… solipsubmissive …

This is a continuation; you might wish to follow this link to the beginning:  Part 1  

“All right.  Thank you.”  Stephen held the receiver in his hand a moment, then slowly hung up.  Security footage covering the outside of the house showed no evidence of Elizabeth leaving.  Every room had been completely searched, with the exception of the media room.  He stared through the open door to the closet at the other end of the room and shook his head.

It was the only place she could be.

He knew she remembered.  It was what he had feared all these years, what he’d dreaded, the reason he’d surrounded her with layers of insulation from the world.  Each time he’d received a report of the night terrors, he’d waited for the tightly woven web of lies to unravel.  The last incident had lasted long enough and been so vivid that he’d decided it was time to bring her in.  Even with his people surrounding her, it was too risky to leave her on the outside and possibly give Elizabeth the opportunity to slip away.  Too dangerous.

Grim, he went into his bathroom and lifted his robe from the hook on the back of the door, then walked through the media room and opened the closet door.  Light spilled inside in a widening arc until it fell on Elizabeth, huddled in the corner with her knees draw up to her chest.  Her eyes met his, angry and defiant.  “There’s nowhere to go.  You might as well come out.”

She didn’t move.  “Why did you kill them?”

Stephen let that go.  “You weren’t supposed to be there,” he said, instead.  “Here.”  He held out the robe.  “Put this on.”

Oddly, the gesture wiped away Elizabeth’s fear and anger.  She looked away, unwilling to let him see the naked vulnerability in her eyes.  The robe was large, looked soft and warm, and she suddenly ached to slide her arms into the sleeves, to wrap herself in the pristine, white chenille.  Her earlier terror had distracted her, kept her from noting that the temperature was lower outside the room in which she’d been imprisoned.  Now, suddenly aware, she began trembling all over.  She clenched her teeth together and ignored him.

“Elizabeth, be reasonable.  You’re cold.  Come on out.”

That word brought back the anger.  “Reasonable?”  Her voice dripped with derision.  “You’re a monster.  You’re going to have to kill me, too, you know.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Elizabeth.”  He closed the distance between them, bent and grasped her upper arm, hauled her to her feet.

“Let go of me!”  She twisted around in an effort to pull her arm from his grasp. 

Stephen sighed and dropped the robe.  He grabbed her other arm and pushed her back against the wall, then leaned in close.  “Stop it.  You have neither the strength nor the ability to best me in here, especially when you’re naked and slipping into shock.”

She looked down at his hand, closed tightly around her upper arm.  “The blood,” she whispered.  “You washed it off.”  She looked up, her eyes dull.  “Where are they?”

Stephen felt his heart wrench.  He ignored her question, asked one of his own, instead.  “How old are you, Elizabeth?”

“Twenty-three.”  She answered automatically as blessed numbness began to take over.  Stephen loosened his grip a little, watched her carefully, then bent and picked up the robe.  Like a child, she allowed him to slip her arms into the sleeves and close it around her.  Her brow furrowed.  “I’m tired,” she said.

“Then you should rest,” he answered.  When she made no move to walk out of the closet, he took her hand and led her.  She followed obediently, then stopped in confusion when she saw the bank of monitors in the room beyond the closet.  Without another word, Stephen scooped her up into his arms, carried her into his bedroom, and settled her on his bed.  She curled up, closed her eyes and turned away from him.

Stephen flipped open his cell phone and pressed a button.  “My room,” he said quietly, then walked to the door and opened it slightly.  He returned to the bed and stood, arms crossed, looking down at Elizabeth’s back.  Moments passed.

“Stephen?”

He looked over his shoulder and motioned for Matthew to come in.  “She remembered,” he said.

“Everything?”

“I think so.”  He paused.  “She thinks she’s twenty-three.  To her, it has just happened.”

Matthew frowned.  “I can sedate her, but as long as she’s quiet, I’d rather not.”  He raised a brow at Stephen.  “So she knows who you are?”

Stephen shook his head.  “I don’t think she remembers my name.  All she knows is that I’m the man who killed her grandparents.”

Unseen by the two men conversing behind her, Elizabeth’s eyes opened slowly.  She bit her lip and adjusted her grip on the object in her hand.  The closet in the media room had contained some odd objects.  Whips, she’d seen before she’d closed herself inside and plunged the room into darkness.  Paddles, hanging on the wall.  Neatly coiled hanks of rope.  But it wasn’t until Stephen had found her that she saw the scissors on the shelf near the door.  Long, sharp scissors, obviously used for cutting the rope.

She smiled to herself.  Slipping into shock, indeed.  The second he’d said that, a plan began to take shape.  And, as she followed him from the closet, she quietly picked up the scissors from the shelf and allowed the long sleeves of Stephen’s robe to cover her hand.

For now, she would wait.

Part 14