He paused, the breath of air he blew out between his lips ruffling the errant strands of wavy black hair that framed his face. "It's like I said upstairs, Alice: you will listen to me, you will obey me, and you will honor me."
"And if I don't?" she dared to ask, a note of barely contained rage hidden within her question.
Sculpted lips pulled apart into a feral grin, the expression not reaching his eyes except for a few faint lines that creased his cheeks. "Then I'll have to train you to do better."
Pushing up onto his feet, he broke their stare, his hands folding over themselves where he tucked them behind his back.
His booted steps ticked off his instructions as he paced in front of her, his tone calm and collected, a man who expected to be given everything he demanded.
"You will serve the functions of my wife while living in my house. You will cook. You will clean. You will greet me when I return from my errands outside of our home."
His heavy steps stopped, his body twisting in her direction while he delivered his last demand. "You will eventually perform other duties of a wife -"
Alice's gorge rose, a strangled cry falling from her lips at the implication of what would be expected - or forced - from her. Her thoughts went to the chains that hung above the upstairs bed, the strange stain on the otherwise pristine white carpet. Panic ratcheted inside her, each beat of her heart hard and swift as adrenaline poured into her veins.
"But, we are not there, yet."
His codicil statement did nothing to calm her heart. All she wanted was to go home, even if that home was forever locked in depressive chaos. She didn't want to be this man's wife. She didn't cook or clean - she wasn't willing to submit to whatever perverted duties he had planned for the time when they were there.
Her eyes searched the large chef's kitchen, her attention skimming past the gleam of stainless steel that contrasted sharply against the intricate woodwork of the Queen Anne home.
Under any other circumstance, she would have taken the time to admire the luxury of the skillful blending of modern and antique. She would have longed to live in a house such as this - if it wasn't for the psychopath who called it home. Under this circumstance, however, a situation so utterly strange that she questioned whether it could be real, she chose to forgo her admiration of the interior design in order to map in her head every exit she could possibly use to escape.
Following the line of her gaze, Max tilted his head and smiled. The gesture was becoming commonplace to him, a curious behavior that made him uniquely bizarre.
"If you're looking for a way out, you won't find one." Inching closer to her, he explained, "Every window is barred and there is only one door that leads outside, a door to which only I have the key." His smile stretched over his cheeks, the scarring on one side becoming more pronounced as amusement shone in his eyes.
"Although it would have been entertaining watching you run about trying to free yourself, I thought it only fair that I warn you and save you the trouble." Darkness flashed in his eyes, his expression softening until it was neutral.
"You are now here, Alice. There is no other choice. There is no other place where you can exist any longer."
12:30 p.m.
"Alice? ... Ms. Beaumont? ... Alice Beaumont ..."
"Yes, Doctor."
Five steps across the room, three steps over the soft, patterned carpet. Four cushions. A white throw draped loosely over the armrest.
Alice lowered herself to sit on the couch, clutched a pillow to her chest, and raised her eyes to look at the doctor.
The glint of his metal eyeglass frames perfectly outlined the shadowed space of his eyes. Another shadow cut across his cheeks, a hollow space formed beneath the perfect and high cheekbones. His skin appeared rough with stubble, his full lips smiled kindly.
"How are you today, Alice? I hope the change in medications has helped you remember your day to day activities better."
Her head ticked to the side, a muscle spasm aching beneath the space where her neck met her shoulder. "You changed the medications?"
The kind smile dropped into a frown. "That answers my question," he mumbled.
Thought held him silent for five rhythmic ticks of the wall clock before he continued with the discussion. "You know, your condition is rather unusual. It makes me want to consult with you due to your expertise as a neurologist. That is, if you think you still have the ability to recall your training in that field."
At the mention of her education - a subject that was safe because it took her back to before, Alice's concentration perked up. Her mind suddenly sharp and without the confusing numbness that clouded her thoughts, she asked, "What would you like to know?"
"If I told you I had a patient who experienced bouts of probable amnesia that weren't particular to a specific past time period, to a specific event, or ongoing anterograde, what would you suspect was the likely cause?"