Robert was looking for the key and there was only one place left it could be. He didn't want to search the girl, but he knew she had it. It was his only chance of escape. She got up from the desk and walked up to him, looking at him with her intense gaze. When she stood in front of him, it was so quiet he could hear her breathing. "I can show you I don't have it," she said softly, her eyes wide and a vivid blue.
She started unbuttoning her shirt, making him feel uneasy. He didn't want to watch this, but she was looking at him so intensely he was paralyzed. When she opened her shirt and pulled it out of her skirt, he saw a trace of her nipples under her slip and realized with a shock, she wasn't wearing a bra.
She turned around, taking her hair out of its braid, shaking it out. It looked silky, cascading in dark brown waves halfway down her back. She turned to face him, unbuttoned her skirt, pushing it down. When she stepped out of it, her hair fell forward framing her pale face. She reached under her slip to reach for her hold ups and her slip fell forward, letting him see the top of her breasts. She did it again and he looked even though he knew he shouldn't.
When she was only wearing her slip she said softly, "I don't want to take this off." He knew it was because she was naked underneath. She was standing so close to him, her face pale and pretty, her hair rippling down in dark silky waves, her eyes a vivid blue. He grabbed her and pulled her to him, kissing her as she struggled to get away. Her hair was silky against his arms as he pulled her down to the floor and she started screaming.
The screaming woke Robert up. He felt like he was still in the dream. His body was feeling the effects of wanting her and he could hear her screaming. He suddenly sat up in bed. The girl was screaming. Something terrible was happening to her. He jumped out of bed and opened his door. Her bedroom door was half way open and he could clearly hear her. The screams were long and agonizing, with choking sobs at the end of them. It sounded horrible, like she was being tortured. He was unsure if he should go to her, but everything in him told him it was wrong to stand there doing nothing while she was in trouble.
He walked quickly to her bedroom, wondering who could possibly be hurting her. When he walked in, he saw her in her bed, tangled in her bedding and struggling as if she was fighting someone but there was no one there, she was having a terrible nightmare. Her screams were dreadful to hear up close, like something from a horror film. While he was trying to decide what he should do, she fell out of her bed and landed on the floor with a thud. After the loudness of her screams, the sudden silence was almost deafening. He knew he should leave, but he couldn't move. She started sobbing loudly, untangling herself from her bedding and sat up.
Just before he knew she was going to see him, he regretted not leaving, he didn't want her to know he'd seen her. When she noticed him, she froze, taking deep shuddering breaths. He stood perfectly still, certain she could see him as easily as he could see her in the dim light from the windows. Then she looked away and slowly got up sobbing again, picking up her bedding as she stood.
He slipped out of her room and walked back to his room. He looked at the clock on the bedside table as he climbed back in bed. It was after one in the morning. As he tried to fall asleep, he was conflicted by what he'd seen. He didn't want to feel sorry for her, but the nightmare sounded dreadful. Then he remembered what he'd dreamt, with horror. What the hell was that about? He didn't want to think about either her dream or his, and forced himself to think about the story he was reading so he could fall sleep.
When he woke up, it was late morning. He was hungry, but dreaded seeing the girl. How awkward was it going to be because he'd gone in her bedroom and seen her having a nightmare? And he was horrified remembering his dream. What if he saw her and was attracted to her? He made a decision before he went to get his breakfast, he would not allow her to get to him.
When he got to the kitchen, she looked like she'd just finished eating and was washing up at the sink. When she saw him, she looked away quickly, saying, "Hi," uncertainly. She was definitely feeling awkward about him coming to her bedroom.
He concentrated on ignoring her and tried to find something to eat. He saw some boxes of cereal on the shelf under the wooden counter and grabbed Cheerios. He pulled out a bowl and started to pour the cereal. Something was nagging at him as he was trying to pretend she wasn't standing practically right next to him. He realized it was the box of cereal, it looked different.
He peeked at her out of the corner of his eye. She was still busy at the sink. He turned slightly, using his back to block what he was doing so she wouldn't be able to see. It didn't take him long to see why the box of Cheerios looked different, it had come from the U.S. Why would they have cereal from the States here? But she was an American, he thought, they just brought it here for her.
He put the box away and went to the fridge for milk. He couldn't shake the feeling that something wasn't right. When he picked up the carton, he noticed right away it was a brand he wasn't familiar with. He positioned himself back at the counter so she couldn't see what he was doing and looked at the carton. He felt his stomach drop when he saw the milk came from the States as well.
