Chapter Eleven

Ella

 

I walked backwards, out the door towards the living room and elevator. It was like retracing my steps when I ran from the room, ran from Beckett. I was running again, but from the horrible sight of his bleeding body. I pressed the elevator button, my heart pounding even though I knew he wouldn’t be chasing me, not this time. When I extended my arm I noticed the blood, his blood, on my arm. The doors opened and I froze, looking inside. This was my way out. I was free. Only something held me back.

I watched as the doors slowly closed, and I turned. I walked back the way I came, back into the library and through the passage into the room beyond. Beckett was laying still on the ground, looking slightly pale but still incredibly powerful. I hesitated in the doorway, unsure why I was still here. I was free, he released me, only I didn’t want to leave. I couldn’t leave him like this. Yes, he imprisoned me, but he was still the man who saved my life.

He told me not to call for help, I would honor that, but I needed to stay and make sure he would be okay. I walked past him, through the room where he had kept me. The door was charred, ashes from the destroyed pillow collected in a pile on the floor where he had extinguished the flames before they went any further. The room still stank of smoke, I walked deeper into the bathroom where I pulled open the mirror and took out the first aid kit.

I walked back towards him, clutching the kit, then knelt at his side. He was breathing, his large chest rising and falling in an even rhythm. That was a good sign. I reached forward and unclipped the vest he was wearing, spreading it open. With a lot of effort, I lifted each arm through and pulled it from his body. He was heavier than he looked, and he was really out of it. My clumsy attempts to take it off didn’t wake him.

I looked down at his face. He looked so peaceful, his eyes closed, yet the slightly off color of his lips worried me. My hands shook as I took the edge of his shirt in my hands, the fabric felt strange and stiff, I didn’t know what it was made out of but clearly it had not been enough to protect him. I took a deep breath, trying to calm my nerves and prepare myself for whatever was underneath. I didn’t like seeing blood and wounds, and the amount of blood he had been losing this must be bad. I lifted his shirt, gasping when I saw the hole tore through his skin. It was dark with blood, but the bleeding had slowed to a minor trickle now and the wound seemed to have started to clot and close. Whatever he had taken must be working like he said it would, but still, there must be a risk of infection. Or maybe there was internal damage I couldn’t see, how would I know? I’m not a doctor.

In the first aid kit I found alcohol and cotton sheets. I wet the sheets and delicately cleaned his skin, wiping away the blood and dabbing at his wound. When his front and side were clear, I grunted as I lifted him and quickly wiped the other side near his back. Turning him over was impossible, so I took care of the areas I could reach. I applied bandages and secured them, hoping that I had done enough to help him. I didn’t want to leave him there on the ground, but there was no way I was going to be able to carry him to his bed.

I left, heading down the hallway into his room, and picked up a pillow then a blanket. I carried them with me back to Beckett and slipped the pillow under his head, my fingers in his silky jet-black hair as I lifted. As I covered him with the blanket I stopped for a moment to look at his naked chest where I had lifted his shirt. He was strong, his torso hard and tight with muscle. He should have been able to defend himself, and I wondered what had happened to catch him off guard. I wondered where he had been, and who he went after.

Leaving the room I looked down at my bloodied clothes, well, technically Beckett’s bloodied clothes that he left for me. Not knowing what else to do I wandered back out towards the long hallway, going through the bedroom and heading for the bathroom. I glanced around, closing the door, even though there was no one around. This wasn’t my space and I felt self-conscious here. Beckett’s en suite bathroom was massive, probably the size of my entire crummy apartment. An enormous sunken tub sat by a frosted glass window with steps leading up to it. I walked across the smooth polished marble floors, looking at the far wall where a painting of a woman in a lake was hung in a golden frame.

When I glanced into the tall mirror at my side, I was shocked by how much of a mess I was. Blood was on my cheek, my arm, my shirt. Fresh blood. Beckett’s blood, crimson against my pale skin. Shuddering, I turned on the taps and started to scrub at it. I glanced at the shower in the corner, then at the bathroom door. Slowly, I peeled the soiled clothes from my body and placed them on the floor.

The shower was massive, the entire ceiling covered in metal with small holes. When I turned the faucet, it was as if I was standing in the middle of a warm rainstorm. I closed my eyes and tilted my face upwards, letting the water rush over my skin and rinse away the past twenty four hours. The smoke and soot, the blood, the sweat and tears. It all flowed from my body, down the drain.

