Page 15 of A Midnight Romance
I turn the knob all the way to the other side, and continue to scrub every inch of my body, until my skin burns from the heat and repeated friction.
I’m not clean enough.
My mind flashes through blurry images of a man on top of me. The weight of his body applying a heavy pressure on my lungs, that I can barely take in a full breath. In a panic, I take two fingers and rub them between my legs. My body doesn’t feel like mine anymore. Foreign under my own touch, the realization is overwhelming, and I lurch forward again dry heaving in place.
Still not good enough.
The heated shower water continues to soothe my aching muscles, providing a false sense of cleanliness before I eventually get out. Catching myself in the mirror, I’m overcome by how red my skin is. Raw and irritated, pulsing with the color of crimson, and matching the rage now brewing inside. Like a monster, it grows with every flashback that comes into focus.
But then a different type of memory forms when the guy in the balaclava shows up. Like a dark shadow, donned in a black fabric mask, leaving only his eyes visible. His steady energy was all I could hold on to, and I remember begging him to take me home. What was most striking from the horrific weekend was the intensity of his stare and the quietfirmness of his voice, and I can still picture them when I close mine. The man in the mask said he’d take me home, and it seems he kept his word.
Burying my feelings for later, I spend the next few hours pulling myself together while trying to snack on a few crackers and ginger ale. My thoughts cycle through every piece of information I can recall from the weekend.
I can’t tell my sister what happened and my dad can never know—and that’s why I begged the masked man in the basement to take me home. It would ruin him. The thought alone of knowing his daughter could have become his next homicide victim would drive him to insanity, and I can’t allow my dad to carry such an unnecessary burden.
Silence surrounds me like an eerie fog as I pull my hair away from my face into a loose bun. When I lower my arms, the bruises on my ribcage ping with deep ache.
I’m not sure if the men who kidnapped me are local to the area or not. People are more likely to commit crimes in areas they’re more familiar with, but if the police already responded to the 911 call from the cabin, the guys might be lying low for a bit to avoid coming after me if they realized I had been rescued.
Assuming the cabin where I was held is in the same county, my dad and his detectives most likely went to the scene over the weekend. Which means, the first forty-eight hours are the most critical, so he’ll have to eat and run. An alarm goes off on my phone to remind me of our dinner tonight and snaps me out of my spiral.
To avoid my dad and sister seeing the cuts from the metal chains on my wrists, I slide my watch lower to cover them up. The searing pain is intense and I think of removing it because it’s almost unbearable. Then, I reach for my jewelry box, searching for as many gold bracelets as possible to stack on the other wrist.
Deciding to deal with the pain, I gather the rest of my things and head toward the door.
By the time I get to the restaurant, which is only fifteen minutes from my place, I’ve nailed down the specific questions I want to ask my dad about the cabin crime scene. My hope is that he’s able to share anything he might have found out that could lead to me understanding about what went on with me and those other women over the weekend. But the moment I step out of the car, I’m struck with the realization that I’m not waiting for details from a crime scene I’m not connected to—I’m asking them forme.
Behind the open driver’s side door, I lower myself and throw up the small amount of food I managed to keep down today. Once my stomach settles, I linger by the car a bit longer, building confidence before stepping inside.
Third on 3rdhas been my dad’s favorite spot since Stevie and I were young, because of his obsession with their early bird special and coconut cream pie. My dad was never much of a cook, so we came here at least once a week. And although we don’t frequent the restaurant as much nowadays, we still enjoy celebrating birthdays and special occasions here.
The fresh smell of chicken pot pie on a cool summer evening is all it takes for me to find a slice of peace in the painful world I’ve found myself in. Wiping my watery eyes, overwhelmed by what has happened to me and the thought of keeping this from the two people I love the most in the world, I swallow my feelings. With a brief scan of the cozy place, I find my dad and sister at our regular table.
“Lux!” my dad greets me as I approach the table.
“Happy birthday, Dad,” I say as he stands to pull me in for his typical bear hug. I usually would welcome it, but my limbs lock instinctively into place. Panic surges through my veins and I back away from himquickly. Visions of waking up in that basement, staring at the cement ceiling while drifting in and out of consciousness. The indescribable weight held my limbs down, barely able to move.
“You all right?” My father’s voice penetrates the flashbacks and I’m sucked back into reality. His eyes are narrowed, and worry transforms his features.
Swallowing hard, I take in a weighted breath and say, “Yeah, I got pretty beaten up the other day in self-defense class.”
“Oh yeah?” He cocks his head to the side. “Well, good. This is the exact reason I forced you two to take them all these years. To be able to protect yourselves effectively.”
“I thought you were writing all weekend?” Stevie chimes in from the other side of the table, always trying to call me out for something, like when we were kids.
I settle in next to my dad, sitting carefully in the chair, and being cautious not to worsen my injuries. “I did, but I made time for a quick one-hour class.”
Stevie’s face twists with slight skepticism. She doesn’t seem to believe me, and before she can grill me with questions, Dad interrupts her.
“I hate to do this, but I can’t stay long.” He waves over our server. “I was called out Sunday around two a.m. for a grizzly scene, and I have to get back to the station.”
You can do this, Lux.
Shifting in my seat, I turn to my dad, masking the conflicting emotions bouncing around inside me. “What happened?”
Just then, the server appears at our table so we all take a quick moment to order before my dad turns back to us with a solemn expression. The restaurant is buzzing with chatter, but a dense silence rolls in, surrounding my ears alone.
Bending forward and lowering his head, my father glances around a few times before speaking. “We found the bodies of three women shackled and badly beaten in the basement of a rundown cabin up north.”
