Author: Aleatha Romig Thank you especially to my wonderful husband, children, and mother. I love you all! You have my undying love and gratitude for indulging me while I pursued my dream. Also, I’d like to express my sincere appreciation to the readers of CONSEQUENCES, thank you all for reading my first novel. Please know you hold a special place in my heart. I truly enjoy hearing from each and every one of you; contact information is at the end of this novel. Feel free to let me know your thoughts! Please know CONSEQUENCES is only the beginning of our saga. Anthony Rawlings and Claire Nichols’ story continues in TRUTH, released October 30, 2012. The conclusion of their story, and the story of so many other characters you will learn to love and hate, is CONVICTED released October 2013. In 2014 the Consequences Series Reading Companions will be released. This is a series ofpanions from Tony’s POV. They are not standalone books and should only be read afterpleting the entire Consequences Series. Thank you for riding this amazing ride! It will be worth it—I promise! Disclaimer The CONSEQUENCES series contains dark adult content. Although there is not excessive use of description and detail, (this is a dark contemporary thriller – not erotica) the content contains innuendos of kidnapping, rape, and abuse—both physical and mental. If you’re unable to read this material, please do not purchase. If you are ready, wee aboard and enjoy the ride! Aleatha...
Consequences Consequences Page 1 Acknowledgements Thank you especially to my wonderful husband, children, and mother. I love you all! You have my undying love and gratitude for indulging me while I pursued my dream. Also, I’d like to express my sincere appreciation to the readers of CONSEQUENCES, thank you all for reading my first novel. Please know you hold a special place in my heart. I truly enjoy hearing from each and every one of you; contact information is at the end of this novel. Feel free to let me know your thoughts! Please know CONSEQUENCES is only the beginning of our saga. Anthony Rawlings and Claire Nichols’ story continues in TRUTH, released October 30, 2012. The conclusion of their story, and the story of so many other characters you will learn to love and hate, is CONVICTED released October 2013. In 2014 the Consequences Series Reading Companions will be released. This is a series of companions from Tony’s POV. They are not standalone books and should only be read after completing the entire Consequences Series. Thank you for riding this amazing ride! It will be worth it—I promise! Disclaimer The CONSEQUENCES series contains dark adult content. Although there is not excessive use of description and detail, (this is a dark contemporary thriller – not erotica) the content contains innuendos of kidnapping, rape, and abuse—both physical and mental. If you’re unable to read this material, please do not purchase. If you are ready, welcome aboard and enjoy the ride! Aleatha Romig It is not the strongest of the species that survives, not the most intelligent that survives. It is the one that is the most adaptable to change. —Charles Darwin Chapter One ‡ The fade into consciousness happened slowly, like the melting of ice. The water was still present. It just changed form. Claire’s mind couldn’t process the entirety of her circumstance. She knew she was awakening, felt the warmth of soft sheets and a thick comforter against her skin, but it felt wrong. Where was she? Suddenly, the ice became liquid and her veins filled with the cold, condensing fluid. Her heartbeat intensified as the poor muscle attempted to pump the viscous solution. The sting of her swollen eyelids brought back memories of her arrival to this place. She strained to listen, to hear anything. The only sound that registered was an incessant ringing within her ears. More with curiosity than courage, she cautiously opened her eyes. Peering around the room, she discovered that she was indeed alone. Momentary relief caused her chest to contract and a sigh to escape her lips. Under other circumstances, she might relish the amazing softness of the silk sheets or the grandeur of the king-sized bed. Today—however—despite the warm cocoon, her body shivered as the fog of her mind cleared. The memories of the previous night began to surface from the depths of her unconsciousness. Perhaps it had been nightmare. She tried to convince herself the memories weren’t real. But then, how did she get here? And where was here? Enormous windows, currently covered by golden drapes, allowed just enough sunlight for her eyes to adjust. For the first time since her arrival, she looked, really looked at her surroundings, seeing the four ornately carved corner posts of the bed. They were exquisite, and looking beyond, so was the room where it sat. The alluring bedroom looked larger and more lavish than any she had ever seen. The room looked like heaven, but she already knew it was hell. Again, she listened—nothing. The only sounds were the memories in her head. She heard herself screaming until her throat felt raw and pounding on the bedroom door until her clenched fist ached. No one heard, or if anyone heard, no one cared. This beautiful room was her prison. Slowly, she attempted to sit. The act in itself caused discomfort—more evidence that last night was real. Slowly shifting, she managed to see more of her cell: a sitting area with an overstuffed chair, complementary sofa, small fireplace in the wall surrounded by marble tiles, and a cozy table for two with a crystal vase of fresh flowers. The intimacy of the table caused Claire’s stomach to churn. The bile that seeped into her throat tasted vile. She tried desperately to swallow. Conspicuously missing were dressers or other furniture usually associated with a bedroom, yet dimly, she remembered being told that this was her new bedroom. Looking around the perimeter of the room, she saw beautiful white woodwork: built-in bookcases, shelves, and three doors. The one farthest from her bed appeared solid, firm, and unharmed after the pounding she’d delivered the night before. There was no reason to believe that it would now be unlocked. What Claire did know, with some certainty, was that it held her only avenue to freedom. She needed to find her way back through that door. Closing her eyes, she recalled the events of last night. As the memories started to flow from the recesses of her unconsciousness, her new goal became to stop them. She failed—seeing him behind her closed lids. Anthony Rawlings was so different from the man she met less than a week ago—the handsome tall man, with brown hair, and the darkest eyes she’d ever seen. He’d been polite, kind, and gentlemanly. Last night, none of those words could be used to describe him. To say he was cruel would not explain what she endured. One could say demanding, aggressive, abrasive, controlling—but above all—brutal. Shifting slightly, Claire realized that the slightest movement caused her muscles to ache. Her thighs throbbed, her body was tender, and her mouth felt swollen and raw. She remembered his scent, his taste, and the sound of his voice. Those thoughts instigated a revolt deep in the recesses of her stomach. At that moment, the images of him made her heart race—not in anticipation—but fear. This was insane. Things like this happened on crime shows and movies, not in real life and not to people like her. She tried to censor the memories, searching for the ones of him finally leaving the room and her futile barrage on the door. Tears fell from her swollen eyes as the visions replayed in her mind. She laid her head back on the velvety pillow and allowed herself the luxury of more sleep—an escape from this reality. The next time she woke, Claire knew she couldn’t put off looking behind the other doors any longer. She needed to find the entry to the bathroom. The sumptuous carpet enveloped her feet as she stepped from the bed. Despite the plush carpeting, the weight of her body made her legs cry out in pain. Sadly, she remembered crying out more than once. Her internal monologue screamed with unanswered questions: How did this happen? How did I get here? Why am I here? And how can I get out? The three doors she’d counted earlier were arranged with two near the bed and one by the sitting area. Claire wrapped a sheet around her aching body and slowly approached the lone door—the massive barrier of solid wood—her passage to freedom. Anxiety induced trembling, causing her hands to shake as she slowly reached for the cold metal of the door knob. If it moved, would she flee wrapped only in a sheet? Hell, yes! Excitement quickly turned to disappointment as the lever remained perfectly horizontal. It didn’t even wiggle, as many locked doors do. The barrier stood unyielding. Despite the expected outcome, disappointment caused the pain within Claire’s body to intensify. Turning around, she viewed her cell. One of the other two doors had the best chance of holding her desired destination. She opened the first door and revealed a closet, one the size of most bedrooms. It could more accurately be considered a dressing room given the built-in drawers, shoe racks, shelves, and hanging racks. Surprisingly, the racks and shelves were full. These clothes seemed to come straight from a Saks photo shoot, not the kind Claire would or could choose for herself. She was more the Target or Vintage type. These clothes belonged to someone who lived the life of the rich and famous. Who was that someone? Claire wondered why she was in that person’s room, and why she remembered being told it was hers.
