CHAPTER FOUR

Displacement

All that was left to do was run.

Thirty days—a nightmarish month had passed since her rescue had spiralled into entrapment—she'd counted by the light that seeped under the door and splintered through the open stairs. If only she could escape that basement, she'd stand a chance. That mantra kept her going through the nights when she could feel her hipbone sinking through the mildewy and sagging mattress to the cold concrete beneath.

The third step from the bottom was loose; it creaked, and its screws peeped out when it bore weight. That was her ticket out of there. She'd busted her fingernails, prying the screws out until her fingertips bled.

Another day waned until her captor rattled the padlock on the door, checking it was secure, as they did every night before they went to bed. An hour or so later, she began screaming, yelling at the top of her lungs, until they burned with the need for air. She heaved another great lung full and continued until she heard footsteps thundering from down from the second floor.

"If she knows what's good for her, she'll shut up." The woman snarled, "You idiot, you should have gagged her!" There was no reply from him, but someone kept fumbling to unlock the padlock.

Thankfully, the strongest was coming to be eliminated first. It would make her getaway easier, but her heart was torn because she'd always liked her neighbour, Hassan Khoury. He'd seemed like such a nice man. However, that couldn't stop her from doing what was necessary to free herself, not after he'd idly stood by and allowed his wife to butcher her. The barely healed wound on her back burned as a reminder of the first event in this series of horrors. Naively, she'd trusted the Khourys, believing that they'd meant to rescue her. Instead, they spirited her away, violently attacked her, and locked her up in a basement. The phone calls she'd overheard while imprisoned left her with the impression that they meant to traffic her; the bartering over her worth and cost made her stomach churn.

When the door finally opened, she thrust him down the stairs, barking, "Deal with her properly this time, you coward! I've got her blood on my hands already. I've done more than my fair share, and we're doing this for your family, remember?"

Down he came, like a lamb, to the slaughter. Hassan inevitably lost his footing on the missing third step and went tumbling to the basement floor; that was when Karou revealed herself and pummelled his head with the plank. The yowling and cussing that followed meant the blow hadn't killed him, but she'd already taken flight up the stairs, hurrying to maim Minisha.

In all the time Karou had known the couple, that wretched woman had only pretended to be a docile housewife; she was truly a wolf in sheep's clothing. So, when she caught up to her, she flogged her not once or twice but thrice for good measure. Imagining the bruise that would tarnish the vain woman's face gave Karou gratification. She'd gotten a slice of vengeance, no matter how meagre. But there was nothing to smile about.

Escaping the basement brought fresh panic. It wasn't the basement she thought she'd been imprisoned in; she wasn't at the Khourys' house at all. Outside, Karou didn't recognise the street as her hometown; it didn't even look like New England. Panting, running, and high on adrenaline, her eyes flitted this way and that. The license plates of the cars on the driveways clued her in as to where she was—two thousand miles from home in Montana.

Diverting her getaway off-road, Karou trekked into the sleepy towns surrounding woodland. If she really was worth two million dollars, it stood to reason that the Khourys would be on her tail once they'd recovered from their battering. Through the trees, she saw the amber glow of streetlamps—another neighbourhood. Briefly, she pondered, knocking on a door and asking for help, but trusting a stranger was out of the question when she couldn't even trust her neighbours. Without a steadfast plan, she followed the lights to a desolate road. She resigned to walking down the grassy verge because there was no sidewalk. The odd car that came past cast light over the road; the rumble of their engines felt ominous as they disturbed the quiet.

A long expanse of time was wasted inventing positive outcomes, all in an effort to distract herself from the misery of having nowhere to go and no one to trust... until an opportunity she would never have considered had she not been so desperate presented itself.

Up ahead, a tan station wagon pulled into a roadside reservation. Plumes of grey smoke billowed from the exhaust into the cold air as the vehicle idled. While still idling, a man vacated the driver's side. A plan began to form, but if she was going to have a chance at pulling it off, she had no time to second-guess herself. Karou posied herself to make a dash as she watched him slink off toward the cover of the trees. Where the gravel met the undergrowth, with his back to the road and his car, he unzipped his fly and started to take a leak. His personal business was of no interest to Karou other than the fact that it left him perfectly distracted.

As quiet as she could, she crept closer; whatever sound her sneakers made against the gravel underfoot was disguised by the engine turning over, beating a steady chugging rhythm. In harmony, her heart pounded. She could feel a familiar and warm flush of adrenalin rising to the occasion, granting her the gumption she needed to pull off her plan. Still cautious not to get caught, she peered through the window and tunnel of the car interior, keeping her eyes locked on her unwitting victim. One by one, her fingers gingerly coiled the cold door handle. The stream of steaming pee ceased, and she froze, expecting that any moment he'd return to his car. He coughed and grunted, and Karou held her breath. Never would she have thought that a trickle onto the leaves would be such a pleasing sound, but it was music to her ears. She sighed out the breath she'd been holding and eased open the passenger door. Crawling inside, first over the seat and then the centre console, she thrust the car into drive and peeled away from the reservation, blazing a trail of dust and the smell of burnt rubber.

