Chapter Seven

Ella

 

I pressed my body against the door, my hand flat against the wood, while I listened to Beckett breathe on the other side. This situation was insane, but like it or not we were in it together. He saved me. He took me. He locked me away. Beckett took away my freedom, but I couldn’t help but feel grateful to him. He saved me from a brutal gang rape. The thought sent a shudder of revulsion through me and bile rose in my throat. To realize how close that came to being my first time with a man. I was already scared of intimacy after what happened to my sister, but this would have destroyed me forever.

I looked at the food Beckett left me, my stomach gave a weak growl. A hunger strike was not going to get me out of this situation, and I needed to keep my strength up. I picked up a protein bar, chocolate almond flavor, and peeled open the wrapper. As I ate it, I walked around the room. In my disoriented and confused state last night I hadn’t properly looked it over. This was my cage now, I may as well explore every corner.

The bathroom was dark grey with a white tile shower, a dark marble countertop and sink. There were no pictures, no personal touches other than the silver rack of thick white towels. I pressed the mirror lightly and it popped open, inside were mini packages of toothpaste and toothbrushes. Good to know my dental hygiene wouldn’t be neglected during my kidnapping. There were bottles of Asprin and Tylenol as well as a bottle marked Tramadol. Curious, I popped it open and shook the white pills inside wondering what they were for. If I had my phone or laptop I’d be able to look up what they were. Other items on the shelf included a first aid kit packed with gauze, tape, disinfectant and things that made me shudder like a needle and thread and superglue. Knowing that Beckett was the Phantom, I’m sure he got hurt often. I closed the mirror and left the bathroom, back into the bedroom.

Here too the walls were bare. No pictures or decorations to distract from the plain walls. No window to scream out for help. The only way out was the door that Beckett had locked when he left.

I opened the dresser drawers, other than the clothes Beckett had left for me they seemed to be empty. I pulled open the bottom drawer and ran my hand inside, empty except for a crumpled piece of paper. I pulled it out, smoothed it and read it. It said “Stardust Motel room 866 11pm” written in black pen. The other side was a receipt paid with a credit card. I stared at it, my mind racing. If this was one of Beckett’s credit card receipts he jotted that note on, which could be confirmed by the card number, that proves I was in his home. And if that address and time were by any chance connected to somewhere the Phantom was spotted, this would be my proof. I wouldn’t know for sure until I could look into it more, but it was something. And when you’re locked in a room with nothing, you take what you can get.

I finished my protein bar, it was chalky but bearable. Beckett was pretty muscular and in shape, I guess eating this type of stuff was how he did it. I folded the piece of paper and hid it in the corner under the mattress, I would figure a way to smuggle it out when I left. Not if, when, I reminded myself.

Beside the dresser there was a small shelf with a few books, candles and matches. Heaven forbid Beckett not have the right mood lighting in his room of solitude, I rolled my eyes. I picked up the books; Treasure Island, Dante’s Inferno, a biography about Al Capone and The Count of Monte Cristo. What I still didn’t understand was the fact that Beckett had an entire penthouse to himself. Why would he ever want to spend his time in this dark dungeon of a lifeless room? If I had his money and lived in a beautiful place like he did, having more rooms than I knew what to do with, I wouldn’t choose to hide in a space like this with only my books and candles to keep me company.

I knocked one of the books off and it fell to the floor with a thud that echoed in the empty room. I knelt down to pick it up, then something caught my eye. I lay flat against the floor and peered under the bed. There, within reach, was a small metal box. Stretching my arm out I pulled it towards me, then sat on the bed.

It was polished silver, worn in places and starting to show its age. I ran my fingers along the edges, in the centre were the letters V.C. in cursive carved into the box. It looked like a jewelry box of some sort that would belong to a woman. I slowly opened the top, inside were newspaper articles clipped and yellowing, clearly not recent.

The first was about the murder of Jacob and Vanessa Carter as they left a side entrance after a show. Their car should have been there but the alley had been blocked. It appears it all happened so fast, they were rushed by two men and shot. Their son, eight year old Beckett Carter, was spared. My hand flew to my mouth and tears threatened the edges of my eyes. Beckett has seen his parents killed. He had been there, as a child, and seen something so dark and evil no child should ever have to experience. It was another piece in the puzzle, no wonder why he did what he did. He couldn’t let go of the past. The police never made an arrest, the men who did this went unpunished.

There were obituaries for his parents as well. His father, Jacob, was a well-liked businessman who ran Carter Enterprises. He had an aviation license and enjoyed flying his own private plane. He was a generous philanthropist with a fondness for the arts and the variety of creative talent that flourished in a city like Las Vegas. He was remembered as a devoted husband and father to his only son. In the photo he looked distinguished but kind, strikingly similar to Beckett only older with silver threading into his dark hair.

Beckett’s mother, Vanessa, was stunning. She had smooth dark hair and intelligent eyes, as if she held onto secrets that she would share only with those closest to her. Some women with a great amount of wealth look flashy or gaudy, getting all sorts of work done until they look distorted. Vanessa was a natural beauty, the few age lines near her eyes evidence that she smiled and laughed often, not tempted to erase them at all. She had a degree in sociology and ran the Carter Foundation, the charity arm of the business they ran. Beckett must miss her very much to keep a memento of hers in this room of secrets.

