Games of Fire (60 page)

Flimsy, glossy pages tore beneath her fingers. They shredded and fell like dirty snowflakes to the ground around her feet. The concrete wall tore her fingers, ripped her nails, leaving streaks of her existence painted in the place of the pictures now a sick pile of confetti. Her burning rage seethed with every snarl as she ripped a picture of her leaving her house, it hissed with violence as she tore a picture of her sleeping … sleeping! In her room, in her bed! She was in her room, sleeping and it was here, in this sick place.

Her wrappings were gone, finally removed, giving her a shred of freedom from the shackle that was the bed. Her first mission as soon as Joe left for school was to destroy his disgusting shrine of her.

“What have you done?”

She was on the bed, sitting curled against the far corner with her knees to her chest, back to the now empty wall. .She ignored the question.

Joe sighed, setting her lunch down on the desk. “I thought you would appreciate something to look at.”

Sophie said nothing. She stared across the room, unseeing.

He exhaled again, moving into her line of vision. “I was going to add these to the wall, but I can see
you’re not ready.”

There was a stack of photos in his hand. He idly flipped through the glossy images, much too fast to actually be seeing anything, but he let one drop, a much too calculated move for it to be an accident.

Her heart stopped. Her ears rang. She lunged for the image before she could stop herself, but he was quicker. It was gone before her fingers could close around the smiling faces of her and Spencer.

“No, I don’t think you deserve this,” he said, retu
rning it to the pile of others, more of Spencer, more of him smiling, more of him moving and walking and alive! Were these old? Were they new? Was Spencer alive?

Blood filled her mouth as she tore into her tongue, prepared to amputate before begging him to let her see, to give her one glimpse of what he held.
Her knuckles bunched into the sheets, glowing white in the dim light. She trembled all over as he snickered, as he walked away, leaving her to curl up on the mattress and weep.

There were thirty steps from one end
of her prison to the other. It was longer than it was wide, which made sense since she already guessed she was in some kind of basement. The door was a solid slab of steel. She’d seen how thick from the times he’d leave or return. Even standing on the bed, the windows were too high for her to peek out. Everything else in the room, right down to the lamp on the desk, was bolted down. He had gone through a whole lot of trouble to Sophie-proof the place, which made her wonder what he meant a while back when he said she had no idea what he’d had to go through to make sure the place was right. What had he done? Had she wondered that in the past, she would have laughed at the idea of Joe doing anything evil. Now, she didn’t doubt anything.

She wandered over to the teddy bear collection lined exactly like how it was lined
up in her room and she had to suppress a chill wondering how he knew what her room looked like. Her mother had never allowed Joe into her room. She had barely allowed him into the house. Her mother had somehow known all along there was something wrong with him. So how had Joe known which bears she had or which books? Because everything, right down to the order of her books was exact.

Disgust coiled in her stomach at the thought of him sneaking into her room, going through her
things when she wasn’t there. She had to close her eyes and breathe through her nose at the thought of him alone with her mother, or while she’d been sleeping. These were things that narrowly made her want to forget her silence strike. The savage rage made her want to lash out, to attack and tear his face off with her nails. It was solely because of her injuries, because of his extensive height and weight that kept her from following through.

She started to turn away from the glassy eyes of the bears when something caught her eye. The shelf, it was exactly like the one her father had drilled into her wall using steel brackets and planks of wood. Her mother had teased him for doing such a cheap job of it, but Sophie hadn’t mind
ed.

Carefully, she tilted her head to peer under the planks. Her heart jumped when she spotted the
trio of brackets, long, metal bars, curved at one end to keep the board from sliding off and flat on the other to mount easily into the wall.

She tossed a glance towards the door before slipping her fingers between the plank and the
middle bar and she began wiggling it back and forth. It resisted. The bolts drilled in too tightly. But she kept jerking.

“You look better today,” Joe said as he watched her eat.

Sophie said nothing. She kept her head down, methodically bringing the spoon to her lips, but tasting nothing.

Her fingers were sore, the skin peeled and blistered in some places from her efforts to unhitch the bracket from the shelf. She hoped he wouldn’t notice and kept both hands out of view as much as possible.

“Sophie.” It took all her efforts not to cringe when he smoothed her hair back from her face and tucked it behind her ear. “You really need a shower. You’re beginning to smell.”

She bit her tongue to keep from pointing out there wasn’t a shower in her prison. The only method of cleaning herself she had was the sink and even then it wasn’t thorough without soap or shampoo. The only piece of luxury she’d been offered was the box of sanitary napkins on the ledge of the sink next to the toilet. She wasn’t allowed a toothbrush or a comb unless he was there to supervise her using them. Her hand shook as she fought for control.

“So do you like your room?” he continued as if she wasn’t ignoring him. “I wanted you to be comfortable here. I want you to be happy!”

It was the final part of his comment that sparked something at the back of Sophie’s mind. It was a small flare, a speck of light that glowed the harder she concentrated on it.

She broke her silence. “I would if you wouldn’t keep things from me.”

Joe gave a start of surprise. “What do you mean?” There was a tinge of enthusiasm in his voice now, like he’d won some kind of victory. “Is this about Rowth again?”

