A Bedtime Story (5 page)

L
aura lay awake for a long time in her bed,
tossing and turning, his face imprinted on her mind. She had the weirdest nightmare.
She was running desperately in a labyrinth made of stone, and the Secret
Service-looking men were hunting her down. She was carrying a torch, running
randomly down unknown paths until she turned into a dead end. He was already there,
as if expecting her, dressed in black and looking strikingly devilish. He smiled
seductively at her and crooked his finger, beckoning her to come to him. She wanted
to turn back; she stumbled backward before noticing the security men had caught on
and blocked the way behind her. Her eyes rounded, realizing too late she was already
walking to meet him, slowly but surely, as if hypnotized. He pulled an arm out to
her and brought her to him, enveloping her with his whole body. She leaned into him,
into the warmth of his embrace, a sense of safety washing over her.

Everything vanished around them, and it made her giggle. They were
the only two people left in the world. The idea was strangely comforting. She looked
up and smiled at him. He smiled back, lowered his face to hers, and huskily
whispered in her ear, “Everything is going to be all right.” Her voice throaty, she
obediently replied, “Yes, Master.”

She closed her eyes as he pulled her even closer, holding her so
tightly in his arms she couldn’t move. He started kissing down her neck, his hands
caressing her arms, then lightly trailing down her back. She wanted to tell him
something, tried to open her eyes but couldn’t. She couldn’t move a muscle, could
only feel his hands all over her body, everywhere at the same time, as if he had a
thousand of them, just like the mythical Greek giants. Panic took hold of her, and
yet every sensation was heightened, every
caress echoed throughout
her body, and she didn’t know if she wanted it to end.

She woke up panting, sweaty, and distraught. And much to her
dismay, wet, in places she shouldn’t be. She tried not to analyze what it meant,
just blocked it out completely. She couldn’t catch any shut-eye for the rest of the
night, staring out the window until the sun crept up.

When Olga came in to serve her breakfast, she seemed pleasantly
surprised to see her sitting up in bed. “Good morning, Miss Spencer, you’re up early
this morning. I hope you feel better. You gave us quite a scare last night.”

She wondered why Olga would bring her breakfast if she thought she
was asleep. Laura thought back to the previous night, to why she was up so early and
blushed. She questioned Olga’s choice of the word “us”. Was she expected to believe
he
worried for her well-being?

“Well, if you’re up to it, I can come back after you’ve finished
your breakfast and give you the tour of the house?”

“Yes, thank you, Olga,” Laura answered, attempting a feeble
smile.

Olga smiled back at her, visibly pleased.

She returned about half an hour later. Laura was dressed and ready
and actually quite anxious to leave her bedroom, eyeing the traitorous bed
resentfully. In fact, for the first time since her arrival, she thought of escape.
She knew it would be near impossible and shivered at the consequences she would face
in the event of a failed attempt. Even if she succeeded, where would she go? They
surely wouldn’t have trouble tracking her down. She didn’t have Peter’s skill,
knowledge, or paranoia to survive so long on the run. Still, she needed to maintain
the hope that she would one day leave this house, but first she had to know her
enemy.

The house looked different in the midday light. She noticed the
security men roaming outside the house; she tensed, glad not to run into any of them
inside. She followed Olga around quietly in and out of every room. There was a cozy
small room in the eastern
wing with a fluffy red couch, a small
table, a desk, and a big TV. There were plants by the wall near the window. She
immediately decided to claim it. The rest of the tour was uneventful, many rooms,
bedrooms, more media/living rooms, although they looked more modern than
hers
. There was even a ballroom.
Did people even throw balls nowadays?
As they didn’t run into anyone else, Laura wondered if Olga did everything alone.
Olga pointed out that a cleaning crew came by weekly and advised Laura it was best
to ignore them, and they would do the same. In any case, they were Russian and
didn’t speak English or French.