Consequences Consequences Page 2 Opening the next door, Claire found her destination. She stepped into a bathroom like one she’d seen on television, large and very white. The coolness of the tile hit the soles of her bare feet. White marble, white porcelain, silver accents, and glass surrounded her. If it weren’t for the plush purple towels, the room would be totally devoid of color. There was a large garden tub and a full glass shower that sported large and small showerheads from every direction. The sink adjoined a dressing table with a large lighted mirror and stool. She turned to see the person in the mirror. The image frightened Claire as she studied the reflection. Her tangled brown hair framed an unfamiliar face. There were bruises around her lips nearly matching the color of the towels, and her left temple appeared red and swollen. Slowly, dropping the sheet, the visual evidence of the soreness she felt could be seen as red and purple bruises over her body. The vision restarted her tears. With steely determination, she gripped the lever of another door within the bathroom and found the toilet. A plush white bathrobe hung near the shower. Twisting the knobs to adjust the water, Claire decided a shower would make her feel better. Hot steamy water hit her skin as she stepped into the spacious stall. The prickling sensation of a thousand needles pierced her shoulders as the hot water flowed over her battered muscles. It was a sensation of both pleasure and pain. She allowed the water to continue its assault, and as time passed and the temperature remained high, her muscles relaxed. The sweet floral aroma of the shampoo and body soap replaced the odors of last night. A renewed sense of strength filled her resolve. Somehow, she would survive this nightmare. Claire developed a plan as she used the towel to dry her battered body. She would talk to Anthony and explain that this was a mistake. They could split ways, no questions asked, and no charges pressed. The soft robe warmed her, providing a bogus sense of security. The woman in the mirror looked better; however, her dark hair now fell messily in wet tangles. Without thinking, Claire began to open drawers and cabinets. Just like the closet, the bath was fully stocked. In front of her she saw thousands of dollars’ worth of name-brand cosmetics. She found everything from skin care to eyeliner. Of course, there was also an array of hair supplies. She was wearing someone else’s robe, sleeping in her bed, and showering in her bathroom. Using her hairbrush only added to the list of intrusions. Claire didn’t have many other options. When Claire opened the door to the bedroom, she was startled to see a tray of food waiting on the dining table. Prior to that moment, she ignored the pangs of hunger. God knows the thoughts of the previous night made her stomach turn, yet the aroma from the covered plate intrigued her. She lifted the lid to discover steaming scrambled eggs, toast, and a side of fresh fruit. On the tray, she also noticed a glass of orange juice, one of water, and a carafe of coffee. With her stomach full, body relaxed from the shower, and no immediate path to freedom, Claire decided she wanted more sleep. It was then that she realized the bed was made, not only made, but the sheets had been changed. The room appeared as though the horror of last night never occurred. Her body screamed otherwise. She pulled back the covers, climbed between the soft satin sheets, inhaled the fresh clean scent, and closed her eyes. It wasn’t the escape she wanted, but it was a temporary diversion. The knocking at the door near the sitting area woke Claire. She’d been somewhere in a dream, far away. The knock and the unfamiliar surroundings left her temporarily disoriented. How long had she been sleeping? Sunlight, though not as bright, continued to seep from the edge of the drapes. The repeated raps brought her to the present. Yes, she was a twenty-six-year-old adult, yet at that moment, Claire decided to behave as any five-year-old child would and imitate sleep. Lying still in bed, she heard the door open. Tentatively opening her eyes, she watched as a woman quietly entered the room. Given Claire’s perspective, it was difficult to tell, but the woman appeared taller than her by a few inches with salt-and-pepper hair. Claire assumed she was about the age of her mother, had her mother been alive. As the woman approached, Claire lifted her head and spoke, “I’m sorry if I’m in your room.” “No, Ms. Claire. It’s your suite, not mine. I’m here to help you get ready for dinner. My name is Catherine.” Claire slowly sat in amazement. What the hell did she mean get ready for dinner? She was being held prisoner in some luxurious suite, covered in bruises, and this person was supposed to help her get ready for dinner. “I’m not trying to sound ungrateful. But what do you mean ‘ready for dinner’?” “Mr. Rawlings will be here precisely at 7:00 PM for dinner. He expects you to be ready and dressed accordingly. I presumed you might need some assistance.” At first, Claire couldn’t wrap her mind around the entire scenario. He wanted her dressed for dinner. Who the hell did he think he was? “Listen, if you want to assist me, let me out of here.” Claire did her best to keep her voice from raising another octave, yet the fear of seeing Anthony and the possibility of escape made that all but impossible. “Ms. Claire, that is not up to me. I’m here to assist you as I can.” It didn’t make any sense. Yet in the desperation of the situation, for some reason, Claire believed this lady. Catherine continued, “We only have an hour. Perhaps we could begin with your hair?” Undaunted by Claire’s appearance or even the circumstance of her presence, Catherine’s calmness eased Claire. She shook her head, remembering the resolve from her shower, spoke with a convincing authority, “Catherine, thank you for offering to help, but I don’t plan on dressing for dinner. I actually believe there has been a mistake. I will be leaving here soon.” While Claire continued, Catherine came and went from the closet with a blue cocktail dress and matching shoes. “Oh, I don’t know whom those clothes belong to.” “Why, miss, they belong to you. Now, we really should move along, and even if you don’t plan to eat, do you not need to wear clothes?” Claire noticed her pattern of speech seemed formal. She couldn’t place the origin. It definitely wasn’t the Georgia accent she appreciated but worked daily not to duplicate. Catherine gently took Claire’s hand and walked her into the bathroom. Claire obediently sat at the dressing table as Catherine began to softly brush her hair. She decided to not protest this kind woman. Instead, she would save her energy to face Anthony. “There are cosmetics in the drawers in front of you. Perhaps you could begin to apply some while I do your hair.” Then she added, “You’re very pretty without it, but I believe it will make you feel better after sleeping most of the day.” Claire looked into the mirror. Seeing her eyes, temple, and lips, she began to cry. It wasn’t the sobs of earlier, but a rush of tears quietly flowing down her cheeks. “Now, miss, that won’t help the situation. Mr. Rawlings appreciates punctuality. Crying will only make the cosmetics run.” “I don’t want to face him.” After the first desperate sentence, she hesitated. Claire didn’t know this woman. She obviously worked for Anthony. Why would she confide in her? Then Claire looked in the reflection, not at herself but at the woman behind her. Her eyes were the color of steel, gray and soft. Her expression wasn’t one of duty or pity, but of compassion. It may have been wishful thinking, but for some reason, the words continued to flow. “After last night, I feel so…dirty. You don’t know what he did, what he made me do. I’m too embarrassed.” Her words came accompanied by tears, and her nose began to run.
