Chapter Thirteen
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Claire waited about ten minutes after hearing the door to her suite shut. During that time, she lay still, barely breathing, and pretending to sleep. She didn’t want to face him—talk to him—or even see him. Though appearing peacefully asleep, her mind was a whirlwind of questions: How long until I’m sure he won’t come back? Can he see me? Is he watching? Oh God! What did he write?
Finally, her curiosity won. She got out of bed and started to walk to the table to read his note. Suddenly, the thought hit her like a physical strike—she remembered the cameras and the staff. Reaching for her robe from the floor, she secured it around her nude body. Sitting on the table where he’d left it, was his note:
I believe we have a blockbuster on our hands. It’s hard to say, until we thoroughly review the footage I plan to return a week from Wednesday. Eric is available if you want to visit the Quad Cities. I trust last night’s film reminded you of my rules. Don’t disappoint me.
Never in her life had she remembered being so overwhelmed with emotion. Her entire being emitted loathing, directed completely and totally toward one man—Anthony Rawlings. She hated him, his sadistic ploys, and nasty reminders. Claire picked up the note, crumbled it into a ball, and threw it against the wall. It created significantly less mess than the vase of flowers had five months earlier.
Her mind tried desperately to compartmentalize the videos. She wanted to put them away—someplace she would never find them. Think of something else, she told herself—it was too difficult. She climbed back into bed and smelled his aftershave. Turning over the pillow, the cool side smelled fresh. That, with the realization he wouldn’t return until a week from Wednesday, gave her a sliver of peace. She tried to concentrate. What day is it now? Sunday. She felt her muscles relax. It was Sunday, his day to be home…but he was gone. Her eyes closed as tears began to slip onto her pillow. She drifted away to another place.
“Ms. Claire? Ms. Claire, you must wake.”
Claire tried to focus. She’d been somewhere in a dream. Now hearing Catherine’s voice, she rolled over and saw her standing at the edge of her bed.
“Catherine, what are you doing?”
“Ms. Claire, it’s after 1:00 PM. You need to wake and eat. You’ve already missed breakfast and now lunch. I’m worried about you.” Claire saw Catherine’s concerned expression and heard her fretful tone.
From the moment Tony left the room and Claire read the note, she’d been crying, even in her sleep. Now, opening her puffy eye lids caused pain which added to the ache in her body, head, and heart. She’d never felt more alone and isolated than she did. “Thank you, Catherine, for your concern, but I believe I’ll stay in bed today. I’m not feeling well.” She tried to sound strong, but with the words came more tears. The salt stung her already swollen eyes. Claire wanted to concentrate on Catherine, but her mind wouldn’t stop thinking of Tony and what he’d done. Not wanting Catherine to see her in this condition, Claire rolled her face into her pillow, making her words muffled, “Please leave me alone.”
Catherine didn’t leave. Instead, she sat on the edge of Claire’s bed and tenderly stroked Claire’s hair as her head moved with the sobs. Catherine remained silent and comforted her until the sobs subsided and Claire caught her breath. “Ms. Claire, you’ll feel better if you shower and eat. Please let me help you.” Catherine’s concern and affection reminded Claire of her mother or grandmother; however, she knew if one of them were present, they’d tell her to run—not shower.
Claire didn’t want to eat, shower, or even get out of bed. Her only desire was to be out of his house. At that moment, she didn’t care if it was by car or death—she just wanted out. The feeling of helplessness sat heavily on her chest. She had tried to survive this ordeal. She had even convinced herself she could handle whatever he sent her way. This new situation was too much. He broke her. Since March she maintained her spirit, despite the loss of her body. Yesterday, he took that too. She turned to look Catherine in the eye and asked, “How have you been able to work for him all this time?”
Catherine stopped stroking Claire’s hair and gently took her hand. “Mr. Rawlings is a good man, Ms. Claire. He truly is.”
Claire shook her head as the tears and sobs resumed. “No! No, he isn’t! I’ve never met a more sadistic, cruel, and bad man.” She closed her eyes, enduring the sting of her tears, the pounding in her head, and taste of her runny nose.
Catherine handed Claire a tissue. “Mr. Rawlings hides his feelings with certain behaviors. He’s afraid to face his own emotions, and he uses this dark persona as a cover. It’s not who he truly is. I’ve known him a long time.”
Claire’s words came between whimpers. “Catherine, I can’t.” “I can’t get up.” “I can’t face the staff.” “They all know.” “They’ve all seen me…seen him…I just can’t.”
