Blood Always Tells by Hilary Davidson (always you kirsty moseley .TXT) 📗

his skin. She was quiet for a minute, until the man led her inside a bedroom that was lit by a bulb hanging crookedly from a wire on the high ceiling. The room was small and square and had no furniture at all. There were nails embedded in the walls, as if the room had once held dozens of picture frames. But they were empty now, and the paint on the plaster had faded to a watery, pale blue. In some places, the color had been replaced by long streaks of rusty water damage, as if the paint had been bled away.

What caught Dominique’s attention was that the room had a window. Not a boarded-over window, like the ones at the front of the house. This one was smaller than the kitchen’s, made of many small panes of glass with thick black iron lines holding the rectangles together. It wouldn’t be an easy window to open or to break, but Dominique was determined to try.

“Where’s Gary?”

“He’s got his own private quarters.”

“In the cellar?”

“You never give up,” he said. So, Gary really was in the cellar. That was a good thing to know. “You get the room with a view,” he added, leading her over to the window. “Kind of nice, actually.”

“The trees creep me out. Imagine being surrounded by that all day long.”

“Some people would like that.”

“It’s like they have eyes,” Dominique said. “They’re watching, all the time.”

The man gave her a strange look, then turned his head away with a shake of his shaggy blond mane. “It’s way better than being in the city. I hate it there. I can’t wait to get away from it.”

“It’s freezing in here,” Dominique said.

“We’re going to get the furnace working. In the meantime, use the blanket.”

“What blanket?”

The man pointed to a corner of the room. The nubby fabric was the same drab brown as the floorboards.

“It looks grungy.”

“It’s new. I bought it at Target.” He sounded exasperated. He really wasn’t a very good kidnapper. Dominique didn’t believe he had a clue what he was doing. Maybe it wasn’t his plan, and his brother roped him in. How long did they think they’d be able to keep Gary and her at this house? The beginnings of a plan started to form at the back of Dominique’s brain.

“I need to use the bathroom.”

He sighed. “Fine. It’s off the hallway. Come on.”

He led her to a white-tiled cell with a cracked claw-foot tub. She was disappointed to see that its lone, tiny window was boarded up.

“The toilet and sink work,” he said. “Leave the door open.”

“I am not leaving it open, you pervert!”

“How about I lock you in your room and leave you there for a few days? How would you like that?”

She was silent. She’d been pushing him, needling him, to see how far she could go. It wasn’t very far.

“You can close the door most of the way,” he offered. “But you have to keep talking. It’s not like you ever shut up anyway.”

“Fine,” Dominique muttered. She would’ve fought more, but she really did need to use the bathroom. “Can you unchain me?”

“No. It’s not like I bound your wrists with duct tape. You’ve got a three-inch chain between the cuffs. I chose them for comfort, you know. They’re padded so you don’t hurt your wrists. Gary’s are, too. I’m—we’re—thoughtful like that.”

She thought it was interesting, how he shifted from sounding as if he were in charge to making it appear as if decisions were made by committee. There was no way this creep was the alpha. She went into the bathroom and pushed the door closed, as far as he would let her.

“Keep talking,” he warned.

She looked around the bathroom, but there was nothing but a bright pink cotton towel and a fresh bar of soap. The medicine cabinet had been torn off the wall. There was nothing to use as a weapon.

“My hands are tied. It’s not like I can do much.” Otherwise I’d stuff the soap down your throat, she thought. Taking a deep breath, she noticed that the bathroom, unlike the rest of the house, had a pleasing scent, almost as if it contained a bouquet of red roses in bloom.

“Complain all you like, just keep up the chatter.”

“What do you want me to talk about?”

“You can recite the alphabet, for all I care.”

“How come you’re doing this?” she asked.

“Did I tell you that you could ask me questions?”

“You said I could complain or recite the alphabet,” Dominique pointed out. “I figured questions were okay.” She looked around, trying to figure out where the fragrance was coming from. Maybe the towel had been washed in some special detergent? It was odd.

“I don’t mind questions. Just don’t expect answers.”

“So, why are you doing this?”

“Why don’t you ask Gary?”

“I would if you’d let me see him,” Dominique said. “Can that be arranged?”

“Not right now.” There was an audible sigh.

“Is this just about money?”

“Obviously.” His tone was derisive. “What about you? How come you’re here?”

“Um, I’m here because you dragged me here.” She stretched out each syllable, unsubtly pointing out how stupid the question was. “Did you forget that already?”

“No, I mean, how come you’re with Gary?”

“What, you think you’re Oprah now?”

She flushed the toilet and it made a giant whooshing noise.

A moment later, the man said, “Gary’s a loser, you know.”

“How do you figure that?”

“He was never much of a boxer. He failed in everything he tried afterward. Then he married a rich woman and had affairs. He’s just a piece of garbage.”

“You sound like you’ve got a personal dislike of him,” Dominique observed. When she picked up the soap by the sink, a shock of electricity coursed through her. It was by Jo Malone, an expensive brand she loved, and even though the packaging had been discarded, it was clearly Red Roses, Dominique’s favorite. That was the source of the fragrance in the room.

The discovery unnerved her. What a bizarre thing for the kidnappers to do. It was almost as