The last piece of paper made no sense to me. It was an article about the old Grand Theatre that had been sold to Venetti construction. Apparently there had been a motion to classify the theatre as a landmark, giving it protected status to preserve it and protect it from development. Once the motion was dismissed, no reason was given, the theatre had been torn down to create a new casino. Marco Venetti was pictured at the ribbon cutting with the mayor. A red scribble had been drawn on the page, circling his face like a target. There must be a connection, I just didn’t see it yet.

I carefully placed everything back in the box and slid it under the bed where I had found it. I walked back to the door and pressed my ear against it, straining to hear something, anything. It was quiet on the other side. Beckett must still be out, and I had no idea when he would be back. I drank a bit of water, then took a book from the shelf and sat in bed. I lay flat on my stomach, sighing then turning to the first page. I had nothing better to do, I may as well lose myself in a classic. The Count of Monte Cristo had been on my list to read for a long time, I just never found the time. Now all I had was time.

I had shifted from my stomach to my back after who knows how long, I didn’t have the luxury of knowing the time in this room, when I heard footsteps. I set down my book and bolted up as the lock slid behind the door and the handle turned. Beckett was standing there with a tray. We stood for a moment, staring at each other. Captor and captive, face to face.

“I brought you dinner,” he said finally. “I thought we could eat together, and talk.”

I glanced from the silver tray to Beckett, then back at the tray. Whatever it was smelled delicious, and I was starving. But I was still pissed off at him.

“Do I really have a choice?” I crossed my arms.

“You do,” he shrugged. “I’ll leave your dinner and give you privacy.”

He set down the tray and started to walk away, I stepped forward and grabbed his arm.

“No, wait. Please. Stay. I’m going out of my mind alone here all day.”

Beckett looked down at my hand on his arm, then into my eyes. Something about the way he was watching me made me self-conscious and I pulled my hand back. I took a seat on the bed while Beckett closed the door behind me. He took the tray, set it on the bed and sat on the other side. I considered running for the door but I learned my lesson last time, he was too fast and too strong for me. At least this way he might start to trust me. Maybe I could convince him to let me go.

I picked up a fork and looked at my plate. There was a sliced steak, potatoes and roast vegetables. It was better than a turkey sandwich or protein bar, by far.

“I haven’t had someone cut my meat for me since I was a child,” I mumbled as I stabbed a bite of steak and placed it in my mouth. I was a bit surprised at how flavorful and juicy it was. It turns out my kidnapper, the vigilante, was a good cook.

“I didn’t think giving you a knife was a good idea, no offense,” Beckett told me with a smile as he ate a piece of steak himself.

“Before you accuse me of being violent, should I remind you that you’re the one who pressed a taser into my neck?”

He sighed. “I know, I’m sorry. I wish there had been another way. Are you still hurt?”

I shrugged. “It doesn’t feel great, I’ll live.”

“Let me see.” Beckett stood and walked over towards me. He held his hand towards me and I stiffened, but he didn’t touch me. “May I?” he waited for me to give him a sign it was okay. I nodded and pulled back my hair, tilting my head.

Beckett reached forward and gently touched my throat. I winced slightly, but it wasn’t too sore anymore. As he touched and examined my reddened skin I was aware of my pulse starting to race faster. I glanced to my side as Beckett watched me. Our eyes connected for a moment and he cleared his throat, nodding.

“It’s not too bad, there’s minimal swelling. But if you want an ice pack I can get you one.”

“I’m okay,” I mumbled as I turned my attention back to my plate. “So, how long are you planning on keeping me here?”

“A few weeks at most, just long enough for me to finish what I started.”

My eyes went wide and I almost choked on a piece of broccoli.

“A few weeks?!”

Beckett sighed. “I appreciate that this is an inconvenience. Listen, this isn’t an ideal situation for me either.”

I laughed. “Yeah, I’m sure keeping a woman locked up is real hard on you. You know, people are going to start looking for me. I have a job, people who will miss me.”

Beckett avoided eye contact with me and ate his meal. “I took care of that,” he said finally. I squinted my eyes and watched him closely.

“What do you mean you took care of that?”

“I used your phone to contact your boss and tell him you needed two weeks off. The only other people you seem to have regular contact with are named Seth and Reya, so I told them the same thing and that you would be out of contact for a bit.”

My eyes went wide and my jaw hung open. He went into my phone. He invaded my privacy, and contacted the people in my life.

“You what?!” I jumped to my feet. “This is insane Beckett, you’ve gone too far. This ends now.” I walked to the door and he stood up and pushed it back closed as soon as I opened it an inch. He leaned his body forward, trapping me against the door and making me gasp. He was so close I could see the faint stubble on his jaw, smell the woodsy scent of his cologne. I balled my fists at my sides. My pulse was racing. I had never been this angry in my life.

“You had no right to do that.”

“You had no right to be at the warehouse,” he countered, staring down at me. “Who is Seth anyhow, is he your boyfriend?”

I lifted my chin defiantly. “He is,” I lied. “And when he finds out what you did to me, he’s going to go after you.”

Beckett stood there, watching me as my heart hammered in my chest. Finally he picked me up, I gasped as he carried me to the bed and set me down softly. I fisted the sheets in my hands as he leaned close, his lips inches from my face, his eyes searching my own.

“I wouldn’t blame him,” Beckett said finally. “Stubborn. Beautiful. Brave. You seem like a woman worth fighting for.”

He turned around and walked out of the room before I could react, leaving me reeling from the reality of my situation. The few people in this world who might notice I was missing were under the impression I was gone for a few weeks. Beckett could keep me here as long as he wanted, and even if anyone noticed I was gone who would look for me here? He had the upper hand, and we both knew it.