After I felt clean, I stepped out and found a towel. Glancing at the soiled clothes on the floor, I knew they weren’t an option again. Nervously I opened the door and peered around the corner. The bedroom was quiet and still, exactly as I had left it. I felt a bit like Goldilocks, intruding on the three bears home as I wandered over to Beckett’s massive walk in closet. When I opened the doors light came on automatically. There were rows upon rows of suits, trays of cufflinks and watches on display, a rack of silk ties and bowties along the back and neatly stacked shoes. I didn’t know very much about men’s fashion, but Beckett’s wardrobe looked like something out of a magazine.

I took a pale blue dress shirt off a hanger, hoping he wouldn’t mind, and slipped it onto my body. I went over to his dresser and took out a pair of black shorts and stepped into them, then did up the buttons of the shirt. After my shower, dressed in clean clothes, I felt a million times better. I should go downstairs, I should call for a taxi and get home. I should run from this place, run from the man I now knew spent his evenings dealing with criminals in violent and brutal ways. But he was also the man who saved my life. Beckett Carter was the Phantom. I now knew it to be true, but it still seemed so surreal. The logical part of me screamed to go, to get out of there. But curiosity always was my downfall, and Beckett was a puzzle that I couldn’t stop myself from running my fingers along the pieces, wondering how they fit together.

I went back into the hallway, how big was his place? It seemed to take up the entire top floor. I knew that through the massive library with its tall wooden shelves, leather chairs and countless books there was the secret room where he kept everything hidden related to his being the Phantom. What else did Beckett surround himself with?

I opened a door and stepped into a gym, filled with equipment. Along the back wall were floor to ceiling mirrors, along another wall the night sky created a soft glow from the neon lights in the distance, exercise equipment casting shadows. A large dark punching bag hung by a chain in the corner.

I closed the door and tried another. There was a bedroom, and another beside that. I wondered if Beckett ever had guests. The beds were smoothed, nothing disturbed. Why hadn’t he brought me here when I tried to run, why his room? Maybe the heavy wood of his four poster bed was an easier option to secure me to with a chain. My cheeks flushed as I remembered that moment; the chain. His hands holding me tight. The kiss, and the thinly veiled violence when he kissed me back before he changed his mind. Why did that get my pulse racing? What the hell was wrong with me?

Another room had a bar set up along a back wall, rows and rows of bottles. I went inside, flicking on the overhead lights. I passed a pool table, running my hand along its fuzzy green surface. Standing in front of the bar, I contemplated the lonely nights he must spend in here. No one knowing who he really was, the secrets he was keeping weighing him down. How did he manage to exist as both Beckett Carter and as the Phantom? How had he kept this secret for as long as he had?

Picking up a heavy crystal glass, before I knew what I was doing I picked up a bottle of vodka and poured in a generous amount. Jesus, I really was making myself at home wasn’t I? But I needed to calm down, I needed to process everything that had happened. He kidnapped me, I highly doubt he was going to care that I sampled some of his liquor.

Back into the hallway, I wandered past the kitchen and dining room into the main lounge. There was a piano in the far corner, did Beckett play? My glass in hand, I took a sip as I sat down on the bench. Reaching forward I softly touched the keys, pressing one white and then one black at random. A few notes hung in the air, the only sounds in an otherwise deathly quiet space. I looked towards the window, the skyline stretching out into the distance bright and flickering like a Christmas tree. What must it be like to have this view every day, to stare at it so often that it became mundane? All of his wealth, but Beckett couldn’t be content. Instead, he risked his life and injured his body.

My eyes travelled along the wall, past the cream colored couch to the fireplace where a painting stretched high above the mantle. I stood up and walked over until I was standing beneath it, looking up. It was a family portrait, painstakingly done by hand with oil paints. I recognized Beckett’s parents from the photos in the obituaries Beckett kept in his mother’s silver jewelry box beneath the bed where he kept me. The young boy looked like Beckett, dark hair and sparkling eyes, but happier with a smile on his lips. Not the quiet and brooding man I had come to know during my captivity.

My body felt heavy, and the vodka went straight to my head making me feel lightheaded. Tonight had been impossibly intense, too full of drama and adrenaline that I was now burnt out. I should go. I should leave this place. Beckett was safe now, and I was free. But something settled in my body, making my feet heavy and unwilling to walk towards the elevator.

I sat down on the soft couch, looking beyond to the room where I knew Beckett must still be lying and recovering. A few hours rest, that was all I needed. Then tomorrow, I would go back to my life. I lay down and pulled a thick grey throw down onto my body. My eyes continued to watch the door to the library, half expecting Beckett to walk out, but he didn’t. I closed my eyes and gave in to sleep.