Flicking her eyes up to the rearview, she laughed as she watched the man waddling out onto the road behind her, all while trying to tuck himself back into his pants, huffed, probably cussing and waving an angry fist into the air. The rush of adrenalin made her feel warmer than she had in hours and dangerously invincible. The sound of her laughter filled the car. She was laughing! She'd almost forgotten what the sound of her own joy sounded like. Karou couldn't remember the last time she'd felt this feeling that made her chest feel airy and light like her heart was soaring.

She turned on the radio, and it played retro tunes until all around was piney woodland and nothing else—no houses, people, or cars in sight. Yet, every so often, a mailbox appeared at the side of the road, insisting that there must be somewhere safe out there and that the road ahead meant there had to be a way back home.

Maybe it had been ten miles. Maybe it had been four, but it hadn't been long enough—not to get anywhere near the Dakotas, never mind New England, when a red warning light flashed on the dashboard. The small red dot spelt disaster and snuffed out any hopeful feeling Karou had been riding. Low Fuel. She hadn't a dime on her, not that she imagined getting away with putting fuel into a stolen vehicle. She drove until the engine spluttered. Starved to death, it rolled to a halt on the roadside, where Karou abandoned it.

She followed the road to its unfruitful end, a dirt track that snaked off into the trees. Thinking that if she hadn't bad luck, she'd have no luck at all, Karou made another in the series of unfortunate decisions and followed the track in hopes that it might lead somewhere.

The woods hadn't looked so scary from the car, but now the long shadows cast by the towering trunks seemed to move all on their own, like spectres. It's all in your imagination, she told herself to ward off the heebie-jeebies. Though Karou found no ghouls beyond the treeline, she didn't find civilisation either. The further she wandered, the colder and more hostile the weather became. The pines were no shelter from the whipping wind biting her cheeks. Harshly, it blew straight through her sweatshirt, chilling her to the core. Cosy inside the car, she'd daydreamed, but now, she struggled to remember how the heater vents warmed her now that she was shivering violently, her teeth chattered. She wondered if she ought to have spent the night in the car; at least, it would have protected her from the elements. Thanks to her shoes being sodden with mud and snow slurry, her feet were numb and felt like lead weights, adding to how tiresome trudging onward was. But, even if she was hungry, cold, and tired, being out there in Montana's wilderness was still better than being trapped in that basement.

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Hours vanished underfoot; she was neither lost nor found but stumbling around, hoping she wasn't walking in circles. Her only source of light had disappeared when the sun went down.

There has to be another town coming up soon.

Her heart quickened, hope sprung, and a smile brightened her eyes when, through the tree, a cabin appeared. The smoke churning out the chimney meant a warm, welcoming fire awaited her! Desperation compelled blind faith, so she bound toward the cabin's porch with all the enthusiasm she could muster.

The bridge of her nose met the sill as she peeped through a window. Her brow sunk, narrowing her eyes into focus to scope the interior. There didn't appear to be anyone home. Not that it looked like a home, it was almost bare of furnishings, save for a long table in the centre of the main room. The log burner in the corner contained the fire she wished to get near and shared very little light by which she might see.

Though there were no people inside, there was evidence there could be at least four or five. Mugs sat on the table amongst indistinguishable papers and a communications radio. On the walls were maps plotted with tacks and strings, but no taxidermy trophies denoting that this cabin was someone's hunting lodge. Karou's imagination easily went into overdrive; the fewer the clues, the worse the scenarios became. Fog from her breath slowly rose up the glass, but before her vision was obstructed entirely, her eyes settled on something tall in the corner—a stack of cadet grey footlockers and a clutch of guns to accompany them. Swallowing the clot of fear in her throat, Karou's shoulders hunkered down as she ducked away from the window. Pressing her back against the log walls and facing the lonely woods and their creeping darkness, she clamped her teeth onto her lower lip, which threatened to tremble. In the same vain, she clenched her shaking hands into fists. The tension or perhaps the cold caused her skin to burn. Her eyes stung, too, dry from the cold, now wetting with the disappointment that nowhere was safe. Her ears pricked at a chorus of voices and creaking footsteps as the cabin's inhabitants returned indoors. Instinct moved her to flee into the cover of the trees; scrambling down the porch steps, she stumbled through the snow, a slow getaway if ever there was one.

"Hey, you! Stop!" A man demanded behind her, but she didn't look back. "Hey, girl! Get back here!"

Determined and desperate to live, she wasn't ready to give up. Running away was necessary for her survival, even if somewhere in the back of her mind, a voice whispered that this would be the death of her.

If only she had listened, she might not have ended up here, staring hard at a vaguely familiar man through the segregating glass screen.

Oh God... It is him. The intensity of his eyes brought forth memories, ones that took her back to August, back to the night she'd encountered a dark, handsome stranger in the woods. It has to be him.

✷✷✷

"Visitor?" Nate mouthed quizzically to Apollo, to which the Onexus merely shrugged nonchalantly. The Overseer couldn't have expected her, could he? Usually, he had blood hosts delivered to the warehouse depot at the Compound's West gate, but that sort of business was kept very 'hush-hush'.