Consequences Consequences Page 3 Catherine’s voice held no judgment for either Claire or Anthony, instead desire for understanding, as if that could be possible from Claire. “I have known Mr. Rawlings for a long time. Did anything happen last night that he did not want to happen?” Claire shook her head. “No. Everything that happened he wanted to happen.” “Then there’s no need for you to be embarrassed. When you do something that he doesn’t want you to do, that is when you don’t want to face Mr. Rawlings.” Catherine went to the cabinet, removed a washcloth, and wet it in the sink. She handed it to Claire, who compliantly wiped her face and began to apply make-up. It wasn’t long until they were satisfied with the results. The bruises were concealed quite well under a covering of foundation and powder. The lipstick made the swelling less noticeable. When Catherine entered the bathroom with the dress, Claire realized she was naked under the robe. “Umm, I don’t have any lingerie.” “Yes, miss. Do you not remember Mr. Rawlings’s rules?” Without waiting for a response, Catherine continued, “No underclothes, ever.” Claire fought the fog of last night. She couldn’t understand why the memories were so fuzzy, yet somewhere she had some recollection of such a conversation or, more accurately, a demand. Then again, this entered the world of ridiculous. Who the hell was he, that he even thought he could make such demands, and they would be followed? Catherine assisted Claire with the dress, so as not to mess her hair and make-up. Claire vowed to herself regardless of how absurd it sounded: I’m not sure how or when, but I will leave here, get away from him, and go to a place where women wear underwear. Catherine smiled approvingly at her as she stepped in front of the mirror. “Mr. Rawlings will be pleased. Now, I must go; he’ll be here soon.” The reminder of his impending arrival sucked some of the resolve from Claire’s demeanor as well as the air from her lungs. Catherine knew him. Maybe if she stayed, he would…Claire didn’t know how to finish that thought. He would be nice? Let her leave? It just seemed safer with this woman around. “Perhaps you could stay until after his arrival?” Catherine didn’t respond, but the look of satisfaction briefly changed to sadness. Instantaneously, Claire knew that Catherine’s departure was beyond both of their control. Claire would be face-to-face with her fear—the man that abused and dominated her the night before. She also knew that he was her only means of escape. For that reason and that reason alone, she would face him. “Thank you again for your help. I really doubt I will be here tomorrow. He and I will discuss it over dinner.” Catherine nodded. It was an acknowledgment of Claire’s statement, not an affirmation of its accuracy. Then she left the bathroom. Claire heard a faint beep as Catherine left the suite. It reminded her of the noise made by a car fob. While still in the bathroom, her heart rate increased when she heard the faint beep again. He didn’t knock. He just opened the door and entered. Claire imagined him surveying the empty suite. If she stayed in the bathroom, would he eventually come for her? Or leave? While she debated, he waited silently in the bedroom. It took a minute or two, but slowly, Claire opened the bathroom door and entered the suite. She used all her strength to suppress the fears that screamed to get out, determined to meet him head-on at his mind game. The first things she saw as she entered the suite were his eyes—his dark black eyes—resembling voids or black holes. His lips were moving. He was talking, yet Claire could only hear the memories of the previous night. She walked to the bookcase at the far end of the suite, feigning strength. The fake resolve melted as she turned to see the eyes staring directly at her. Then almost instantaneously, he was there, right in front of her. His proximity caused her stomach to wrench, bringing back the nasty bile from earlier. His large hand captured her chin, pulling her eyes and face toward the dark voids. His strong voice was deep, slow, and authoritative, “Shall we try this once more”—It wasn’t a question but a statement—“It is customary for one person to respond to the greeting of another. I said good evening.” Claire’s knees went weak at his touch. She wanted to yell, to run, but she couldn’t let herself. If she couldn’t be strong, she could at least avoid fainting. “I’m sorry. I don’t believe I’m feeling well.” With his grip still upon her chin, she knew he could feel her body tremble. He repeated, “Good evening, Claire.” This time, it was more drawn-out. His eyes were so cold. Claire couldn’t distinguish what they said—only see the depth of their infinite darkness. “Good evening, Anthony.” She would tell herself she sounded strong, but she didn’t. At that moment, the door opened again, and a young man pushing a cart brought them their meal. Claire started to walk toward the table, but Anthony’s hand seized her arm, stopping her. She looked back up at him, into those eyes. He reached with his other hand to lift her dress and place a hand on her buttocks. The shock of his touch quickly turned to anger. Her green eyes flashed fire, and her neck stiffened. “What the hell…?” Her impulse was to lash out, but the hand that held her arm tightened its grip, causing her to forget her words. “I see you can manage to follow at least one rule. Shall we eat?” His grip loosened as his voice attempted a reasonable tone. Anthony pulled back Claire’s chair at the intimate table. She eyed the display: It all looks so nice and is such a masquerade. The food smelled wonderful, but Claire’s stomach wouldn’t allow her to eat. All of her pep talks about standing up to him proved worthless. Instead, she sat politely, playing with her food and nodding attentively. Looking at the dinner, Claire felt that something was missing—besides common sense. The young man had poured water into the glasses, yet to make the masquerade complete, at such a dinner there should have been wine or champagne. It was almost as if he read her mind when Anthony commented, “I do not like to drink alcohol. It inhibits the senses.” She immediately thought how nice it would be to have a fifth of Jack Daniels. Anthony clearly relished her discomfort. “Don’t you like your food?” “I do. I guess I’m just not hungry.” “I heard that today you have only eaten breakfast. I suggest you eat. You will need your strength.” As he took another bite, he sent her a grin which didn’t reach his eyes. Claire used every ounce of energy to remain seated and not run. Besides, the door was shut, and she heard the faint beep when the waiter left. Apparently, the night before was only a prelude. Once Anthony finished eating, he stood and took Claire’s hand. Her trembling increased as she stood. He smiled and held her at arm’s length as he asked, “Did you choose this dress for the evening?” “No, it was Catherine.” She remained tall and defiant even though she knew her will would not be considered in his plans. “Yes, she knows me well. Now take it off.” No sweet talk, no kisses, nothing—just a demand to remove her dress. Claire didn’t move. She glared first at him and then at the floor. Taking a deep breath and returning her eyes to him, she said, “I think we need to talk about this—” In a sudden movement, the dress fell from her shoulders as he tore the lavish fabric from her body. Claire stood in shock, wearing only high heels.
