Page 33 of Captive Heart

Melody found herself ashamed and embarrassed when she told him of having to sleep on the floor of the basement with nothing more than a filthy blanket if she was lucky. Or in a cage so tiny she could barely fit inside it, if she was unlucky. And then again, when she had to admit that what meagre food she was allowed were leftovers that were thrown on the ground as if she were an animal.

"One last thing before I go, Melody," Detective Storer finally declared after what seemed like hours. "Micah explained that you were denied the use of your name and you had to think a while before you remembered it."

"It was only a few seconds," she refuted defensively. "He just took me by surprise, asking for it."

The detective only nodded, absently tapping his fingers on the side of the box which controlled his wheelchair. "What I’m wondering is if you have a surname?"

Melody just looked at him and blinked, nonplussed. The pause really wasn't that long, she didn’t think, though both men stared at her without blinking.

"Sutton," she finally replied.

Despite feeling physically stronger than she had since before she had made her escape, by the time Detective Storer was done, Melody felt as if she had been emotionally flayed and psychologically shattered.

All she wanted to do now was sleep, and never have to think about her former life again.

23

Micah didn't need a psychology degree to know that the Q & A session with Andy Storer had taken everything out of Melody and left her feeling vulnerable and over exposed.

It was more and more clear that her coping mechanisms were twofold: tuck the bad memories away so they didn't disturb her, and the stoic mind-set that she was a slave, and therefore, whatever had prevailed was simply service to her masters.

The latter allowed her to view her incarceration and treatment as something other than abuse, which helped her, psychologically, from drowning in a mire of fear and self-reproach.

It might possibly be diagnosed as straightforward denial if the situation had been different, but Micah didn't think so. Melody certainly wasn't displaying the mentality that she was responsible for the abuse she had suffered, although she did seem to be firmly entrenched in the slave mind-set.

Despite her circumstances, Melody had proven herself to be intelligent and logical in her responses to Andy's questioning, commendably able to apply reason and evaluation to the situations she had found herself in. That ability to analyse and contemplate her actions and reactions would stand her in good stead over the coming recovery period.

The effect of stirring up those memories and events she would prefer to keep segregated remained to be seen. It might cause her some distress and unease in the short term, but it could also prove cathartic to express those experiences and exorcise them.

Right now, though, he could see she'd had enough.

"Come on," he offered, even though it was still relatively early. "I'll carry you to bed."

"I could walk, you know," she replied wearily.

"No, you couldn't," he retorted. "For a start, you don't look like you have the energy to fight your way out of a paper bag right now. And even if that wasn't the case, you still need to stay off those feet for another couple of days. Doctor's orders," he reminded her for the second time, leaving absolutely no room for argument.

"I am tired," she agreed in the end, allowing him to scoop her up and carry her down the corridor. Since the club was closed Monday and Tuesday and only opened on Wednesdays for training classes, Micah had allowed her to sleep in the luxury of the French boudoir playroom with its decadently sumptuous bed.

Come Thursday, she knew the room would be back in use, and maybe she’d find herself on the floor again.

But for now, at least, she had privacy and comfort. She might as well enjoy it while it lasted.

24

Micah awoke with a start and wondered what it was that had disturbed his sleep. Senses sharpening, he listened keenly to the sounds that penetrated the calm blackness of the night.

The heating pipes gave the occasional gurgle, and he could hear the chill winter wind blowing through the eaves. Rain pattered incessantly but softly on the window, but other than that, everything seemed quiet.

He had just settled down to sleep again when he heard the noise once more.

Instinct had him out of bed and running down the hall, heedless of his state of undress, before his brain finished processing that the haunting, primal wail had come from the room where Melody slept.

He skidded to a stop just inside the doorway, realising in the nick of time that his presence might alarm her all the more. Taking a couple of deep breaths to steady himself after the mindless dash to her aid, he allowed his eyes to grow accustomed to the nocturnal gloom and shadows. There were no lights, and he had already surmised that Melody was well used to being in the dark after being kept in an underground basement for so many years.

When he softly called her name, and got no reply, Micah padded on silent feet across the room and realised she was still asleep. If the tossing and twisting in the blankets and the mournful whimpers that filled the room, now that he was close enough to detect them, could be described as sleep.

It was obvious she was in the throes of a night terror, and usually he would follow best advice and leave her to settle naturally. But even in the dim light, he could see by her thrashing, she was winding herself tighter and tighter in the bed sheets.

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