Page 6 of Beyond the Temptation: Vol 2

The stranger’s words echo in my head.

Was it him? Did he see me and want me? He hasn’t tried to hurt me. I have a feeling that he’s just a cog in the machine that brought me here. Still, he had no right to take me.

If this man is indeed the one who took me.

If only I had been working, then someone might notice I was gone. I used to work at a local grocery store as a bagger, but with cutbacks, nine other employees and I were let go. Last hired were first fired. I’ve been searching for work, and I haven’t found a job yet.

Mrs. Brugler is my only chance, and if they hurt her?—

No.

I can’t let my mind go there.

But where is my mind supposed to go? All I can do is stare blankly at the concrete walls, wonder when the stranger will return…

And what he may do to me when he does.

The first time I saw his eyes, I thought they were kind.

Then he glared at me.

Still, I’m drawn to his eyes. What does he look like under that mask? Is his hair light or dark? Is his complexion fair or tanned? His lips are full and brownish red.

And I don’t like the feeling I get when I think about him.

It’s a feeling of fear, yes. But underneath the fear is a hint of desire.

I feel it in my nipples when they harden.

I feel it between my legs.

And I wonder if he feels it too.

CHAPTER SIX

Two days have passed. I measure the time with the meals he brings. I have no window, but after the third meal of the day, I go to bed and wait for sleep to come.

When it does, I’m usually plagued with more nightmares about my time in the girls’ home being tormented by Big Tammy and her minions. Occasionally Mrs. Brugler makes an appearance, her wrinkled face bloodied from an assailant wearing the same mask as the man who brings my meals. But his eyes are black holes, not the gentle blue whirlpools that greet me three times every day.

I’m sitting in bed, hugging my legs, when the door opens.

The stranger enters and sets the tray down on the table as usual. He hasn’t talked to me since the first time he brought eggs and bacon. I’ve tried to converse with him each time he brings food, but he never replies. He did start bringing extra water, though, when I asked for it.

Once he sets the tray down, he heads toward the door. I stand and walk to the table. On the tray is a magazine. A dogeared copy of People dated several years earlier. I pick it up and look toward him. “What’s this?”

Without turning, he says, “I thought you might like something to read.” Then he leaves, closing and locking the door behind him.

After I finish my meal—oatmeal today, with two strips of bacon—I take the magazine and leaf through it, devouring every word. Never have the lives of celebrities meant so much to me. The articles are years old, but I don’t care. All of the gossip is dated, stuff I heard whispers of half a decade ago, but it’s something to do. Exercise for my brain. I read each word on each wrinkled page, including advertisements.

Then I read them again.

I pass the time until the door opens.

I look up from the magazine as the stranger enters.

He doesn’t have a tray of food with him, which is odd. My stomach is starting to feel hollow after the breakfast. Surely it’s time for my midday meal.

I look up at him, and he meets my gaze. His eyes are still beautiful, and today they look kind again. Kind and…tormented.

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