Page 36 of Capo

Twelve

Chloe

I jerk when the door opens. My head has been so foggy lately and I don’t have the energy to stand anymore. I know I’ll die down here and I’m too weak to even care.

A woman enters, a curvy brunette in her thirties with light makeup and warm brown eyes. She is a stunning beauty and oozes sensuality even in her simple, rather demure flowery dress. What game is he playing now? Is she a new captive?

She comes up to me and crouches, cocking her head, looking me over as she hands me a bottle with some fluid. “Chloe?” Her voice is husky and a little uncertain.

I take the bottle and meet her curious gaze, licking my dry lips. “Yes,” I whisper. I don’t know when the last time I spoke was.

“I’m to clean you up and give you something to wear. Start drinking that. Slowly. It has salts and sugar.”

It’s as if a gust of wind suddenly moves across a field, clearing the mist in an instant. “What?”

“Can you stand?” She gives me her hand. I take it and she pulls me to my feet as if I weigh no more than a bird. My mind spins sickeningly and I drop the bottle as I put a hand to the wall to steady myself, wincing. My arm still feels weird and vulnerable where it used to be broken, but it looks pretty normal, so I guess it’s more in my mind than an actual physical issue. The woman snatches up the bottle, grabs me around my waist and half lifts me. “We need to get up a set of stairs. Can you manage?”

I nod. “What’s going on?”

She gives me an uncertain gaze. “I’m not supposed to talk with you.”

Anxiety rolls over me in thick, heavy waves, tightening my chest. The first person to be kind to me in a very long time, and still I stay in the nightmare. I’ll let her off the hook, though. I have no reason to blame her. At least I don’t think so. She is probably caught in the monster’s web too. “Okay.”

She half-carries me up the stairs to a hallway I vaguely remember and opens a door right across it, gently pushing me into a stunning bathroom with black tiles on the floor and dark brown, tiled walls with tiny specs of gold. It has a masculine feel and is actually tasteful. I expected him to be tacky. I would have wanted him to be tacky but from the little I’ve seen so far–the garden, the office, this bathroom–he’s got a sense for beauty. Pushing the bottle into my hands, she waits until I’ve had a few sips while I hold her gaze, still wary of the contents and what is going on. It tastes of lime and when I lick my lips they taste slightly salty, like she said. She turns on the faucet, and soon a warm mist fills the space as she steers me into the stream. I close my eyes and sigh with contentment as she lathers and rinses me, shampoos my hair several times, massaging my scalp, being so, so tender the whole time. I can’t deal with tenderness, it gives me hope and a longing I can’t afford. Turning my face up against the stream, I hide my tears.

“Oh my God, you’re so thin,” she whispers.

“I’m sorry,” I say, my reflex to apologize beyond my control.

The rest of the day gets weirder. Wrapping me in a thick dark beige towel, she then leads me through the carpeted hallway, the walls simple and white with nothing on them, and into some kind of sick bay. She stays by my side the whole day. A dentist comes by, has me gaping, snickering as he examines my mouth, scraping my teeth, making me taste blood. A prescribed mouthwash, an electric toothbrush, and a lot of instructions that pass through one ear and out the other. A beautician removes all the hair off my body, takes care of finger- and toenails. Finally, the woman next to me pulls a bag to her and rummages around in it, digging out a large white shirt and a little pink thong. She looks embarrassed as she hands me the clothes.

“What is this?” I ask. “Is he being nice only to be cruel later?”

“You’re beautiful,” she says, “He’ll adore you. Put on your clothes.” She nods at the now half-empty bottle. “And keep drinking.”

I obey and take a sip, studying the thong. “Not much to put on.”

“Better than before.”

I’ll give her that. I don’t want to get her into any kind of trouble, and despite my ever-present fear that this will be another one of his cruel games, I put on the shirt and panties. The panties fit perfectly, but the shirt looks like I borrowed a boyfriend’s, and reaches to my lower thighs.

“How do you feel?” she asks as she fluffs my hair so that it falls over my shoulders. It has gotten back its golden blonde hues that I used to love so much. Now, I don’t want to be pretty anymore. I wish I could just chop it off.

I’m surrounded by a musky, spicy scent from the lotion that was rubbed on my hands and feet and the fruity scent from the soap. I’m clean and my teeth don’t feel like a rug. My body feels great, but my mind is a mess. “I’m afraid.”

“I’m sorry. I can’t do anything about that.” She pulls up a phone from the bag and taps on the screen.

“It’s Vanessa. We’re done.”

I freeze up. Whatever comes next, it happens now. She disconnects and looks me over as she stands, glancing between the door and me. When the door opens and the large blond guard, Ivan, appears, she snatches up the bag and hurries toward the opening. Throwing one last gaze at me, she says, “We all are.” Then she’s gone.

I meet Ivan’s eyes, light gray, almost friendly. “You look better,” he mutters.

I glance down at my skinny knees that stick out beneath the shirt.

It’s as if he reads my mind. “Food has been arranged.”

“What game is he playing, Ivan? Please, give me something. Please!” My voice is hoarse and barely obeys me, breaking on the last word.