What he was seeing was so unbelievable. They wouldn't fly milk from the States to the U.K. would they? That would be mad. He could feel the panic creeping up on him and it took everything he had to push it down and force himself to pour the milk. He put it back in the fridge, grabbed a spoon and took the bowl to his place at the table.
He was no longer hungry but he forced himself to start eating, not wanting to make the girl suspicious by throwing out a full bowl of cereal. While he ate, he tried to make sense of it. He had to consider the fact it might be a trick. They had to know he'd look at the food, trying to figure out where he was. But it was milk, it spoiled so easily, and it seemed insane to go to the expense to ship it just for a ruse.
Could they actually have brought him to the States? If it were true, he'd be on the west coast. It almost seemed impossible. Wouldn't it be difficult to transport an unconscious kidnap victim to another country, and then across an entire continent? It would have to take days to manage a move of that distance, he thought – and then he suddenly felt his blood run cold. He could feel the panic beginning to take hold, and the black crushing weight was coming for him.
"Robert?"
He was surprised to see her sitting across the table from him, holding her cup of coffee. He dropped his eyes to his cereal and forced himself to eat so she wouldn't get suspicious, not tasting a bit of it.
"I'm sorry about last night." He didn't say anything and focused on her so he could push down the feeling of panic.
"I was going to tell you it might happen." Right, he thought. She meant last night after dinner, when he walked out on her and went to his room.
She looked at him quickly to see if he would say anything, but when he kept eating she said, "It happens a lot so you'll probably be woken up again. I'm okay once I wake up, so you don't need to come check on me."
He immediately felt angry. She was insinuating he'd checked on her, as if he cared about her. He did check, but it was because he didn't know what the hell was happening. That wasn't bloody likely to happen again. He didn't give a fuck about her nightmares.
He suddenly realized what was happening. He was about to lose control and it was because of the panic. He had to get the hell out there before something happened. He jumped up to go to the sink, startling her. He washed and put away his dishes and left as quickly as he could.
He went to his room, closing the door and climbed into his bed. His body shook while terror and panic washed over him. It took a few minutes, but he was able to force himself to calm down enough so he could think. It didn't matter if he was in the States, he told himself. It didn't change a single thing. They were letting him go soon, and it didn't matter if he was on the coast of Scotland, or France, or anywhere else. He was going to be alright. He would survive this. This was just one more piece of the puzzle, one more clue where to find them. He made himself get up and pull out his paper and pen from underneath the mattress. He wrote, 'possibly west coast of U.S.'. Then he put it back and got dressed to run.
While he was on the treadmill, he looked out at the horizon where the grey rainy sky was nearly the same color as the grey ocean. He knew he wasn't in California. It was supposed to be sunny and warm there all the time. Or maybe not, he thought, thinking of San Francisco. That was supposed to be cold and foggy.
He could be in the state of Washington. He only knew about it because of Nirvana and Starbucks. He was certain they had pine forests in that area. And that was the pathetic extent of his knowledge of the west coast of the States. But it didn't matter, he told himself firmly, all the clues he'd gather would come together when he had access to the internet. He would find them.
He pushed himself hard on the treadmill, alternating between running and walking and then used the weights until he was exhausted. Before he left the ballroom, he looked at the piano. He ached to play, it had been such an awful morning, but he made himself leave.
When he was on his way to his room, he saw the girl in the library dusting books. He felt a seething anger towards her as he walked through the sitting room. He would make sure she paid for this, he thought.
She was singing softly to herself, not noticing he was there, and when he heard what she was singing, he froze. He recognized the song, it was one his band performed as part of their regular set. It was an old song, nearly thirty years old. The audiences weren't always familiar with it, but it was a good song and he'd always liked it. He was surprised she knew it and was immediately suspicious. It seemed almost too much of a coincidence that she would be singing a song his band played.
Then he shook his head and continued walking to his room. He was being paranoid, he told himself. That song had been covered by loads of other bands. That's why she knew it. And even if she was doing it on purpose, he wasn't about to let her see him get rattled by her games.
When he closed the bedroom door behind him, he was relieved she'd respected his wishes about not cleaning the room. The bed was still unmade, clothes on the floor, towels thrown over the tub to dry, and the curtains still mostly closed as he'd left them. He made sure the door that led to the library was locked, and went to take a bath.