“No. It’s not about Spencer.” Although she died a little every day inside wondering what happened to him
, thinking about those pictures and wanting desperately to just hold one. Her sanity hung by a mere thread at the mention of his name. Was he dead? Had Joe killed him? Images of him lying limp and unmoving across her bedroom floor haunted her dreams, her screams waking her up at night. But Joe wouldn’t understand that. She kept her eyes down, knowing he would see her hatred for him in their depths if she ever looked at him. “Why me?”

“It’s obvious, isn’t it?” When she didn’t answer, he sighed. “You saw me. No one else ever did, but you
… you knew everything about me, about my deadbeat father, my useless, mother, but you still wanted to be my friend.”

Worst mistake of my life!
Sophie thought.

“Where is your mother?” she asked instead.

“Home,” he answered vaguely. “She doesn’t even notice me anymore. She just sits somewhere all day staring off into space. My father was right. Women need a strong hand to guide them. Otherwise they don’t know what to do with themselves or what’s good for them. That was your problem.”

Sophie repressed the urge to punch him in the eye
and show him what a real woman was like. It would have been so easy. He sat so close. But she had to keep him talking. Hopefully he would tell her something useful.

“How are my parents and Lauren and Jessie?”

“They’re all good,” he answered simply with a shrug. “Going on about their business as usual. Your father went back to work last week. They’re selling the house. They found an apartment in West Vancouver. They’re settling the paperwork next week.”

The spoon made a loud cluttering sound hitting the bowl. Her head jerked up. “What?”

His features harbored no emotion. “I guess they’ve decided to stop looking. It’s been three months.”

Three months. No! Her parents would never stop looking.

“I don’t believe you!”

He shrugged. “That’s up to you, but trust me, I’ve been through all their phone records and bank accounts, they’re moving on.”

“How? How are you able to—?”

“My dad was an asshole and a dirty cop, but he knew tons about tracking people.
Why do you think I was always so good at computers? I can hack into just about any server or media. It was a piece of cake to get into your parent’s phone records, their accounts and credit cards. How do you think I was always one step ahead of you? I knew every step you took even before you did.”

The weight of those words hit her hard in the stomach. “You put that bag on my doorstep! You destroyed Jackie’s car! You burned my house! You painted that horrible message on my garage door! It was you all this time?”

He put a hand up to stop her. “I admit to some of that, but not all.”

“What are you talking about?”

“The car and the cat …” He winced sheepishly. “That was me. I was angry at you when you took Rowth to our cafe. I may have lost my temper.”

Don’t throw up! Don’t throw up!

“And it was you shooting us from the bushes with a BB gun?”

He
said nothing, but the answer was in his eyes.

“Spencer’s patio window.”

His features became thunderous with rage. “You were letting him touch you!”

“You were watching us.” It was not a question. It
snarled out with every ounce of contempt raging inside her.

“Sophie, I’ve been watching you for
years
! Someone had to. I just wish I’d taken control of the situation sooner.”

She decided to ignore that or risk barfing in his face. “What about the rest?”

“The rest really was Brent.”

“The guy from the party?”

Joe snorted. “He was such an idiot, consumed with his ego. It didn’t take very much to convince him of anything.”

“You
knew him?”

He shrugged. “
Not initially. We met at the same party you met him.”

The taste of copper filled her mouth. “You weren’t even at Roy’s party.”

A dark brow lifted. “Wasn’t I?” He leaned back on his hands. “A black dress with a gold belt. Much too short to be decent.”

Her stomach pitched as he described her dress from that night. “You were there?”

He sat forward, his eyes narrowing. “Don’t you remember? You ran straight into me on your way into Rowth’s arms.” With a bitter sneer, he gathered her tray and left.

Sophie stared at the door as
it banged closed behind him. Her mind replayed that night, but no matter which way she flipped it or which angle she studied it from, she couldn’t remember ever seeing him and she would have. There was no way to miss Joe.

Then she remembered. It was just like he’d said. The boy she’d run into when she was trying to escape from Brent and his crew. She hadn’t stopped to look back, but she knew he’d hit the wall. But why hadn’t he made his presence known? Why hadn’t he said anything? And why would he track Brent down?

“I want a shower,” Sophie told him the next day.

It annoyed her how much her announcement seemed to please him. He stopped short of puffing out his chest.

“I’ll arrange it,” he said.

“I also want more answers,” she pressed, watching him.

He inclined his head. “I expected it. How about a trade. You want something and I want something in return.”

Sophie fought not to cringe. “What?” His hand rested lightly on her bare knee. She smacked it before she could stop herself. “Forget it! I’d rather stew in my own filth.”

She expected him to get angry, to shout and yell, maybe even hit her again, but he surprised her by laughing. “You are much feistier than the others. They were willing to do anything I said just so long as I swore not to hurt them.”

Sophie froze. “Others?”

“I told you, this place was custom designed for you.”

“What others?” She demanded.

“They’re not here anymore,” he said when her gaze shot to the door. “They served only as tests to see what I needed to improve in this place to ensure your safety and mine.”

“You had other people down here?” Her voice croaked.

He rose off the bed. “I’ll go get that shower ready.”

“What other people?” she shouted after him. “Where are they?”

He paused at the door and turned back. “They were nobodies.”

“The missing girls,” she whispered, piecing together a very disturbing puzzle. “That was you? You took them?
You’re the serial kidnapper everyone’s looking for?”

He just stared at her, his face a blank mask.

A memory hit Sophie, one that made her stomach roil as she stared at the door. “The day I called you from the hotel.” She remembered the resounding bangs in the background like someone pounding on steel. “You had someone down here.”