Ripples

  Bathing was next on the schedule after Dexter-time and then dinner.

  After dinner, there were minutes or hours before the lights went out. That time was spent either alone or in Dexter's presence. That was up to him, his schedule, and his responsibilities.

  Natalie didn't know what he did when he wasn't with her. She knew nothing about anything beyond the door. All that could be seen from her designated place, the place where she was to stand when he entered or exited—assuming she wasn't bound or being punished—was a gray hallway, the opposite wall made of concrete blocks.

  Wherever Dexter went or whatever he did, he was clean and smelled of fresh air and dominating spicy musk whenever he entered her room. Wherever he spent his time away from her, it wasn't in a dingy cement room. Despite the things he did to her, she found herself missing him when he was gone. Maybe his threat had been right, the one in the airport in Munich about her sanity. Maybe she was insane. Who would actually want this man's presence?

  Yet loneliness was a nasty enemy. It gnawed at her thoughts like a starved rodent. While with Dexter, her mind was filled with him. His actions dominated her body and her thoughts. The anticipation of his next move kept her on alert. Rarely could she calculate his plans, yet there were signs she’d learned to read that gave her a welcome sense of predictability.

  If Natalie had crawled to her meal, she could be assured that he would test her tolerance during his Dexter-time. While that expectedness would have been unimaginable before her life with him, in some ways she now found it comforting. It was when they sat and conversed like a normal couple consuming a shared meal that she found herself anxious and distressed. Though she knew better than to show it outwardly, inwardly she was on hyperalert.

  The gallant even humorous man could almost make her forget that she was his prisoner. His aqua eyes could sparkle as he listened to her speak. His laugh filled her cell with the carefree joviality it usually lacked. During those times, even the lighting seemed brighter. Yet it could all change in the blink of an eye. It was the glimpses into the kind man who Dexter was capable of being that made his brutal reality more frightening.

  As much as his different personalities stressed her nerves, when he was gone and she was alone, Natalie was worse. Yes, her skin didn’t bruise. She didn’t cry out with pain. She didn’t break down with humiliation. However, when she was alone, she had time to think. She had time to reflect, to question, and to regret.

  Her arousal at his arrival was more than sexual; it was genuine happiness to be freed from the prison of her lonely cell. It was relief that only Dexter could provide.

  The only true measure of time came with Natalie’s period. She'd always been regular: every four weeks like clockwork. Telling him wasn't necessary: she'd awakened with the realization.

  Of all the humiliations she'd endured at his hands, this wasn't one. While she anticipated perhaps his anger over the soiled sheets and even demoralizing words, she hadn't expected what she instead received: his understanding. Feminine hygiene products appeared and her schedule lightened. Natalie wanted to tell him that she wasn't ill. It wasn't like needing a pass to be excused from gym class. Yet the reprieve was welcome.

  His only demand was that she inform him when it was complete.

  Like the fleeting peeks into his softer self, the amnesty was only temporary.

  Her period had ended over a week ago, and now lunch was done. Since her return to their regular schedule, Dexter-time had taken on new vigor, as if during the reprieve he'd conjured new ways to let her earn the kindness he'd already paid to her.

  It didn’t make sense to want him with her. Natalie knew what Dexter would do—maybe not exactly, but she knew he would abuse her body and test her limits. She could anticipate expressing anything from whimpers to incoherent screams as she worked to endure the pain. She also knew that once he was satisfied, he’d make it better.

  He’d explained that it was his responsibility to take care of her. That was why he fed her and met her needs. She was his—his queen. He would take what he wanted because he was the king, but at the same time, he’d always give her what she needed.

  Chapter 16

  Our prime purpose in life is to help others. And if you can’t help them,

  at least don’t hurt them. ~ Dalai Lama

  Taylor Roach watched the young woman from afar. Though the woman across the cafe resembled Natalie Rawlings, that was the extent of it. She wasn’t her twin. She was at least two inches shorter and she always wore her hair in the same ponytail. She was attractive, but didn’t have the beauty of Tony and Claire’s daughter. All three of their children were beautiful or handsome, but there was innocence about Natalie, a naiveté that radiated from her like an aura.