“No, Ms. Claire, only I have access to view the inside of your room.” Claire pulled her hand away and rolled from her gaze. Catherine reached out to lightly touch her shoulder. “I only use that access to know when to send the staff inside or to check on your safety.” Claire continued to face away from Catherine. “And now, I’m concerned about you. Ms. Claire, please let me help you. It’s a beautiful day outside.” Claire didn’t move. “Would you like your lunch in here or downstairs?”
Claire shook her head. “I don’t want lunch. Thank you for your concern, but I’m too…too…” She turned to face Catherine. “I don’t know what I am!” Her voice trailed away, “I don’t even know who I am…anymore.”
“Ms. Claire, you’re a beautiful, strong woman. That’s what Mr. Rawlings finds so attractive. He’s astounded by your strength and resilience.”
“That isn’t true! He hates strength in anyone but himself. He has to have total control.” Claire replayed scenes from the past that caused her body to shudder.
“Miss, you’re partially right, Mr. Rawlings doesn’t want to let anyone else have power over him. Therefore, if he admits he has feelings toward you, he gives up control, and if I may—that scares him.”
Claire really didn’t think that anything scared Anthony Rawlings. “I don’t want his feelings. I want out! I want to go to Atlanta and forget I was ever here”—her voice steadied—“I promise—I won’t tell any of his secrets. I just want to go home.” Tears flowed with increased intensity. Her next question was barely audible, “Do you think he’ll ever let me go?”
Catherine looked into her eyes. “Mr. Rawlings is a man of his word. If he said he’ll release you when your debt is paid, then he will.” The obvious question was when would that be? “Now after you shower, would you like your lunch in here or downstairs?”
Claire began to get out of the bed as Catherine helped with her robe. “I’ll shower, but I’m really not hungry.”
“It’s sunny and beautiful outside; the sun will make you feel better. I’ll have your lunch brought to the pool.” Catherine started for the door, but stopped, and added, “Unless, you need my assistance?”
“No, thank you, I’ll be all right. I’ll be down to the pool in a little while.”
Claire slowly walked into the bathroom, turned the shower on as hot as possible, stood under the stream, and let the flow hit her face and skin. It didn’t stop her head from aching, but it washed away the scent of him. As the steam built and her skin turned red, she found herself sitting on the bench, liquid needles hitting her hair, and tears flowing.
She couldn’t be sure how long she sat in that position, but the temperature of the water began to cool by the time she snapped back to reality. Drying her skin, she noticed new bruises—both of her hip bones and her left forearm were red and tender to the touch. As she placed her sunscreen, she found some more bruises on her legs. Momentarily, she considered the need to camouflage them while at the pool, then she realized, why? Maybe the staff didn’t have access to the videos of her bedroom, but what about the pool, his office, and any other place he chose to require her services?
She combed her wet hair, put on a bikini, a beach cover, flip-flops, and found her new sunglasses. Her eyes looked scary in the mirror. The sunglasses would definitely help. On her way to the pool she stopped in the library and grabbed an older magazine, People. Some light nonsense reading to help her mind stray.
As soon as she stepped outside of the house, Claire realized Catherine was right about the weather—lower humidity with bright sunshine. When she reached the pool, Cindy brought a tray with her lunch: a turkey sandwich, mixed fresh fruit, and an iced tea, and asked if Claire needed anything else.
“No, Cindy, I’m fine. Thank you for lunch.” The sound of defeat thickly flowed through her voice. The sight of the food made her ill. It reminded her of dining—dining of Tony—Tony of his rules, instructions, and video surveillance. She began to shove the tray off the table but stopped. Someone would need to clean it up. That seemed unnecessary. Claire picked up the glass of iced tea and walked toward a chaise lounge.
Remembering scenes on that lounge chair, she chose another.
The sun felt wonderful on her skin and the tea tasted refreshing. Her head still ached and eyes hurt. She suddenly wished she’d asked Cindy for some headache medicine. Thumbing through the magazine she looked at pictures of smiling, pretty celebrities. She read an article about a little girl saved by her dog—sweet.
Then she read the latest gossip—who was with whom and who was splitting from whom. It was then she saw the picture, in a section called Star Tracks. It was her! The photo showed her and Tony sitting in the private box at the symphony, her smiling at him, and him holding her hand. It contained the title and caption:
Mystery Beauty?
Anthony Rawlings, forty-five, confirmed bachelor, billionaire and red-hot sexy, has been seen at numerous events in the last month with this beautiful woman.
Sources say her name is Claire Nichols, but who is she? Mr. Rawlings’s publicist would not comment regarding speculation that there could be someone special in his life.
Claire stared at the photo in disbelief. Tony was forty-five, really? And who cared that she was at the symphony? Well other than her, since it was her first time allowed out of the house in two over months. Has Emily seen this? What about her friends in Atlanta?