Consequences Consequences Page 4 “Apparently, you do not remember all the rules. Rule number one is to do as you are told.” The trembling intensified as tears teetered on her painted eyelids. No words came from her mouth. It was all right. Anthony had other plans for her mouth. He pushed her down, directed her to kneel, and unzipped his pants. She noted immediately that he followed his own rules—no underwear. He didn’t speak but roughly engaged her movement. At first, fearful of suffocating, she attempted to fight and back away, but he entwined his fingers in her hair and directed her as he found fit. From there, the evening continued until about 1:00 AM. When Anthony finally left the room, Claire threw back the blankets, grabbed the robe, and rushed to the door. Her hand gripped the smooth gray lever and pulled with all her might. It didn’t budge. She formed a fist and pounded again. Her hand throbbed, yet no one responded. The only answer was an eerie stillness. Claire reached for something, anything. Finding the vase of flowers, she threw it against the wall. The crystal shattered, showering the wall and carpet with crystal shards and water. The flowers unable to drink, scattered on the floor, left to wilt and die. Claire sank to the ground, tears flowing. Succumbing to the exhaustion and desperation, she fell asleep where she lay. The next morning, Anthony entered the suite. The sound of the beep and the opening door startled Claire. She rose and their eyes met. He surveyed the suite: a lamp overturned by the bed, a scarf tied to one of the bedposts, and the broken vase near their feet. He smiled. “Good morning, Claire.” “Good morning, Anthony,” she said with more determination than she’d been able to muster last evening. “I want you to know I have decided to go home. I will be leaving here today.” “Do you not like your accommodations?” Anthony’s black eyes shone as his smile widened. “I don’t believe you’ll be leaving so soon. We have a legally binding agreement.” He removed a bar napkin from his suit pocket. “Dated and signed by both of us.” Claire stared, astonished as her mind started to turn. This whole situation was so idiotic it couldn’t possibly be real. Who in their right mind thought a bar napkin was a legal agreement? And even if it was, which was like a snowball’s chance in hell, it never gave rights to abuse, demean, or condemn a person to slavery. Dumbfounded, she stared—speechless. Anthony continued, “Perhaps you don’t remember. You agreed to work for me—to do whatever I deemed fit or pleasing—in exchange for me paying off all of your debts.” Claire’s head throbbed. She recalled something of a napkin, maybe a job offer, but it was fuzzy. Besides, she would stay in debt and work double or triple shifts at the bar before agreeing to this! “Apparently, you’ve been busy in the last twenty-six years. With education, rent, credit cards, and car, you have managed to accumulate approximately 215 thousand dollars of debt. This agreement was dated March 15, and as with any legally binding agreement, you or I had three days for recession. Today is March 20. I currently own you, until your debt is paid. You will not be leaving until our agreement is complete. End of discussion.” In desperation, her trembling resumed, and she found her voice. “It is not the end of this discussion! This is ludicrous! An agreement doesn’t give you the right to rape me! I am leaving!” She eyed the door to the hallway—only a few feet away and miraculously left open. Without warning, Anthony’s hand contacted her left cheek and sent her the other direction across the floor. He slowly walked to where she lay. He didn’t bother to bend down, merely looked at her from high above, and repeated, “Perhaps in time, your memory will improve. It seems to be an issue. Let me remind you again, rule number one is that you will do as you are told. If I say a discussion is over, it is over.” Picking up the napkin and placing it in his suit coat pocket, he continued, “And this written agreement states whatever is pleasing to me, means consensual, not rape.” Still towering over her, he straightened his suit jacket and smoothed his tie. “I have decided that it would be better if you do not leave your suite for a while. Don’t worry. We have plenty of time, 215 thousand dollars—worth of time.” With that, he turned to leave the suite, the sound of broken crystal echoing from under his Gucci loafers. His controlled, imposing tone terrified Claire more than his words. He spoke with such authority it left her powerless to move or speak. “I’ll inform the staff that you may have your breakfast, after you clean up this crystal.” He disappeared behind the large white door. Claire heard the beep and the lock as she allowed herself to reach up and touch her stinging cheek. The total silence returned as she looked at the mess before her. Though it was a small, insignificant protest, she heard herself say, “I’d rather starve than clean this up.” A while later, with tears in her eyes and the sound of sniffles, she found herself crawling around the floor retrieving pieces of crystal. She had most of the large pieces picked up when she noticed the blood on her robe. After investigating, Claire determined that it came from a cut on her hand. The blurriness of her vision made the task difficult as she tried unsuccessfully to remove the sliver of crystal from her palm. Suddenly, the too-familiar beep made her turn toward the door—terrified of Anthony’s return. Catherine entered, looked around, and shook her head. “Ms. Claire, let me clean that. You’ll end up cutting yourself.” “I believe I already have.” Claire held out her hand. Very tenderly, Catherine led Claire into the bathroom and removed the crystal. She then cleaned and bandaged her hand. When they returned to the suite, the evidence of the previous night was gone. The suite was clean, no overturned lamps, no scarves, and the vase was gone. Sitting on the table was a tray of food. Claire walked to the table and obediently ate her breakfast—alone. An overwhelming feeling of desperation filled her chest. She was trapped, alone, and didn’t know what to do. Grandma always said a new perspective was helpful. Claire decided to take a shower again, and then hopefully, she would think of something. The trust of the innocent is the liar’s most useful tool. —Stephen King Chapter Two ‡ —Five Days Earlier— The day filled with meetings served its purpose. First, he met with the station manager, then endless hours with the sales team listening to budget reports followed by proposals. Truthfully, these meetings didn’t usually warrant the attendance of the parent corporation’s CEO. Judging by the way WKPZ’s executives fell over themselves to justify every expense and augment every proposal—they demonstrated that they at least, recognized this visit as extraordinary. Truth be known, Anthony Rawlings didn’t give a damn about the two-bit television station. It already served its purpose. If he closed it tomorrow, he wouldn’t lose sleep; however, the meetings revealed that the station was turning a profit, and given the current state of economy, profitable was good. When he returned to the main office, he would assign a team to investigate an impending sale. Wouldn’t it be great if this acquired station could reap both personal and monetary benefits? After the conclusion of the meetings, he agreed to a social outing with the new station personnel director and his assistant. If they knew anything about him, they would realize that this was completely out of character. Totally self-serving, his acceptance of their invitation came with one stipulation—they must go to the Red Wing. He told them, he’d heard it had the best fried green tomatoes in Atlanta, Georgia.
Consequences Consequences Page 5 Thankfully, the two associates had families that were waiting earnestly for their return. Anthony listened attentively to their personnel plans and thanked them for their devotion to WKPZ. After sipping a Red Wing signature beer and consuming a portion of the fried green tomato appetizer, Mr. Rawlings insisted that they take leave and spend time with their loved ones; however, if he were questioned under oath, he wouldn’t be able to recall one word they said. His attention was focused on the brown-haired, green-eyed bartender. He knew she was scheduled to start her shift at four o’clock and would be here. As soon as his associates left, he texted his driver and informed him that he would be at the Red Wing until late. Then, he casually walked to an empty stool at the end of the bar, near the wall. It reduced the probability of anyone striking up conversation by 50 percent. He would have preferred 100 percent—but damn—he couldn’t have everything—yet. The only object of his conversation and attention would be the smiling young woman on the other side of the shiny smooth wooden slab. “Hey, handsome, do you need another beer?” Anthony lifted his gaze and looked into her emerald eyes. He had a handsome face and knew after many years of practice exactly how to use it; however, at this moment, his smile was genuine. She was finally talking to him. It had been a long, lonely road, but the destination was in sight. “Thank you, I would.” Sizing up the remaining contents of his glass, she asked, “Is that one of our custom wheats?” “Well, yes, it’s the La Bière Blanche.” She smiled sweetly and hurried away to fill him another glass. Returning with the amber liquid, she efficiently removed his empty tumbler, replaced it with the full glass, and a fresh Red Wing napkin. “I would like to start a tab,” Anthony said. “That would be great. If I could have your credit card, I’ll begin one right away.” Anthony opened his Armani jacket and removed the wallet from the inside pocket. He had so many things he wanted to say, but he had all night—hell, he had forever. Her shift wouldn’t end until ten, and he planned to spend the evening sitting right there. Handing her his platinum Visa, he watched as she read the name. “Thank you, Mr. Rawlings. I’ll return this to you in a minute.” Her smile or expression never wavered. She turned away toward the cash register. Anthony sat back against the chair with a brief moment of satisfaction. She didn’t know who he was. This was perfect. During the next few hours, Anthony observed as Claire chatted and flirted with customer after customer. Her attentions were friendly and attentive, but never overtly personal. Some of the customers were greeted by name as they found their way to an empty seat. Many knew her name before she could introduce herself. Anthony assumed they were regulars. Both men and women appeared pleased to have her wait on them. She moved nonstop, clearing away empty glasses and plates and replacing them with more of the same or checks in need of payment. She wiped the shiny wooden bar and smiled even when a comment deserved a strong retort. After so much time watching her from afar, being this close gave him a rush greater than securing a multimillion-dollar deal. Perhaps it was the knowledge of what was to come. * After tending bar on and off again for years, Claire Nichols knew how to read people. More importantly, she genuinely liked the little quirks that made them real. For instance, take Mr. La Bière Blanche, he’d been