  If Taylor were to be reflective, Natalie had possessed that quality all of her life. And then there was her flair.

  Taylor recalled Nat’s creativity and style. Her hair and clothes were always changing, reflecting her mercurial personality. Some days she even changed them five or six times. Taylor and Phil would joke that she wasn’t even aware that she did it, but they saw it as her unspoken barometer. Taylor couldn’t recall Nat ever wearing the same hairstyle for weeks on end or the same style of jeans and sweaters as this woman did.

  The woman lifted her gaze toward Taylor and nodded as she slipped the small recently purchased cell phone into the rubbish container.

  Taylor waited until the woman exited the cafe before following her onto the street.

  With the late winter breeze whipping their hair in knots, Taylor met her eye-to-eye and asked, “Do you have your instructions for the next text?”

  “No,” Diane said. “But I’ve been giving this a lot of thought, and I think I need to stop. I’ll tell him and you that I quit.”

  Taylor smiled as Phil came up beside her.

  “And lose your double pay?” Phil’s hazel eyes squinted. “I’d give that more thought if I were you. I mean, you still have the debt that got you into this in the first place. And your sister isn’t getting any better.”

  Diane shook her head. “But Mr. Sawyer made it clear that I couldn’t tell anyone about this. He said if I did...you don’t understand. He’s—”

  “Intimidating,” Taylor said, interrupting the speech she’d heard too many times. “As we mentioned, our employer is also intimidating.”

  Phil grinned. “Yes, my money is on ours. And once we find yours, he won’t stand a chance. And you can stop with the ‘Mr. Sawyer.’ We know that’s an alias.”

  Diane shook her head. “Listen, I don’t know anything. It’s the only name he’s given me. I just answered an ad.”

  “We’ve heard it all before,” Phil said. “Don’t worry about it. Keep making the text messages he tells you to make. At this point, the people to whom you’re sending them know that it’s not their daughter texting. They also know we’re zeroing in on her location.”

  “I didn’t have anything to do with her disappearance.”

  Taylor tilted her head. “Diane, that isn’t true. You didn’t take her, but you pretended to be her. You lied to the German border patrol. You’re not innocent.”

  “But I never even saw her. I was farther back in the plane. He told me what clothes to wear, and the flight attendant brought me her bag with the identification. I saw her picture on the driver’s license, that’s all. Mr. Sawyer—or whomever he is—didn’t even want me to see him. I couldn’t tell you what he looks like.”

  “Well, here’s the deal,” Phil said. “Either you keep working both sides of this charade—”

  “Think of it as if you’re a double agent,” Taylor offered with a smile.

  “Or we turn you over to the authorities for aiding and abetting in the kidnapping of Natalie Rawlings,” Phil continued. “Then, not only will you be busy explaining how you had nothing to do with her disappearance, but your employer will learn that you failed in your assignment. He will learn that you’ve been receiving additional money. Your sister won’t hav
e your help while you’re being held...” He scrunched his nose as he looked at his wife. “Hmm. What do you think? What should Diane do?”

  Taylor shrugged. “I suppose it depends on how intimidating this man really is.”

  Diane’s phone rang.

  Phil and Taylor pulled out their phones, the ones with the ability to trace a call on a phone that is close enough in proximity to be connected. Phil handed Diane the same cord he’d given her at least a half dozen times. The routine was simple now that they’d figured out Diane’s employer’s pattern.

  He gave instructions, with specifics on what was to be texted and when. The messages were being sent from every two to every five days. After the instructions, she would be told where to buy a phone. It wasn’t to be bought until the morning of the text. Then after the text was sent, the phone was to be disposed of. Roughly ten minutes later, he’d call.