When he was finished and dressed, he went to eat lunch. She was still in the library and saw him, but she turned away and kept cleaning, to his relief. While he was in the kitchen, he looked at all the food, keeping an eye out for the girl. Almost every bit of it was from the States. It wasn't as upsetting seeing the proof now as it had been in the morning. He was resigned to the truth.
While he ate his sandwich, he felt the unrelenting silence pressing down on him. For the first time, he wondered why on earth the girl would choose to live here. It wasn't like she had him for company, and it was just as quiet for her as it was for him. And it was horrible how there was hardly anything to do. Maybe that's why she was cleaning, he thought, as a way to deal with the boredom. When he was finished, he went back to his room to read. The book was a lot more enjoyable than he'd expected. And he was grateful for the escape.
That afternoon, he heard the girl playing the piano. He listened for a few minutes then opened the door a few inches so he could hear more clearly. She was playing from the open music book he'd seen the first day, the one he'd played the small part from. She played it well, but the piece was so simple she didn't need to be very good. As she continued to play more pieces, he noticed she favored the ones that were slower, as if the fast ones were too hard for her. She played them with feeling, making them seem almost sad. It felt good to be able to hear the piano, but it also felt worse. He wanted to be the one playing that piano. If he were, he'd play the loudest, angriest songs he could think of instead of the sad shit she was playing.
She played for about an hour while he listened at the door, his ear pressed to the opening. When he realized she'd finished, he quietly closed the door. She must have walked directly to his room from the piano, because she knocked almost right away. When he opened it, she happened to be looking up into his eyes. She seemed unnerved by the eye contact and quickly looked at the floor, hesitantly asking him if he wanted to help cook dinner. He considered saying no because he was still angry they'd taken him so far from home, but changed his mind. While they were cooking, he debated asking her if they were in the States. He didn't think she would tell him the truth but there was a slim possibility she might confirm it.
When he finally asked, and she said, "I don't know," without even bothering to look at him, he walked out of the kitchen and went to his bedroom, slamming the door as hard as he could. It was as if she didn't even care if she looked like a liar, he seethed. And it was unbelievable how she would continue to lie to him when the evidence was so obvious. He fumed as he paced in his room.
She knocked on his door a little later, and he glared at her when he answered. As soon as she saw his face, she looked at the floor, wringing her hands, nervously asking, "Do you want to eat? The food is ready."
He stood there a moment and then slammed the door in her face. He'd rather die than spend another minute with a fucking, manipulative liar, he thought furiously. Later that evening, he checked to see if she was in her bedroom before he went in the kitchen to eat cold leftovers.
He finished his book later that night and got ready for bed. He'd just drifted off when he was awakened by her screaming. He sat up and then looked at the clock. It was nearly the same time as the previous night's nightmare. He laid down and listened. Her screams were just as intense as the previous night, like she was being tortured. She'd said they happened often, but he was still shocked it was two nights in a row. He watched the minutes drag by waiting for it to end. It was four minutes before it was quiet.
The next day, Robert was still angry at her for lying to him, and he was glad he barely saw her at all. She spent nearly the entire day cleaning the floor of the ballroom and he was only able to work out when she stopped to eat lunch. He spent the rest of the day reading in his room. When she came to his room that evening and nervously asked if he wanted to cook, he slammed the door in her face again, and it gave him a lot of satisfaction. After she was in bed, he went to eat. He didn't intend to eat anything she'd cooked, but when he got out meat and cheese from the fridge to make a sandwich, he knew she hadn't cooked because there weren't any leftovers. He took his sandwich back to his room.
Later that night, he was sound asleep when he was awakened by her screaming. He was in such a deep sleep, he had several seconds of confusion before he realized it was another nightmare. He looked at the clock on the bedside table and was surprised it was nearly the same time as the previous two night's nightmares, as if the girl was on some sort of schedule. He laid in bed and waited for it to be quiet, wondering what had happened to her that caused her to have such terrible nightmares. Finally, it was silent again and he went back to sleep.
The next day, when he ate his breakfast alone while the girl was washing the glass in the French doors in the sitting room, he realized this was probably how he was going to spend his remaining time as a prisoner. He had a schedule now, a regular routine to his day, and it was a mind-numbingly boring existence. He was grateful they weren't physically torturing him but the combination of the unrelenting boredom, oppressive silence and agonizing loneliness was torture enough. It was starting to wear him down. He felt awful. A sadness was taking hold over him, and he couldn't seem to shake it.