Fighting the urge to ask, 'What the hell are you doing here?' pinched his furrowed brow deeper. It would've been uncharacteristic to talk to her casually in front of his staff, but his wide eyes begged the question for him. The other urge he fought back would win out because even though he couldn't pick up her scent through the glass screen, his nose twitched, recalling it. How sweet it had been, how thirstily he'd followed it that August night. Warren clenched his jaw; he'd become very aware of his teeth. He couldn't wait any longer. As if his hand had autonomy, he unlocked the reception entrance, inviting the intruder to "come inside."

With her eyes focused on her path, he seized the moment to breathe her in. As discreet as he attempted to be, it was hard to stop his eyes from closing while savouring and deducing that she smelled the same. The bitter metallic notes of iron usually found in human blood were absent and replaced with a nectar-like fragrance. It made his throat sore, his nose itch, and his mouth well up. How it teased him to the edge of thirst was already becoming addictive.

Nate cleared his throat, and Warren snapped back to reality with a suddenness that made his head throb.

"Apollo," both guards stood up a little straighter at their boss's curt tone. "I'll need the keys to her cuffs." Merely raising his hand to grasp the small silver keys the Onexus threw his way, he dismissed them. "Thank you, gentleman. Please return to your post. We wouldn't want anyone else sneaking in while you're not looking, would we?"

The moment the reception's rear door closed behind them, and they were alone, he grumbled, "This is all highly irregular." Turning about, his eyes found hers, burning, and he quietly uttered, "But... if you do everything, I tell you for the next little while, we might make it out of this unscathed."

Although his tone was as blunt and authoritative as his stature, the request insinuated that she had a chance of survival—the chance she'd prayed for. That would have been comforting if she could focus on anything other than his stipulation that she follow his every order, advertently demanding that she trust him. Was trusting a stranger what it would take for her to make it home in one piece?

Leaning nearer, his gaze softened, urging her to play along. "Do you understand?" he challenged.

An answer didn't come easily. How could it? She was trapped again. Under the scrutiny of his inescapable eyes, she could barely breathe, never mind form words. Her teeth gnawed into her lower lip, the pressure whitening it. That caused his eyes to lose focus on hers. He stole a moment to notice how her lip flushed pink and fuller when she let it be. The colour of his eyes deepened, his thirst encroaching faster and thicker than before. Tipping his head slightly closer, he pushed her to answer him again. The beginnings of an impatient growl lowered his tone when he reiterated, "Do you under—"

"Yes." She gasped, insistent and nodding, "I understand."

"Good." Quickly, he turned, marching off, and gave his next order, "Follow me."

At last, the breath she'd been holding stuttered from her rounded lips. His pace spared her no time to centre herself or dawdle—a distance was growing between them. Karou picked up her feet and hurried after him, internally cussing his long strides. Couldn't he walk a little slower? It was hard not to lose balance with her hands cuffed behind her back.

Although well aware that she was handcuffed, Warren had still dared to hope she might have even an ounce of trust in him. He hadn't hurt her on their first encounter, and he would attempt not to this time, too. He knew himself well enough not to imagine that anything about his nature would calm her down, though. Not after his guards had manhandled her. She could only guess where she was being led... Yet, surprisingly, she was following him... Obediently. There was no need to glance behind; he could hear her. Namely, her squelching shoes, but also her rapid heart rate, indicative of her nervousness pounded in his ears. A reminder that having a Mortal in his Compound was a terrible idea.

In truth, Karou's 'obedience' was just an illusion inside she was still in turmoil, but her guard was starting to waver due to her immense fatigue. She'd spent a month or so being thrown from one emotional extreme to the next. Now, as they passed through a vast living room, where three comfortable-looking leather sofas, complete with plump scatter cushions and cosy throws, bracketed the room's focal point: a majestic stone fireplace, complete with a blaze that vanquished her memory of the winter's cold, it was hard not to relax. The thought of curling up there and getting the rest that she was in dire need, was calming.

Her blue eyes lingered on the couches, full of longing, as they left them behind. Once they stepped through a door to the rear of the room, the home comforts vanished, along with her calm. Almost cruelly, the façade of home she'd been enjoying existed like a movie set. Behind the scenes, there was a very different world awaiting her. One of concrete and industrial fixtures. Open-air electrical cables and plumbing pipes that stretched down the walls and overhead. The doors that flanked them looked like prison cells, riveted sheet metal with square porthole windows.

Down the dimly lit and narrow corridor, the metronomic and authoritative clacking of the man's footfalls echoed, followed by her pathetic squelching. If he thought she looked pitiful and dishevelled during their first meeting, now, she was in a worse state and cold to boot. The extent of how freezing she had been was overwhelming; her limbs had started to burn, and under her clothes, chilblains covered her skin. Staring at the broad back in front of her—clothed in a well-fitted dress shirt, tapered to a brown leather belt and dark, possibly black slacks, it became clear their divide was irrefutable; as resounding and absolute as the beat he marched toward the flickering light at the end of the corridor. He was the master of this place, and she was his prisoner. Was it too late to fall to her knees, grovel and beg for her freedom, for her life?