watching her for the last few hours, like a lion sizing up its prey. She judged that he was at least ten years her senior, but hid his age well, behind that perfect smile, dark, wavy styled hair, and amazing brown, almost-black eyes. Claire smiled a secretive smile—she was watching him too. “What time do you get off?” His strong, husky voice resonated above the clamor of the bar, patrons, and music. “Now, Anthony—isn’t that what you said your name is?” Claire’s chatty work tone contained the slightest of a Southern drawl, the kind of accent you pick up from being around it so much. Her roots in Indiana with a mother that taught English wouldn’t allow her to drag those syllables out too far—unless on purpose. Smiling a devilish grin and flashing those sensual eyes, he met her gaze. “Yes, that’s correct, and if I recall, your name is Claire.” “And, even though I’m flattered, I don’t usually see my customers outside this esteemed establishment.” “All right, what time do you get off? Perhaps we could sit in one of those booths, right here”—he gestured toward the dance floor—“in this esteemed establishment—and talk? I would like to know more about you.” Damn. He was smoother talking than any of the regular Joes that sat on these stools. And now that his silk tie was in the pocket of his Armani suit coat, and the top button of his silk shirt was undone, his casual business persona was incredibly sexy. “Now tell me again what brings you to Atlanta. You aren’t from around here, are you?” Claire said, leaning against the bar. “Business, and no, but I think I’m the one who wanted to ask the questions.” His tone demonstrated a playful quality and at the same time exhibited focus and control. Claire’s intuition told her that he was used to getting his way. Something made her wonder if that’s what made him successful in business. His appearance definitely said success. She pondered if that transcended to his personal life. Claire listened and watched as Anthony’s eyes glistened. He was tall, and now that the coat had been removed, she could tell he was muscular, with a wide chest and firm waist. Most importantly, his left hand had an empty fourth finger. That would definitely be a red flag. Against her better judgment, Claire decided she wanted to answer his questions. “Okay.” Claire smiled charmingly. “But I will’ve been standing behind this bar for six hours straight. I can’t promise I’ll be the best company.” “Then I take that as a yes? But did you tell me the time? Or am I still waiting for that answer?” She found herself absorbed in his eyes. “Yo! Hey, sweetheart, how about you give us some service down here?” Claire’s attention was suddenly pulled away from the hold of those amazing eyes. The asshole down the bar needed more Jack and Coke. As she started to walk away, Anthony reached for her hand, which had been resting on the bar only inches from his. His warm touch made her skin tingle. He didn’t ask again, but his expression did… “At 10:00 PM—I get off at 10:00 PM.” She removed her hand from under his, shook her head, and walked down the bar, smiling to herself. She needed to find out what the asshole wanted. * The deep-red vinyl seats of the semicircular booth situated on the edge of the dance floor tried unsuccessfully to imitate fine upholstery. Music filled the air, too loud and too fast. In Anthony’s mind, it created the perfect climate, requiring him and Claire to sit close in an effort to hear one another. He also had a bottle of the Red Wing’s finest Cabernet Sauvignon. Looking at his watch for the hundredth time, he read the hands as they said 10:30 PM. It was then that he saw Claire walking across the empty dance floor toward his booth. This night was definitely filled with out-of-character behaviors. Not only did Anthony Rawlings not fraternize with regional associates, he never waited for anyone. Under any other circumstance, he would have been up and gone by 10:05 PM. His friends, associates, and employees all knew his obsession with punctuality. Tonight was different.
Consequences Consequences Page 6 As Claire eased herself into the booth, she smiled a fatigued grin and apologized, “I’m sorry for the delay. There was a problem with the cash register, but all’s well now.” He gently touched her hand. Momentarily, he was transfixed by the contrast—large and small. “I was beginning to wonder if you were standing me up”—his grin hinted toward levity—“But since I could see you across the room, I hoped I might still have a chance at friendly conversation.” Claire’s exhale and upturned lips told him she was relieved. Was it because he was still waiting or merely that her shift was complete? “Perhaps we could have a glass of wine, and you could enjoy sitting instead of standing.” “I believe that would be very nice.” Anthony poured the wine and noticed Claire’s expression relax. The transformation occurring before him was from bartender, to the real Claire Nichols. He watched as she took the glass, placed her lips on the rim, closed her eyes, and relished the thick red liquid on her tongue. Anthony fought the urge to think too much about her actions. “So what’s a classy girl like you doing waiting on stooges like us?” Anthony’s rich voice refocused Claire’s attention. Her eyes twinkled with emerald lights as she turned to face him. “Why, Anthony, I do believe that self-deprecating statement was a compliment to me, in a way.” Her intonation held the Southern accent far from her native Indiana cadence. He only arched his eyebrows in response, waiting patiently for an answer. Claire shook her head succumbing to his charm. “I’m an out-of-work meteorologist. My news station was bought about a year ago. In their infinite wisdom they decided I was no longer needed—so this”—she said as she glided her free hand open above the table—“is my new glamorous life. Don’t knock it. It pays my student loans as well as multiple other bills.” His deep laughter was nonjudgmental. “Wouldn’t you rather be doing the weather thing than this?” “Of course, but honestly, this isn’t so bad. I have some great friends here. There’s always something happening, and I meet nice people like you.” Claire took another sip of the wine and leaned a little closer. “So that’s my story in a nutshell. Sir, it is your turn. You said you are here on business. What kind of business do you do?” “I’m actually involved in many businesses. I came to Atlanta for an acquisition, and some associates convinced me to come here to your revered establishment to try the world-famous fried green tomatoes.” “Oh, they did—did you?” Anthony nodded. “Yes, I did.” Claire looked into her glass in an attempt to hide the snicker that escaped her lips. “Did you like them?” He likewise looked into his glass. “No, I don’t believe I’m destined for Georgian cuisine.” Unable to keep it silenced any longer, Claire’s laughter caused him to look up. “Why are you laughing?” “Because I think they are awful! Every time someone orders them, I want to whisper, ‘No, don’t do it.’ It’s just that they are so—” “Slimy!” They said in unison and chuckled. The conversation progressed effortlessly. She asked about his acquisition. Would his trip be successful? Anthony was honestly surprised at her depth and knowledge. It was a shame that her news station hadn’t kept her on. She deserved so much better than tending bar. Of course, that was what he told her. They discussed her career opportunities. Due to Anthony’s involvement in multiple endeavors, he offered the possibility of assistance with more profitable employment. Claire thanked him for his offer, but doubted his ability or desire to truly assist. “You know, your destiny could be as simple as an offer and a signature away.” He channeled every deal he ever made, which were more than he could count or recall. Placing a napkin on the table, he drew her attention to the center design. “Just imagine, instead of the swirly lettering saying Red Wing it was blocked and read, Weather Channel.” The bottle of Cabernet Sauvignon was almost empty. Claire closed her eyes and did as Anthony instructed—she imagined. Exhaling audibly, she said, “That would be wonderful. It would be the offer of a meteorologist’s dreams.” Closing in on the deal, he said, “Well, Claire, if this napkin were that contract”—he reached for a pen in his breast pocket and wrote at the top of the napkin Job Contract—“would you be willing to sign? Would you really give this all up for a job offer?” She didn’t blink. “In a heartbeat!” Removing the pen from Anthony’s hand, she signed, Claire Nichols next to the bar’s insignia. About midnight, Claire thanked Anthony for the lovely company and explained that she was very tired from her long day and needed to get home. “I’ll be in town for a few more days. Perhaps I could call you for dinner? It isn’t proper to offer a lady alcohol without food.” “Thank you, I’m honored, but I believe I’ll chuck this up to my brush with an amazing gentleman and go on with my glamorous existence. I fear that the Weather Channel will not be contacting me anytime soon.” Although her refusal surprised him, he didn’t let it show. In the long run, it wouldn’t matter, but he would play into her chastity. “I truly understand; dangerous man from out of town tries to learn your secrets and offers to help you with your aspirations. You’re wise to keep your distance.” Although his grin had sinister written all over it, he assumed she would detect the facade. “A girl can’t be too careful. Truly, I’m honored, and I don’t think you seem that dangerous.” She began to scoot out of the booth, but he caught her hand. Their eyes met, he bowed his head, and kissed the back of her hand. “It was wonderful to meet you, Claire Nichols.” With a smile, she retrieved her hand and slowly slid from the booth. The next minute, he was alone. He took the pen, signed his name, and wrote the date on the same napkin. He carefully folded it and placed it in the pocket of his suit jacket. Then he pulled out his phone and texted his driver: “PICK ME UP NOW.” He always used full words. Text language was a joke. Closing his eyes, he thought, yes—my acquisition is going quite well. Thank you for asking. To look backward for a while is to refresh the eye, to restore it, and to render it the more fit for its prime function of looking—forward. —Margaret Fairless Barber, The Roadmender Chapter Three ‡ Claire contemplated her situation as she ate. She hadn’t taken the napkin discussion seriously. Anthony probably expected that. She didn’t prepare to move from her Atlanta apartment or even consider the possibility. His recollection of a document that legally bound them was a complete shock. Claire’s gut told her it wasn’t legal, but what recourse did she have to fight from this room? She’d searched high and low for a telephone, computer, or some form of communication—nothing. She actually thought she would walk out of this twisted nightmare; however, it wasn’t a nightmare, twisted or otherwise. It was her reality. Her mind searched for a way to survive and escape. Claire relished the warm oatmeal, fruit, bacon, perfectly brewed coffee, and juice. Yesterday she’d hardly eaten. Today she was ravenous, devouring every ounce, even checking twice for more coffee in the carafe. At least starvation wasn’t part of Anthony’s plan.