The stupid magazine was supposed to take her mind off everything, not make it public. Claire flipped the magazine over. It was dated June 14. Today was Sunday, but what was the date? It was August, August 8, and Tony won’t return until the eighteenth. Thinking of it that way made it seemed even longer. She smiled, dropped the magazine on the ground, and closed her eyes. The clock by the pool house read 3:15 PM when Catherine woke her again.
“I brought you something special, Ms. Claire.” Claire opened her eyes to see Catherine holding a tall glass containing something resembling a smoothie. “It’s my secret recipe: banana, strawberry, and yogurt.”
Claire appreciated Catherine’s persistence and took the drink. Her concoction tasted sweet and felt cool in her throat as she swallowed. The nutritional ingredients provided her body with the sustenance it needed. While she drank, Catherine pulled up a chair and chatted. Claire knew she was being watched, not by a depraved voyeur, but by a friend. It was a simple act of compassion and concern. Catherine didn’t talk about anything that happened, she just talked. Once Claire finished, Catherine left with the glass.
Closing her eyes, Claire recognized a new sense of emptiness and relief. Four months of despair and misery had been washed away through gallons of tears. She remembered her grandmother’s saying—sometimes we all need a good cry. To that end, Grandma would read a sad book or watch a sad movie—Claire watched the movie.
Although the sun still shimmered on high, it began to move toward the front of the house, casting shadows on the pool and deck. Claire decided to go back upstairs, but realized she had no privacy in her suite.
At that moment, she noticed the trees. Her mind worked slowly; it had been through quite an ordeal in the past twenty-four hours. Staring at the green leaves and thick forest, she saw freedom. Not freedom to Atlanta or completely away from Tony, but freedom from cameras, instructions, rules, and freedom to relax. The realization energized Claire like nothing else had all day. Tomorrow, she was heading into the woods.
Monday morning Claire woke with a start. She’d been dreaming, but she couldn’t remember about what. She just knew her heart pounded, she gasped for breath, and she felt like she was suffocating. As her mind cleared and she looked around her suite, she saw reality. She was alone, the night had been peaceful, and today was a new day. She quickly showered and dressed for her exploration. When she stepped from the closet/ dressing room, because she vowed to never be unclothed in her main room again, her door closed.
“Wait please,” she shouted toward the door.
“I’m sorry, miss, I should have been faster.”
“Oh no, Cindy, you’re fine. I just need a favor.”
“Anything, what can I do for you?” Claire explained she planned a day trip into the woods. She needed a packed lunch and some water bottles. Cindy listened intently and promised to help.
Claire sat down to her breakfast. It wouldn’t take much for Claire’s appetite to disappear, just a few thoughts of reality. So, she chose not to do that…she’d get those thoughts into that compartment no matter what. Instead, as she ate and thought about her impending adventure—about hiking boots and bug spray.
There was a knock on her door. Claire called for the person to come in.
Catherine’s expression matched the concern in her voice, “Ms. Claire, could you please explain to me what Cindy is asking?”
Claire told Catherine about her plans to explore, how she didn’t want to return for lunch, and she knew Catherine wouldn’t want her to skip a meal. Therefore, she would need a packed lunch and some water bottles.
Catherine seemed apprehensive. “I’m sorry, but what if you didn’t come back?”
Although that sounded wonderful, Claire was surprised by Catherine’s concern. “Catherine, I have no intention of that. First, I wouldn’t do that to you. I can only imagine Mr. Rawlings’s reaction if I didn’t return, and second, his reaction. I can truthfully say—if I left—I’d be looking over my shoulder for the rest of my life”—which, she didn’t say audibly, she believed deep in her soul, might not be very long—“I just want to explore and be outside, away from everything. Mr. Rawlings has given me permission to go into the woods. I’ve done it before. I just want to be out longer, without concern for curfews. Besides, we both know this conversation is being recorded. I promise to return. If I don’t, he’ll see I lied. You just believed me.” Claire reached for Catherine’s hand. “I promise I’ll be back.”
There was a spark in Claire’s green eyes—the same eyes which, only yesterday, were red, swollen, and lifeless—Catherine told Claire she would have her lunch and water packed in a few minutes, but asked that she be back by 6:00 PM for dinner. Claire promised she would. As soon as Catherine left the room, Claire went to the dressing table and found her watch. She didn’t want to disappoint her.