In the western wing, Olga opened French double doors to a grandiose
library. Endless books from ground to the ceiling filled every wall. Crafted within
the high ceiling was a big glass dome made of churchlike stained glass, making the
sunlight shine in vibrant hues. The bookshelves were made of intricately carved
wood. Inner marble stairs circled around to the higher level with a finely sculpted
ramp. It truly was breathtaking. Laura loved books, more than anything else in the
world. She loved the escape they offered, the teachings they generously imparted,
and most of all, she loved the promise each book held of a unique journey. She
breathed “wow” as she rushed into the room, looking around excitedly. For a moment,
she forgot where she was. She practically ran to the nearest row of books and
started reading the titles, moving excitedly from one end of a shelf to the other.
The books were classified by language. Most were in English, but there was an
imposing section in Russian, Italian, and a good few in French. She recognized a few
French classics, as she was fluent in French herself, being a Quebec native.

She felt exhilarated and, for the first time in a long time, safe,
amid old friends and wondrous suitors. She smiled as she languidly caressed the
covers of beloved novels, elated with each title she recognized, past lovers she
still cherished, Salinger, Steinbeck, Hugo, Sartre… There was even her first love,
Emily Brontë’s
Wuthering Heights
. Between the Brontë sisters, she was
definitely
Team Emily
. This was not a man’s library, she noted. A woman
surely contributed to the inventory. She was suddenly flooded with
the image of
her
, Kayne’s girlfriend, tall, breathtakingly beautiful,
elegant, cultivated, graceful… A girl he might have loved, who had lived here, in
her room, and whose unworn clothes Laura had now inherited. The idea bothered her.
She wasn’t sure why, and she quickly dismissed it. She wouldn’t let anything taint
this magical moment. Who knew when would be the next, if ever.

The moment the thought entered her mind, Laura went on a mission to
find it,
her
book, her greatest love, her one true love. The book that had
saved her life many years ago when she was just a teenager, after Peter had left,
and she was all alone in the world. She had to know if she’d find it there, Hermann
Hesse’s
Steppenwolf
. She didn’t think she would find it. It wasn’t one of
those famous cliché books you mentioned in the middle of a conversation to look
smart. It was more of a cult-following kind of book. It had actually been the black
sheep of the author, who had known glory through his other novels, but met heavy
backlash over this one due to widespread misinterpretation.

Steppenwolf
was originally written in German, and seeing
there was no such section, she looked for the English translation she had read
herself. It was there. Her heart thumping, she retrieved the worn-out edition and
held it close to her chest. Somehow this discovery had a huge impact on her.
Someone, at some point, who lived in this very same house, bought it, read it, and
liked it enough to leave wear-and-tear scars. That sole discovery gave humanity to
this place. If someone like this could live in this house, maybe, just maybe, she
could survive it.

Slowly, she landed back on earth and found that Olga hadn’t moved
from the doorframe, letting her have her moment, though sharing in her joy. Slightly
embarrassed, she pointed to the book. “I’m so sorry… May I?”

“Of course, Miss Spencer, please go ahead.”

“Thank you.” For the first time, she said it out of gratitude.

After the tour of the house was complete, Olga advised Laura that
supper would be ready at seven, as always, and asked if she would like to be fetched
or meet Master Kayne directly in the
dining area. “Now that you know
how to go about the house,” she added with a conspiring smile. As hard as she fought
it, Laura’s resistance to this kind woman chipped away, little by little.

Laura was a nervous wreck as dinnertime approached. She dreaded the
thought of spending an entire evening alone with him. One part, intrigued by her
recent discoveries, wanted to know more about her captor, and yet another part, all
too aware of her nighttime disgrace, recoiled in horror at the prospect of his
stares, the blushing that would incur, and the possibility that he could read her
mind. But above all else, it was the
cage
, or the threat of it, that had her
show up at seven on the dot to meet him. She chose to wear jeans with the
loose-fitting purple hoodie, hoping to hide her femininity. Closets full of clothes
were wasted on Laura.

He checked her out, restraining a smile. “Good evening, Laura.”
“Good evening,” she responded, her voice guarded.

“Take a seat.” He pointed to the chair facing him. She obeyed.
“Olga tells me you finally ventured out of your room.”