  What Phil and Taylor wanted Diane to do was to keep this man on the line long enough to trace his location. The data they received would be stored within their phones, and then once they were connected to the laptops in their hotel suite, the search would commence.

  As it was, they had him traced to Austria, south of Salzburg. Unfortunately, the elevations and terrain didn’t aid in their search. Cell towers weren’t nicely spaced as they would be in New York or Los Angeles. Instead, his call came from a satellite phone, its signal pinging off of reflectors currently in a heavenly orbit.

  That was why they hadn’t been able to track him more precisely. Each call, each additional minute Diane kept him talking, helped their cause.

  “...I understand. How will I...?” she spoke with her head down, keeping the wind away from the transmitter. “Milan? As in Italy? No, I don’t know another...”

  Phil shook his head at his wife.

  Taylor agreed. They’d been on this wild-goose chase for too long as it was. ‘Mr. Sawyer’ had it appear as though Natalie was traveling all over the European continent. According to the text messages and emails—which began to arrive a few days after her disappearance—she was.

  At first the Roaches and Rawlings wanted to believe that the emails were actually from Natalie. Her credit cards showed activity in the areas where she claimed to be visiting. It wasn’t until they located Diane that they learned that she had the credit cards in her possession.

  Though Diane didn’t know anything about the emails, they always originated from her location. It wasn’t a difficult trick. With a VPN (Virtual Private Network) set up in each location, the origination of the email could easily be disguised. Mr. Rawlings had done the same thing years ago, making Claire’s emails appear to have originated from Atlanta when in fact he had her laptop in Iowa.

  Nevertheless, it made logical sense to assume that Natalie was wherever the calls from ‘Mr. Sawyer’ were originating. It was also the content of Natalie’s responses to very specific questions that gave them all hope. She was the only one who would know the particular information she replied. It was too random to be common knowledge.

  Taylor and Phil had a decent description of the man orchestrating this charade. They’d seen him on the grainy photos from the airport in Munich. He was tall, blonde, and according to his passport, twenty-six years of age. It took much longer than they wanted, but eventually it was discovered that they entered Munich as Jonas D. and Nellie Smithers.

  They were currently gathering as much information as they could on Jonas D. Smithers. However, since Natalie’s name wasn’t Nellie, there was the possibility that Jonas wasn’t his.

  “...yes, sir. I promise. My sister...” Diane’s voice cracked. “The doctors say if she gets the needed treatment... Yes... Thank you.” She nodded. “Goodbye.”

  Diane looked up at the Roaches. “He always does that. Just like you do.”

  “What?” Taylor asked, though she suspected that she knew.

  “Asks about Jenny.” Tears filled her eyes. “That’s why I agreed to this—she is why.”

  Taylor nodded supportively. “We know. That’s why we’re letting you help us. It will help her.”

  “But I can’t...I can’t keep traveling all over. She’s home in Minnesota.” Immediately her eyes opened. “Shit. I shouldn’t have said—”

  “Diane, we know your sister is at Mayo. Knowing things and learning things is what we do. Our employer is ensuring that her bills are paid—for now. He’s making sure she is safe. Now you have to help us do the same for Natalie.”

  Diane sniffled her tears as she unplugged her phone from theirs. “I hope this helps you. I have to go to Italy.”

  “We do,” Taylor said.

  When Diane looked up, she smiled. “I guess this is better than traveling alone. I know that technically I’m alone.”

  “You help us,” Phil said, “and we’ll help you.”

  She nodded and handed Phil the piece of paper she’d jotted notes on while speaking to Mr. Sawyer.

  He took a photo of the notes.

  “Five days this time,” he said with more than a hint of audible disappointment.

  Taylor shook her head. “Are you making that call, or am I?”

  “I guess it will be me.”

  Taylor was relieved. She knew Phil felt the same way, but it was hard to continually give the Rawlings incomplete reports. This man—Mr. Sawyer or Smithers—was good. Whatever he was doing, it was clear that this wasn’t random. He’d had it planned, all the way to his remote location.