That morning, Claire abandoned her strategy of dissecting the woods. She remembered the large clearing with the flowers and headed in that direction. In the past, she only went as far as the clearing, today she planned to go beyond it. She found the clearing right where she thought it would be. The heat of the summer transformed the green grass into long brown straw, only the weeds were green. Claire didn’t mind, the weeds had pretty, colorful flowers. Unlike Tony’s flowers, which were sentenced to his yard, gardens, or clay pots, these flowers grew free wherever they wanted. Furthermore, weeds were survivors. When all else died, the weeds remained. Yes, Claire liked weeds.
She glanced at her watch. She’d reached the clearing by 10:00 AM.
When she left the house there was a slight chill, so she brought a sweatshirt. With steadily increasing temperatures, now it’s only purpose was to sit upon. She laid it out in the middle of the clearing and sat. A faint breeze blew her hair and caused the leaves of the trees to rustle. Even though it was only the beginning of August, due to the recent dryness, the leaves were beginning to change.
That bothered her. She moved—or was brought—to Iowa in March. At that time, the leaves hadn’t formed, and now they were beginning to change. Time slipped away from her, and she couldn’t hold on. It made her think of a soap opera her mother used to watch. The opening said something like, “Sands through the hour glass…”
She laid her head on the hard ground and gazed at the open sky. There were a few white fluffy clouds. The expanse of the sky glowed blue and clear. The longer she lay immobile, the more she blended into the surroundings. First, she noticed the butterflies which fluttered just above the grass. Then, she saw the chipmunks. One would run around a tree, the next would run up the tree, chasing and being chased. Eventually, she sat up, opened one of her water bottles, and continued to sit and contemplate.
Once she stepped through the trees, leaving the confines of Tony’s backyard, Claire believed she escaped the range of his top-notch security. It felt like being released from prison. Even the air smelled sweeter as she inhaled and relaxed. She smiled at the irony; she definitely felt more secure without security.
Claire didn’t look at her watch, enjoying her freedom. After much consideration, she decided to head west—northwest. There was no reason for that direction—more of a yearning—but it was solely hers, so she did it. She walked and walked. Close to the earth, she experienced a coolness that comes only from the shade of very tall trees. When she looked up, the trees reminded her of a kaleidoscope. The blue sky radiated beyond the ever-changing design of leaves. Since she hadn’t checked the time when she left the clearing, she didn’t know how long she’d walked when she reached the shore.
The lake wasn’t big, but then again it wasn’t small. She could see the other end, a distance away. Nothing but nature surrounded the water in every direction. Looking down as she stood on the shore, her boots stood upon thousands of small smooth pebbles. Suddenly, she wondered if she could skip one. Remembering from childhood, she knew it needed to be smooth. It took her three tries, but she did it. It skipped four times, each hit going a little deeper, creating a slightly larger ring upon the water. The rings grew until they faded into the waves of the lake. For the first time in days…she felt hungry.
Catherine never disappointed when it came to food. Claire found a sandwich—turkey or chicken—she would soon find out—fruit in a small sealed cup—and some carrots. She sat at the water’s edge, broke off some of her bread and threw it in the water. The crumbs floated, rising and falling with the water. Suddenly, each crumb became surrounded by four or five minnows. They jumped and nibbled. Once they ate all the bread, Claire broke off more and fed them again. This time, more minnows came to the feast.
The sounds of the lake exemplified peace. Claire closed her eyes and lost herself in the rhythm. Small waves lapped the earth making a consistent beat, swoosh, swoosh, swoosh. The leaves rustled, creating a gentle on again, off again reverberation. The sun moved steadily toward the other end of the lake. Claire’s new sunglasses were a smart accessory for her adventure. It wasn’t just the sun, but its reflection off the water, that sparkled and shined, as prisms of light and color danced off the waves. She could sit and watch for hours. Occasionally, there would be a splash, and Claire would see the telltale rings left behind from a fish that jumped out of the lake only to go back down.
Just before Claire decided to check her watch, she saw—about one hundred yards down the shore—a doe and a fawn. They cautiously approached the lake’s edge. The doe kept a watchful eye on the surroundings while the fawn concentrated on drinking the cool clear water. She didn’t want to move or disturb them, but the sun continued to lean west.
With a heavy heart, she looked at her watch. It was 4:30 PM. It took forty-five minutes to get from the clearing to the house, but she didn’t know how long it took to get from the lake to the clearing. Tony wouldn’t be home, but Catherine had been so kind and supportive. She didn’t want to disappoint her either.
Slowly, she stood, having no idea how long she’d been sitting on the shore. Her muscles ached. She wondered if the cause could be sitting on the smooth pebbles or perhaps the activities of Friday and Saturday night. When those memories entered her mind, she felt her stomach knot. Eight more days—she knew without a doubt were they would be spent.
Survival is not so much about the body, but rather it is about the triumph of the human spirit.
—Danita Vance