Consequences Consequences Page 7 Standing for a shower, she moved gingerly, experiencing the same aches and pains of the day before—perhaps intensified. Claire wasn’t sure if she wanted to see herself in the mirrors as she cautiously stepped into the generous bathroom and slowly approached the dressing table. The image that reflected back looked scary, hair messed and tangled, face sporting various shades of red and blue. The worst image had to be her lips, swollen—looking as if she’d received Botox injections. This time, there were no tears; instead, she stared and considered. Grandma Nichols told her more than once she was an unusually strong young woman. In Claire’s mind, Grandma was always strong. Grandpa’s work in law enforcement took him away from home. Grandma never complained. Instead, she was the heart of the family—always there for everyone and often giving advice, such as, “It’s not the circumstances that make a person a success. It’s how that person responds to those circumstances.” Grandma believed every situation could be made better by the right attitude. Claire dropped the robe. Beholding the vision in the mirror, she believed Grandma never anticipated a situation like this. After the shower, Claire decided to not dress appropriately in expectation of an Anthony visitation. If he were to walk in her suite, he would find her in jeans, a T-shirt, and fuzzy socks. Furthermore, there would be no make-up and no hair primping. It may be a small act of rebellion, but Claire didn’t have many rebellious options. Every bone in her body wanted to fight. She tried to fight during the past two nights—but that hadn’t worked well. Entering the grand closet/dressing room, Claire realized that yesterday she hadn’t truly appreciated all it had to offer. First, she began to look for underwear, but remembered that it didn’t exist in any of the drawers. So, Claire searched for jeans. There were multiple pairs, different shades of blue with different leg styles. Wearing jeans must not break any rules; if it did, they wouldn’t be there. The brands she read on the labels she’d only seen in stores like Saks, Hudson, J Brand, and MIH. She never in her life tried on jeans like these. They were soft, amazingly comfortable, and fit perfectly. Feeling a chill as she removed the robe, Claire decided a sweater would be better than a T-shirt. The countless choices were equally as fashionable. She decided on a Donna Karan pink, fuzzy cashmere sweater. Before putting it on, she looked for a bra. Apparently, bras were against the rules too; however, she did find a drawer full of various colored camisoles—she chose pink. It was like a treasure hunt, as she searched the drawers and cabinets of the closet. Still rummaging for fuzzy socks, she found multiple drawers of lingerie. The silky black and red negligees in multiple lengths made her uncomfortable as they reminded her of a Victoria’s Secret fashion show. Finally, she discovered socks. Claire couldn’t comprehend that all of these lavish and extravagant clothes were for her. Truthfully, she didn’t want them. Driven by curiosity and boredom, she read the labels on the evening dresses: Aidan Mattox, Armani, Donna Karan, and Emilio Pucci. These dresses alone could pay her rent in Atlanta for six months. Fleetingly, she wondered about last night’s dress. Its tag would remain a mystery since it disappeared when the room was cleaned. Next, she inspected the shoes: pumps, sandals, boots, and slip-ons—most with four-inch heels or more. The brands were equally as high-priced as the dresses: Prada, Calvin Klein, Dior, Kate Spade, and Yves Saint Lauren. Never really a shoe person, Claire usually wore casual footwear, Crocs and sneakers—rarely heels and never that high. Of course, every pair was her size. Her mind slipped back to high school. Ten years ago, she would have done anything for a closet supplied like the one in which she stood. Back then, her sister helped her fit in despite her parents’ modest income. Emily took her to consignment shops, bargain-hunted and shopped sale racks. It worked. Claire was part of the in crowd, wearing the right clothes, shoes, and carrying the right purse. As she turned slowly and took in all the clothes, she wished she didn’t have this closet or any of the memories. Hearing the beep, she knew the suite door had opened. Her heart raced. Who was here? How long had she been in the closet? Stepping into the suite, she saw lunch being delivered by the same young man that brought dinner the night before. Claire hadn’t notice last night, but he appeared Latino. She asked him about the food. He smiled and said, “I bring Ms. Claire lunch.” She asked about Catherine, if she would be visiting. He replied, “I bring Ms. Claire lunch.” Claire smiled and thanked him for the lunch. Other questions seemed senseless. Each response and smile the young man offered was unaccompanied by eye contact. Claire thought about his job—bringing her food. Obviously, with the lack of make-up, he could see her bruises. Hell, he opened a locked door to bring her food. What did he think of her, of the situation? The idea of seeing her plight from someone else’s perspective weighed heavily on her chest. Sadness intensified at the realization, she once again was completely alone. Instead of going to the table, Claire sat on the sofa and wrapped her arms around her knees. Staring into the fireplace, she contemplated turning it on. Time passed without record. She didn’t remember sleeping. Her position didn’t change. The unbearable quiet and isolation combined to create a kind of time-and-space continuum. It was after 3:00 PM on the bedside clock before she moved from the sofa. It was then she realized that the food remained on the table, untouched. The subtle glow from behind the curtains reminded Claire that she hadn’t looked out the windows since she awoke yesterday morning. When she checked for a means of escape the first night, everything was locked tight. At that time, the nocturnal darkness wouldn’t permit her to see past her own reflection. Of the multiple golden draperies, the largest covered a section of wall near the sitting area. Claire moved toward it, searching for a cord to pull, to make the draperies move and reveal the secrets on the other side. After minutes of seeking, Claire found a switch. Tentatively, she pushed it up. Instantaneously, the draperies opened, revealing tall French doors with a balcony beyond. In her hysteria the other night, she hadn’t noticed the French doors, thinking instead that they were only windows. She definitely didn’t see the balcony. Her mind raced with possibilities: maybe from the balcony, she could climb down. Alas no, the French doors were locked and bolted. Expectedly the key was nowhere to be found. Claire had a good idea who possessed it. The view beyond the doors revealed a massive uninhabited countryside, for miles only trees—thousands and thousands of trees—on very flat land. Once she stopped seeing the magnitude of unpopulated land, she realized that the trees weren’t green, and the earth wasn’t red. When she and Anthony made their contractual agreement, they were at a bar, the Red Wing, in Atlanta. What she saw from her locked balcony doors didn’t look like Georgia. She yearned for her home in Atlanta. Even though she wasn’t from there, her career path had taken her to WKPZ, a local affiliate out of Atlanta. That path started with a major in meteorology at Valparaiso University in Indiana. Being born and raised in Fishers, outside of Indianapolis, college in Indiana was expected. Her dreams almost ended when both of her parents tragically died during her junior year. Miraculously, she received a scholarship. That, with her student loans and bartending, allowed her to continue her education. After graduation, her path took her to a one-year unpaid internship in Upstate New York. Being in the weather business, she should have realized how much she would hate the weather in Albany; however, it was the ability to live with her sister and brother-in-law that made the offer easy to accept. Recently married, Emily and John were very willing to help Claire any way they could. Emily taught school, and John recently started practicing law with an esteemed firm in Albany. Since the two were high school sweethearts, Claire knew John most of her life. Living with them was easy. In hindsight, maybe not for the newlyweds; but for Claire, they were her only family.
