Page 19 of Daughter of a Monster

He doesn’t speak, doesn’t move as I keep my eyes hidden, waiting for them to adjust. When I finally look up, he’s squatting on the other side of the wire fence, dressed all in black, including a balaclava which covers his face, showing nothing but small slits where his eyes are.

They are blue. Brilliant blue. But their brilliance might only be due to the darkness surrounding them.

His hands are the only exposed flesh. They are smooth with elegant long fingers as though he hasn’t worked a day in his life. They are the hands of the wealthy. Something I’m accustomed to.

“Are you okay?” He shuffles forward and collects something from the ground. A bottle of water. “Thirsty?” he asks, pushing it through one of the diamond gaps of the wire.

I’ve learned too much to ever refuse food or water. My body protests when I lean forward. I haven’t moved in so long. I only come close enough for my fingers to wrap around the lid of the bottle and then I retreat backward, keeping my eyes fixed on him as though I’m scared he’s going to lunge forward and snatch it from me. But he can’t do that because there is the wire wall between us. I don’t know whether it’s there to protect him or me. I don’t ask.

As soon as the wall is against my back again, I twist the lid off the bottle and drink greedily, not caring when the water spills down my chin.

The man chuckles softly. “Careful. You’ll give yourself a tummy ache.” His hand lifts and his fingers grip the wire. “Sorry I wasn’t more prepared. I’ll get some supplies tomorrow.”

For the first time I look around the room. There are no windows and the only door is at the top of the steps. Outside there is nothing but sky. Dark sky with the moon ever so slightly poking out from behind clouds.

The walls, floors and ceiling are all polished concrete. The room is longer than it is wide and I’m pressed against the far wall, facing the entrance. Metal shelves line one side but they are empty. There’s a wire-framed bed against the opposite wall, a toilet and a sink with a broken mirror. Exposed pipes run over the ceiling.

The wire fencing looks as though it’s been hastily constructed. It feels as though I’m underground in some sort of bunker. The kind that’s meant to protect people, not keep them captive. There’s no mistaking what I’m here for. And it’s not to be protected from some disaster of nature or zombie apocalypse.

“Hey,” the man rattles the wire. “Hey, look at me.”

I don’t. I keep my eyes fixed on his fingers twisted around the wire, not his face. Not that I can see it. But if I did look at him I could only see the slits of his eyes. Everything else is covered in black. His fingers seem so pale in comparison.

“Hey,” the man rattles the wire again, “You don’t need to be scared of me. I’m not going to hurt you.”

I’m tempted to laugh. I suppose next he’s going to tell me he’s trying to help. Maybe he even loves me. He saw me at an auction and hasn’t been able to think about anything else. He is my savior and he’s only keeping me locked away until I realize that.

Men are all the same.

They only want one thing.

But if he wants it, he will need to take it from me. I’m done with giving things willingly. Not that it ever was willingly. There is no choice, no freedom of will when they’re in control. But some of them like the illusion of it. They like to think that the women they hold captive love them. And sometimes the women even think they do. But it’s not love if it’s not a choice. It’s not even lust.

The man sighs and gets to his feet. “Fine, be that way.” He takes a step back, his hand hovering over the switch for the lights. I want to plead with him to leave them on but I’m not willing to beg. Not yet. Through the slits of his balaclava, I can see his eyes narrow, waiting for me to protest as his hand hovers. Instead, all I do is drop my head back to my knees and close my eyes.

Then darkness surrounds me once more.

chapter seven

BERKLEY

It’s dark by the time a car arrives to pick me up. The driver introduces himself as Barrett, Mr Priest’s head of security. Like Mr Priest, he’s a handsome man, blond to Mr Priest’s dark. But unlike Mr Priest, he’s someone you could imagine having a drink and a laugh with. He opens the door and I slide across the leather of the backseat, dragging my bag in with me. Barrett offers to put it in the trunk, but for some reason, I feel like I need to keep it close. It contains my only possessions in the world, meager as they are.

We drive for what seems like hours, Barrett keeping up easy conversation before iron gates loom above us. Two concrete pillars stand either side, unlit lanterns protruding into the fog above them, illuminated by the car’s headlights. The gates themselves are made of wrought iron and the sharp lines of the bars are contrasted by the twists and turns of the decorative design framing them. Barrett presses a button on the dash as we approach and the gates swing open, groaning in the silence of the night.

The winding driveway is flanked by trees that have long lost their leaves. I push my head against the window, trying to see the moon sliced by the branches above. The trees give way to a circular driveway pathed in gravel and my breath hitches when I catch a glimpse of the building that towers into the night sky.

I’ve never seen anything like it before. It looks like something out of a fairytale. Or a horror film. Dark spires cut an imposing silhouette against the night sky. A giant arch covers the entrance.

A woman is waiting in the doorway. She’s wearing a black dress, a white apron covering the front. I feel as though I’ve gone back in time.

“It’s beautiful, is it not?” Barrett asks as the car completes the loop and stops in front of the ornate entrance. “It looks like a church, but it’s not. Not really. The story goes that a man and his new wife moved out here from England and he commissioned it to be built to impress her, to convince her that she belonged in this new country she was so unhappy in. The construction was never finished. Rumor has it that the woman jumped to her death from that ledge up there.” He points upwards and my eyes follow. “The man abandoned the building after that. It was in ruins before Mr Priest decided to restore it. He was told it was an unwise investment. Too old. Too ruined. It would cost too much to repair. He says the architecture leans more toward the aesthetic than accuracy, but I think it’s beautiful, don’t you?”

Even though he asks a question, he’s not looking for an answer. Not really. There’s something about the way he speaks, as though he’s simply relaying a story he’s been told rather than imparting information.

Lightning cracks across the sky and thunder follows not long after as the skies open and rain falls in heavy drops. Any view I had of the building is smeared and blurred by the rain on the car windows.

“Ah, the heavens are welcoming you, Miss Berkley.” He opens the door and the deafening sound of rain fills the car. “You just wait there, okay?”

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