By time he was finished eating and was ready to work out, the girl was cleaning the French doors in the ballroom. With the amount of glass she had to do, he knew he was screwed. It was going to take her hours and he was going to have to wait until she decided to eat lunch before he could go in there. He laid on the bed with his book, feeling desolate. He'd never been alone like this before and wondered if he was going to be able to survive or, at the very least, keep from going mental before they released him, if they released him.
Eventually, he was able to work out when she stopped to eat lunch and it helped his mood a little, but not enough. He went out on the balcony a few times, just to have a break from his room. It was bitterly cold, windy and drizzling, making it impossible for him to be outside more than five minutes at a time which didn't help. By the end of the day, he was thoroughly depressed.
When the girl knocked on his door, he went to answer it with a heavy heart. She mumbled when she asked him if he wanted to cook with her, probably waiting for the door to be slammed in her face again. He stood there for a minute, looking at the floor before he finally said, "Yeah," feeling defeated. He could tell she looked up at him but he turned away from her to take his book to the bedside table. He wasn't able to keep it from being obvious she'd beaten him, and he didn't want to see it in her face.
While they cooked and ate, Robert refused to speak to her or make eye contact. Being in her presence, and hearing her soft voice as she spoke to him made him feel a little better – and that made him feel worse. He didn't want to have to spend time with her, but the loneliness was too much for him to fight. As he sat across the table from the girl, eating his dinner in silence, he resigned himself to the fact that it wasn't going to get any better than this. This was his life now and he needed to accept it. Now his focus had to be on not going mental. He had to survive. If he had to be with the girl sometimes he'd do it, but he'd keep himself closed off from her. He wasn't going to let her get to him.
As the next days passed and Robert settled into his routine, he concentrated on coping. He fought the unrelenting boredom by working out so hard that he was too tired to want to do anything except read. He almost always ate alone, except for dinner. The girl hadn't been kidding when she said she only knew how to make simple food. He liked to think he ate healthy, but he felt like the two of them were on a restrictive diet. Just like his feelings of withdrawal from electronics, Robert felt like he was going through withdrawal from things like pasta, burgers and sweets. They ate nearly the same thing every night, usually chicken and vegetables that were baked or steamed, and only seasoned with salt and pepper.
It was no wonder to him the girl was so slender. He ate a lot more than she did, but he could tell he was losing weight between the diet and working out so much. The diet also seemed to be the reason why his skin suddenly looked so much better. What few spots he normally had were gone. It was easy to see the girl had good skin too, since she never wore makeup. If he was honest with himself, it was flawless.
She never stopped cleaning the flat. She was in one room or another working on it every day for hours at a time. With just the two of them there, it seemed hardly worth putting the effort into it since they could scarcely be making the place dirty. If she wasn't aware he was around, she often sang softly to herself while she worked. She played the piano nearly every day, and he always opened his door a little and listened. Around the same time every night, she woke him with her screaming. It was shocking that she had so many violent nightmares and he wondered what had happened to her that caused them.
Much to his dismay, Robert dreamt about her often. He hoped it was only because she was the only person he had any contact with anymore. Occasionally in his dreams, he was attracted to her and acted on it. Sometimes he dreamt she wanted him too. It embarrassed him to dream about her like that and he desperately wished the dreams would stop. He told himself those dreams meant nothing.
It was early November now and wherever they were, it was cloudy and cold every day with a nearly constant drizzle. The weather made the sky and water look the same color grey – unrelentingly grey. It complimented the unrelenting silence, boredom and bland diet.
Because there was so little to do, he found his thoughts turning frequently to the girl. The more he lived with her, the more he wondered what was going on in her life that made living there desirable for her. Her life didn't seem that much better than his, and he was barely making it through each day, managing not to slide into a deep depression. But she always seemed perfectly fine, like this was a normal way to live. She certainly didn't seem to be having any difficulty coping like he did. In fact, it was a little creepy to him how she seemed so comfortable living the way she was. It was clear to him there was something wrong with her.
******
I like this chapter a lot because my heart breaks for Robert as he struggles with depression and loneliness. And it ratchets up the tension between him and Georgie because he can't stay away from her. Georgie has developed a number of coping skills already and playing the piano and singing are two of them.
Click on the video to hear the song Georgie always plays first when she plays the piano. It comes up in a later chapter. The composer publishes a lot of his music for pianists. Not only is his music pretty, it's ridiculously simple to play, just like Robert says! Oh, and in case you were wondering, the song Georgie was singing in the library was Please, Please, Please Let Me Get What I Want by the Smiths. That comes up in a later chapter as well.