Consequences Consequences Page 8 When the offer came toward the end of her internship for WKPZ, Claire willingly followed her path to Atlanta. She figured the Vandersols needed some time alone, the weather was better in Atlanta, and the job was everything she’d prayed for. As the years continued, she learned more and more about the business, earned respect, notoriety, and a growing income. The station manager told her more than once that her willingness to learn and work made her a rising star. The path hit a roadblock in April of 2009 when WKPZ was purchased by a large corporate network. Claire wasn’t the only person to lose her job. Actually, over half of the veterans and most of the interns and assistants were let go. By then, she had student loans, an apartment, car and credit card debt. Honestly, that credit card and bartending kept food on the table while she looked for new employment. She considered leaving Atlanta. But she liked the city, climate, and people. In Atlanta, she could depend on indigo blue skies and rusted red dirt. The vision out her window was black and white, like an old photograph. The ground, trees, and grass were colorless. The cloud-covered sky hung low and endless. The word that came to mind was cold. She could be in Indiana, Michigan, or anywhere in the Midwest. They all looked alike. She hated winter, the darkness, and lack of color. Now, she was staring at it through the windows of her prison. Claire wondered if she should have opened the drapes. Her discovery made her situation direr. If she wasn’t in Atlanta, where was she? And how did she get here? She looked at the stupid switch and considered shutting away the bleak outside world. It wasn’t helping her attitude. Claire decided the switch didn’t help her attitude, nor did the non-English speaking servant, the expensive clothes, or the lavish surroundings. She was being held prisoner by a crazy man who somehow believed that he now owned her. Her location, luxurious surroundings, fancy clothes—none of it mattered. She could have been in a cinder block cell. She was still a prisoner, and the stupid extravagant stuff wouldn’t change that. As hours passed into days, Claire had nothing to do but think. She mostly thought about escaping, fantasizing about running through the massive wooded forest outside her window. In her fantasy, salvation was through the trees, but she couldn’t get outside the room, much less to the trees. After a few days, in a moment of heated desperation, Claire took one of the chairs from the table and tried to break the panes of glass on the French doors. The damn chair bounced off the glass. She searched the suite for anything heavy. The closest thing was a thick book. Even with repeated strikes, the windows remained intact. The hours and days spent alone made her yearn for the hustle and bustle of the Red Wing. She wondered about the regulars and her coworkers. Had anyone reported her missing? These thoughts usually resulted in tears and a headache. In an attempt at self-preservation and sanity, she began to think about the past. Was there something in the past that led to this? Liking earth science and weather, meteorology seemed a natural choice. She loved the unknown. As a teenager she experienced her first tornado. The power and unpredictability of the storm fascinated her. It exhilarated her to watch warm and cold fronts collide. She loved to learn more about the whys and hows. The computers could help you predict the weather. But it is such a small part. Why do some fronts stall and create floods when days before the models predicted only an inch of rain? How can a warm sunny day suddenly turn stormy? She wanted to understand it better, to control the outcomes in some way, and perhaps minimize its destructive forces. But now a degree in meteorology seemed useless. * —Near the end of March— He’d been in the little apartment on multiple occasions. Thankfully, this would be his last visit. Looking at his TAG Heuer watch, he knew the movers should be there in thirty minutes. He slowly walked around the small rooms. Starting in her bedroom, he surveyed her remaining belongings. Everything else, clothes and household items, had been placed in boxes labeled for donation. The full-sized bed was now stripped with only the mattress, boxed springs, and frame remaining. On top of the dresser were the items Anthony pondered. There were pictures in frames, indicating sentimental attachment. He knew most of the faces, some he’d seen in person, and others he’d learned about through whatever means necessary. There was a picture of her grandparents in one of those cheap frames labeled Grandparents. Then there was an old picture of Claire with her sister, Emily, and their parents, taken in front of the Golden Gate Bridge. If he had to guess, Claire was about twelve or thirteen. There was a close-up of Claire and Emily at Emily’s wedding. He would have known the location even without the evidence of Emily’s veil. He remembered the day—it was hot and humid, even for Indiana. The last was a more recent photo of Emily and John sitting on a sofa. A few pieces of jewelry sat on top of her dresser. The inexpensive pieces had been included in the donation boxes. These items, however, were of finer quality. A pearl necklace on a white gold chain was the same one Claire wore in the wedding picture with Emily. There was also a pair of diamond earrings. As Anthony fingered the diamond studs with his gloved hands, he decided to put them into the donation box. The damn things couldn’t be half a carat total weight. He grinned. If he wanted Claire to have diamond earrings, they sure as hell would be bigger than that. Walking toward the living room, he glanced into the bathroom, completely empty. Most of its contents were thrown away. No one wants a used shower curtain. The living room was unnaturally sterile, dramatically contrasting the way he’d found it. Months ago, when he first entered the apartment to place the surveillance cameras, the small living room surprised him. He had closets bigger than this, yet it was homey, if that were possible. It may have been the pictures, plants, or eclectic furnishings—he really didn’t know. It felt warm—like her. Now the room was down to the bare essentials. He looked at his watch: seventeen more minutes. He picked up the laptop and placed it in the case. Going back to the bedroom, he decided to keep all the framed pictures and the pearl necklace. He put them all in the case with the laptop. Reminiscing, the computer had been invaluable. With it, he’d been able to access her calendar, e-mail, and various accounts. He found all scheduled commitments and via e-mail regretfully canceled. He also e-mailed her employer, Facebook friends, and sister. They all received a similar message describing an amazing opportunity she received, how she’d be unreachable for a while, but would get back to them as soon as her decision regarding her future was made. Through the laptop, her bank accounts, credit cards, auto loan, utility bills, cellular phone—everything—was assessed. The balances now all read zero. After paying each final statement in full, the accounts were closed. The monies that went into her bank accounts were difficult to trace, but if someone took the time to do it, they would learn it was a settlement from WKPZ. Anthony hoped no one would investigate that thoroughly, but if they did, that discovery should pacify them. Of course, WKPZ had no record of such a transaction, but the probability of anyone investigating that thoroughly was low. The fact the monies had been deposited into her various savings and checking accounts four days before her disappearance led to the allusion. Smiling, he recalled sitting with her at the Red Wing, knowing she had an extra 200 plus—thousand dollars—in her accounts and was clueless. Anthony knew from his surveillance that Claire only checked her accounts on the weekend. At that time, she would sit down and attempt to make ends meet. The day after she did her little balancing act, the funds electronically appeared.