  Phil handed Diane the third phone she’d held in less than an hour. “Get rid of the last one. Just like always, our numbers are in there. Don’t call anyone else on this phone. If anything changes, happens, or you need help, call us. And when you get your reservations, text all the information. We’ll arrive in Italy at the same time.”

  She looked up at them. “Will you please tell her parents that I’m sorry? I didn’t know. I wish I would have done this all differently.”

  “Yes,” Taylor said. Sensing that Diane needed a friend, she reached out her hand. “You’re helping now. Just don’t stop.”

  “Okay.”

  Chapter 17

  Once you consent to some concession, you can never cancel it

  and put things back the way they are. ~ Howard Hughes

  Each day during Dexter-time, Natalie fidgeted more, craving the violation she'd previously feared. That feeling occurred at other times of the day and night, but as his strong hands moved over her exposed skin, the need grew until her desire consumed her thoughts.

  One afternoon, with Natalie bent over the foot of her bed, the metal frame bruising her hip bones, and her face upon the mattress, Dexter ran his hand over her behind. His large palm warmed her skin as his touch roamed and teased the edges of her desire. He came so close, yet didn’t breach her core. The thoughts of what could be if he did breach it surpassed her concerns regarding whatever he had planned and why she was in this position.

  It was his touch and attention that she longed for, craved, and also feared. The combination created was a concoction continually swirling through her subconscious, its poison even infiltrating her consciousness. Whether it was right or wrong, she wanted more.

  Nat adjusted her footing and spread her legs, gaining stability while wordlessly granting Dexter access. If she didn’t have to admit her need—if he took instead of asked—she could enjoy it without guilt.

  Her ass, legs, breasts...he never hesitated to pinch or nip, to caress or kiss. Natalie belonged to him. She was his to do with however he desired. While her mind filled with thoughts of what his fingers could do, the air split open with the whistle of a crop. She hadn’t seen him bring the implement into the room. If she had, she wouldn’t have been daydreaming about his touch.

  The sound occurred only a split-second before the sting of the contact. There wasn’t time for her to prepare. Shocked, Nat screamed out at the unexpected assault as she fought against the restraints. Whatever part of her body she could move, she did. Her legs stiffened and fists balled. Yet it gave
her no relief. She was bound in place. Her sobs bubbled to the surface as the sensation continued its reign of terror on her skin and beyond.

  “No, bug, internalize. Just listen to my voice.”

  She did, allowing the deep timbre to dominate her thoughts while he dominated her body.

  His hand again roamed her skin. “It’s beautiful the way the leather marks you. It makes me happy. Do you want me to stop?”

  “No,” she replied without overthinking. If she thought about it, she’d want him to stop. The pain the crop brought on was sharp and unrelenting. It didn’t end after the leather blade assaulted her skin. Instead, it spiderwebbed like broken glass throughout her nervous system.

  Again, he teased the edge of her core. “Don’t lie to me. You know how I feel about telling the truth in everything. I’m being truthful with you. Your ass is spectacular with angry red welts. Give me the same respect.”

  Her legs shifted at his touch as he teased the raised skin. Fighting to speak through the tears, her words stuttered. “I-I’m not lying, Dexter. You didn’t ask if it h-hurt. It does.” She sniffled against the blanket. “You asked if I wanted you to stop. I don’t. I want you to mark me.”

  “Why?”

  The sensation had dulled as her legs relaxed. “Because it makes you happy.”

  “And you’ll willingly do this for me?”

  “Yes.” More tears came with the truthful answer.

  “Ask for it, bug.”

  He often made her beg for things. It was humiliating and yet, stimulating. Her insides pinched as she formed the words. “Please, Dexter, mark me again.”

  “How many?”

  It was an awful question. Nat could say it was up to him—defer it to him—but she didn’t know if she could take the number he might decide. Too few and he’d be disappointed. Too many and she may not survive. He’d never broken her skin, only marred it. She didn’t know how far he’d go. “Five.”