be pleased. Now I must go. He will be here soon.” The reminder of his impending arrival sucked some of the resolve from Claire’s demeanor as well as the air from her lungs. Catherine knew him. Maybe if she stayed, he would . . . Claire didn’t know how to finish that thought. He would
be
nice
?
Let
her
leave
? It just seemed safer around this woman.

“Perhaps you could stay until after his arrival?” Catherine didn’t respond, but the look of satisfaction briefly changed to sadness. Instantaneously, Claire knew that Catherine’s departure was beyond both of their control. Claire would be face-to-face with her fear, the man that abused and dominated her the night before. She also knew that he was her only means of escape. For that reason only, she would face him. “Thank you again for your help. I really doubt I will be here tomorrow. He and I will discuss it over dinner.”

Catherine nodded. It was an acknowledgment of Claire’s statement, not an affirmation of its accuracy. Then she left the bathroom. Claire heard a faint beep as she left the suite. It reminded her of the noise made by a car fob.

While still in the bathroom, her heart rate increased as she heard the faint beep again. He didn’t knock. He just opened the door and entered. Claire imagined him surveying the empty suite. If she stayed in the bathroom, would he eventually come for her? Or perhaps he would leave. He waited silently in the bedroom. It took a minute or two. But slowly, Claire opened the bathroom door and entered the suite.

Determined to meet him head-on at his mind game, she used all her strength to suppress the fears that screamed to get out. The first things she saw as she entered the suite were his eyes, his dark black eyes. They resembled voids or black holes. His lips were moving. He was talking, yet Claire could only hear the memories of the previous night. She walked to the bookcase at the far end of the suite, feigning strength.