“Yes…”

When he realized she would say no more, he leaned back in his
chair, considering her. “No more ‘sir’ today?” he taunted her, a cunning smile on
his face.

She turned bright red, cursing herself and her stupid nightmare.
“Do you want me to call you that?” Her voice quivered, as she kept her eyes on the
floor.

His smile widened at witnessing her discomfort, his eyes glowing
with wickedness. He ignored her question. “Shall we eat?”

He served them generous portions of salmon and fresh garden salad.
It was very simple and yet delicious. They ate quietly, her nerves thankful for the
temporary respite. Every now and then, he looked at her, a sly smile on his face,
causing her to look down every time. They kept up the dance the entire meal. When
they finished eating, he reinitiated the conversation.

“So, tell me about yourself.”

“What do you want to know?”

“
Everything
.” He put emphasis on the word in a mock
threat.

“I don’t know… I don’t know what to tell you.” She felt put on the
spot, she hated that feeling. It made her nervous, even more so now. It was too
broad, she had no idea how to answer him. She always did badly with too many
options, did even worse under pressure. She had no fight-or-flight response, only
freeze
.

He sighed, throwing her an impatient stare.

“Okay… hmm… I was born here in Montreal. I graduated from
Concordia, hmm… I don’t know… I like soft music and long walks on the beach…” She
threw him a sarcastic look.

He looked taken aback for an instant, then frowned with
understanding.

Damn,
he was upset. She often fell back on humor when
uncomfortable or nervous and got in trouble for it. She didn’t want to this time.
“Sorry… it was just a joke…” she added sheepishly.

“I don’t care about school and jobs. What do you like?…
Besides
soft music and long walks on the beach,” he answered, the corner of his lips
curling up.

A sound, somewhere between a chuckle and a sigh of relief, escaped
her lips. “Well, reading. I love reading… and movies.”

“What kind?”

“Books or movies?”

“Both.”

“I don’t know… very different types… Books, mostly fiction. I like
mystery novels, fantasy, and coming-of-age stories, I guess. It’s hard to say… Do
you like reading?”

“Sometimes.”

“Your library is amazing…” she said in wonder. “Do you speak all
those languages?”

He hesitated before answering, as if realizing the conversation was
turning on him, but deeming it harmless, he allowed it.

“My Italian is very basic. But I speak Russian and
French fluently.” He could sense the questions burning at the tip of her tongue and
smiled indulgently, amused. “Go ahead, ask me what you want to ask.”

Her brows furrowed. Of all the questions she was dying to ask, she
was not sure which one to pick. She feared bringing up her brother would deteriorate
into an interrogation, and her bleak vision of what lay in store for her warned
against confirming her worst fears. She opted for safe, harmless chitchat.

“Are you Russian?”

“My father was. I was born here.”

“Oh, I see.”

“Any other question?” he added, an impish smile plastered on his
face.

“Yes… many…” she said softly, more for her own benefit.

He smirked. “Well… you get one more.”

“Okay… Did you… have it built? The library I mean.”

“No. It was my mother’s,” he answered harshly, his eyes darkening.
She thought it was a safe topic, but she had thought wrong. She squirmed in her seat
a little at his sudden change in mood. She couldn’t help acknowledge, however, the
smallest yet undeniably present relief she felt at the destruction of the
pseudo-perfect girlfriend she had conjured earlier.

He was staring at her with an unreadable expression by the time she
looked back at him.

“What about boyfriends? Do you have one?”

The question caught her off guard, and she just shook her head in
response.

He smiled at her, pleased with her answer. “But you’ve had
boyfriends before…”

“Yes, of course.”

“How many?”

Her eyes widened in surprise, clearly uncomfortable
with the turn the conversation was taking. “Two.”

“Just two?”

“Well… yes… they were long-term kinda relationships…”

“Tell me about them.”

“Okay…” Her discomfort was palpable. “I met Jarred in school when I
was sixteen. We were high school sweethearts. We were together for two years, then
he went off to college, and we broke it off.” She shrugged her shoulders.