Smiling, she responded, “I like dessert.”
The hotel’s foyer was exquisite—marble floors, large glowing chandeliers, and huge floral arrangements. Claire tried not to look around. She’d never entered such an exclusive establishment. His suite at the Ritz Carlton was large like an apartment, and once inside, he remained suave and sensual. His eyes were deep. They gave her the sensation of chocolate, dark and melted. Although she didn’t know him that well, she agreed to romance and sexual pleasures. He was romantic and attentive. There was something about him that made her break all her own rules.
It was after midnight when Claire lifted her head to meet Anthony’s now milk-chocolate eyes. “I really need to get back to my place.” Claire had enjoyed the soft 700-count sheets too much. “I don’t want to disturb you, so I can get a taxi downstairs.” She started to shift away, when he gently reached for her.
“If I promise you a ride in the morning, would you consider some more dessert?” Anthony’s expression as well as another of his features informed Claire that he wanted her to choose the dessert. She knew she wasn’t scheduled to be at work at all the next day.
“I don’t want to disrupt your schedule. I am sure you are busy.”
“I promise this is not a disruption. And maybe after more dessert, we could have another glass of wine. There is still some in the bottle from room service.” The last time she looked at a clock; it was 1:15 a.m. Even at that moment, Claire didn’t realize the consequence of their napkin agreement.
As Claire lay on the sofa recalling the events that led her to this place and this situation, she couldn’t recall traveling. She remembered a car but couldn’t recall any other part of this house. She couldn’t remember any other memories of Atlanta. That time, 1:15 a.m. was her last conscious memory of her life.
From the other windows near the bed, she could see only trees. She must be at the end of the dwelling because she couldn’t see more of the house. Her windows were far from the ground. Even if they opened, she would break something from this height. Day after day, the sky would lighten to shades of gray and then darken too soon, keeping track of the days became difficult.
Wondering where she was, Claire told herself that when Catherine returned she would ask about their location. Catherine didn’t come, the young non-English speaking man did. Day after day, no one came to talk to her. The food came and the room was cleaned. Clothes were miraculously washed and returned to her closet or drawers, but no person was ever seen. She was alone. The isolation was hell. It may not leave physical markings, but it was a neater form of Anthony’s abuse.
Claire was never a TV watcher, and the TV in her suite didn’t receive many stations. However, she did check the news each morning to learn what day it was. They had begun to blend. On April 2, she finally heard a repeated knock at the door.
The past thirteen days hadn’t been a total loss. After two or three, Claire realized the weather channel would do local weather. The first time she sat to watch, she was stunned. The midnight announcer, Shelby, graduated from Valparaiso the year before her. Claire watched in disbelief. How could Shelby be on the Weather Channel and she be held prisoner in a house in Iowa? The local weather came from Iowa City, Iowa.
She discovered her windows faced southeast. The sun shone on a few of the thirteen days of her seclusion. The hours of sunshine grew in length by minutes each day, but it still looked cold. With the insulated windows and warm fireplace, Claire’s only knowledge of outdoor temperature remained Shelby and her coanchors.
As a means of escape, Claire turned to reading. The built-in bookcases were filled with current bestsellers. There were series and individual books. She loved to read when she was a child, but life had become too busy. That didn’t seem to be a problem any longer.
She also discovered a small refrigerator that was always stocked with water and fruit. No one ever asked what she wanted to eat. Truly she wasn’t hungry considering she didn’t do anything to build an appetite. She showered, dressed, and primped a little. The rebellion seemed meaningless with no one to rebel against. One sign of progress, the bruises faded from red, to blue, to purple, to green, and now a very indistinct yellow.
The knock came again. Food usually entered after the first knock, this person was waiting for an invitation. She didn’t think it was Anthony, he didn’t knock. Could it be Catherine? Slowly, Claire approached the door.
“Yes? Who’s there?” The anticipation of actually hearing a voice respond to her was stimulating.
Disappointment to a noble soul is what cold water is to burning metal. It strengthens, tempers, intensifies, but never destroys it. —Unknown
Chapter 5
“Ms. Claire, may I come in?”
Claire’s heart leaped. The woman she barely knew was the one person Claire prayed would come to her each of the last thirteen days. Excited to use her voice again, she said, “Yes, Catherine, please come in.” It wasn’t as though Claire could open the door from her side.
Claire heard the beep. Catherine opened the door and smiled sadly at Claire. Claire wanted to hug her, but something in Catherine’s eyes said, “No, not now. I was not able to come up here before.” It was as if she spoke, yet her lips never moved.
“Ms. Claire, you seem . . . well rested. I have a message for you.” Claire nodded, anticipating the message from Anthony. “Mr. Rawlings will be coming to see you tonight. He will be late in the city. He said to expect him between nine and ten.”
Claire looked at the clock near the bed. It was only 4:35 p.m. “Okay.” She didn’t know what to do. She couldn’t exactly refuse his entering. He didn’t ask, only proclaimed. “Will we be dining?”
“You will dine alone. He will be here too late for dinner.” Catherine looked as though she wanted to say more, but knew better. Maybe someday Claire would be like that, know better. Then again, hopefully, she would be out of here before then.
“Catherine, could you please help me prepare?”
“No, miss. I am sorry, but your attire and presentation are to be of your own doing.” Catherine turned to leave the suite.
“Please wait. Catherine, can’t you please stay and talk to me, even for a little while? After all, we have five hours before Mr. Rawlings will arrive.”
“I must go, but may I say you look beautiful. I like your face . . . well, ah . . . clear.” Catherine smiled a real and tender smile and exited the suite.
Somehow Claire knew it was a mind game. He was testing her to see how she would dress, look, and act. He was also testing her to determine if his mere presence caused uneasiness. She decided this examination was an opportunity to respond to her circumstances instead of reacting. He would take her body. That reality was made painfully clear. However, she would not let him have her mind. He wanted her to spend the next five hours alone dreading his arrival, filled with fear and trembling. She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction.
She had five hours to prove she was in control of her life—if not to him, then at least to herself. She walked into her closet and, like a general selecting his soldiers, perused the racks and shelves selecting an outfit that would bolster her self-confidence. She found it—a black dress with a long flowing skirt. The idea of being near him in a dress made her queasy, but she liked the boldness.
With each flash of the mascara or zip of the flowing black satin dress, she reviewed her decision. Escape from this room is not possible. The only way to get out of here is to concede to whatever he demands and find another way out. Looking at herself in the mirror, Claire straightened her neck, righted her shoulders, and confirmed her mission. Physically fighting had been counterproductive, it only seemed to intensify Anthony’s resolve. She needed to yield, temporarily, to his demands in order to access a means of exodus. Completing her hairstyle, she dissected her plan. It seemed like surrender, but her gut told her that resigning to him with a straight face and experiencing the effects of her verbalization took more control than the pleas, accusations, and fighting of two weeks earlier.