Page 62 of Torment

“No.”

“Okay. Keep walking me through what happened.”

I looked her in the eye again. This was the truth. “The car ran me off the road. I got out, and then I saw the driver approaching me.”

“Can you describe them?”

I shook my head and looked away again. “Sorry, I can’t. All I remember is that they were wearing black. They charged at me and stabbed me in the neck with a needle. I fell unconscious.”

“And after that, it’s all a blur?”

“Yes. I don’t really know how else to describe it,” I said. “When I woke up, I was in a small room with the basic necessities like a bed, toilet, and food. I ate something, and I guess that was laced with more drugs, because I don’t remember what happened after that. Only flashes. It was like that the whole time.”

“For nearly six whole weeks?” Two lines appeared between Beck’s brows as they pinched together.

I nodded. “That’s right.”

Beck pulled out several photos from the file. They’d been taken at the hospital when I first arrived. “Are you okay with me showing you these?” she asked, shielding them from my gaze as soon as she realized I’d noticed them.

I nodded again. After everything that had been done to me over the last few weeks, a few photos were nothing.

“Do you remember any of these injuries being inflicted on you?” she asked, fanning the pictures out. She pointed to each cut, bruise, and fading scar.

I gulped. I remembered it all very well. “No,” I said with a slight shake of my head. “I’m lucky, I suppose.”

Beck’s gaze turned sympathetic. “I wouldn’t call anything about this situation lucky, Jolie. You were brutally tortured and sexually violated.”

“I meant I’m lucky I don’t remember,” I said quietly. I knew Beck didn’t know any better, but I hated that she was referring to the sex as a violation. Yes, it was rough, painful and violent whenever Mason fucked me, but it wasn’t rape. I wanted it. I loved it. I knew that for sure.

“What about this?” She pointed to a photo which prominently displayed the ‘M’ that Mason had carved into my abdomen a few weeks ago. “Do you think it might mean something?”

I lifted one shoulder. “I don’t know.”

“Looking at it doesn’t jog any memories?”

I pretended to carefully analyze the photo again before shaking my head. “No. Sorry. There’s nothing.”

“Okay.” Beck put the photos back in the folder. Then she clasped her hands together on the desk. “Can you tell me how you escaped?”

I shook my head. “That’s mostly a blur too. I remember waking up and seeing that the door was open. I thought it was a dream, and when I walked toward it, I thought I was sleepwalking. It was the weirdest feeling. Anyway, I don’t actually remember leaving the place, but I found myself on the edge of a road. That could’ve been hours later. I don’t know.”

“And then?”

“A truck drove by, and the driver spotted me and offered to take me somewhere. He could see I was bruised and battered.”

Beck turned a page on my statement and tapped a paragraph near the bottom. “You described the truck as a gray semi, and you said the driver was around his mid-forties with tanned skin and dark hair. You don’t remember his name or anything else?”

“No.”

“We’ve put some feelers out, but we haven’t been able to locate this Good Samaritan truck driver, and the CCTV in the hospital parking lot shows you walking in by yourself.”

“I guess he dropped me off outside the parking lot,” I said, nervously twisting my hands in my lap.

Beck leaned forward. “Sorry, Jolie, I don’t mean to sound like I’m accusing you of anything. It’s just that you were drugged and have absolutely no memory of where you were. If we can track down the truck driver who picked you up, he can tell us where that happened. That would be very helpful for our investigation, because it would help us narrow down a location for where you were held in captivity.”

I forced a smile. “I understand. I’m sorry I can’t be more helpful.”

“Don’t apologize,” she said gently. “You’re the victim here.”

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