Consequences Consequences Page 9 The settlement money and see you later e-mails combined to make her disappearance appear planned. If he could reach his own back, Anthony would give himself a hardy pat. He deserved it! The manager at the Red Wing had been the most difficult to quiet. After the e-mail, he immediately began calling and texting her phone. Thankfully, Anthony had her BlackBerry with him back in Iowa. Claire responded apologetically to the manager via text. She was so sorry to leave in such a rush, but you have to answer when opportunity knocks. Anthony was pretty sure that if she were to return to Atlanta, which she wouldn’t, the Red Wing would not be willing to reemploy. Keeping Claire’s laptop, Anthony could check her e-mail and account balances. He would also be able to periodically send e-mails or post a Facebook status update to keep the curious from overreacting. Even though the computer would be in Iowa, with a VPN (Virtual Private Network) set in Atlanta, the web address and URL wouldn’t change. No one would know the point of origin. Claire’s BlackBerry met an unfortunate accident. Many cell phones contain GPS trackers. Anthony wasn’t willing to take that chance. A mass text went out explaining that Claire would have a new number and would contact everyone as soon as possible. Then, after removing the SIM card, Anthony backed his rental car over the device—it didn’t survive. His case also contained the final hardware of his surveillance equipment. He definitely didn’t want some stupid painter running across one of his cameras. Six months of footage taught him much about Claire Nichols. She kept late hours and enjoyed sleeping late in the mornings. She liked to cook and bake, but gave a lot away. There were no boyfriends or male visitors to the apartment, which pleased Anthony. She liked to talk on the phone and chat with people on the computer. She rarely watched television except for a show called Grey’s Anatomy and another on the same station. She liked to exercise, sometimes walking with the lady next door. Rarely did she stay around the apartment, going out with friends frequently. Many times, she would return home in a less than sober state, but always alone. During Christmas season, she put up decorations and even a tree. The best part of the surveillance was access to her schedules and passwords. The computer hacking would have been more difficult without those passwords. Oh, he could have done it, but this was easier. Anthony heard the knock on the door. He removed his gloves, put them in his pockets, and opened the door. A burly man with underarm stains and a perspiration-drenched face met his gaze. He inquired. “Hi, are you John Vandersol?” “Yeah, that’s me—you the movers? Come on in.” Anthony decided that even though he looked nothing like Claire’s brother-in-law, his presence in her apartment made more sense than any other male. People rarely remembered faces anyway. Anthony signed the contract and paid the man in cash, with a 200 dollar tip. He explained that his sister-in-law moved to another city for a job and wanted all of her things taken to the local refuge for donation. The mover wasn’t interested in the backstory, and Anthony didn’t push. He gave enough information to make the transition plausible and not too much to make it sound contrived. Too bad Claire wouldn’t be filing taxes. She could receive a hell of a deduction for her donations. It didn’t take the men long to empty the apartment. Her car sold for an amazingly low price. Actually, it hadn’t been enough to pay off the loan, but the point was to get rid of it. Forging her signature on the paperwork wasn’t difficult. He used her signature on the napkin as a pattern. The fortunate buyer didn’t ask questions. Caressing the case that held the only remnants of Claire’s previous life, Anthony wiped the doorknob with his gloves, locked the door to the empty apartment, and placed the keys into an envelope. The complex had been e-mailed about Claire’s sudden move, as well as reimbursed for severing the lease. The envelope was deposited into an open slot in the office door. Getting into the rented vehicle, he called his driver: “PICK ME UP AT BUDGET RENTAL, TEN MINUTES.” Anthony didn’t like doing all these tasks himself. Under different circumstances, he would hire someone to box the items, or wait for the movers. This—however—wasn’t normal circumstances. He couldn’t risk others knowing his plan. He couldn’t even trust his best friend and head of his legal team. This was all very private. Eric, Anthony’s driver, had some clue about things transpiring in Atlanta. Truthfully, he had more than a clue. He helped transport Claire back to Iowa; however, Eric’s allegiance was steadfast, as was the rest of his household staff. Sighing as he parked the inconspicuous gray Toyota Camry in the lot of Budget Rent-A-Car, he thanked God this was done. Now to change into his kind of clothes, get back to his real life, prepare for his scheduled meetings overseas—and decide Claire’s future. He flashed a private smile—the acquisition was complete. Through humor, you can soften some of the worst blows that life delivers. And once you find laughter, no matter how painful your situation might be, you can survive it. —Bill Cosby Chapter Four ‡ Multiple times a day, she would think of her chance meeting with Anthony Rawlings. She believed his name sounded familiar, but didn’t and still doesn’t know why. God, she would love to put his name in Google and see what popped up; maybe Crazy Abusive Man or Nut Job with a Supremacy Complex? She recalled that one day, while tending bar, they started to talk, not about anything particular, just chat. He was attentive and charming. His eyes mesmerized her, not with fear as they did now, more of a pull, an attraction. Her policy was not to see patrons socially, yet for some reason, when Anthony invited her to a small booth after her shift, she accepted. In hindsight, Claire believed she was safe, still being in the Red Wing. Once there, they continued talking and drank some wine. At some point, he had a napkin and talked about helping her obtain a job. It was something about the Weather Channel—definitely not this. She remembered signing the napkin but couldn’t recall him signing it. The entire scenario seemed harmless. She couldn’t remember what was written on the napkin. It was never discussed again as they shared a few more glasses of Cabernet Sauvignon. After that, she went home—alone. The next day she slept in, shopped for groceries, which now sat rotting in her refrigerator, and worked the closing shift. Had she known it was her last full day of freedom, she would have spent it in a more productive manner: visiting with friends, enjoying a crowd at the mall, or calling her sister. Claire wondered if Anthony returned to the bar that day. She didn’t think so, but she did remember his call that evening… * —About a week ago—March 16— The call surprised Claire. After their talk the night before and her refusal to see him for food, she never expected to hear from him again, yet the call came as the seats around the bar were beginning to fill. Her boss didn’t appreciate personal calls at slow times of the day, much less during busy times. “Hello, this is Claire. May I help you?” “Good evening, Claire.” Her heart skipped a beat, immediately recognizing the deep, husky voice that accompanied the handsome, dark-haired, dark-eyed man. “Anthony?” First a chuckle, then, “I’m impressed. You have a wonderful memory for voices.”
Consequences Consequences Page 10 Well, yeah, when they accompany people like you. “Thank you, I talk with people for a living. I’m surprised you called. Did you forget or leave something?” “Well, yes and no.” The manager walked toward her. She covered the phone and whispered, “Customer from yesterday looking for something.” He turned away and walked to the kitchen. “Okay, if you let me know what it is, I can look around and call you back. First, let me get your number.” “Oh, you definitely have my number. First, I think you should know what I left.” Claire waited impatiently. He sounded mysterious, but there were people waiting. Finally, he said, “You, Claire—” Her cheeks flushed. “Excuse me?” “I’ve been thinking about you and would be honored if you’d agree to accompany me to dinner.” Claire’s mind scrambled. She tried to think, but the bar was filling with patrons all looking to her for service. Anthony was waiting for her to respond. Last night, he was so handsome and charming. The prospect of someone like him, older and successful, taking the time to call her after a few hours of chatting was flattering. She worked to sound resilient, “I’m sorry, I work until close. That’s too late for dinner.” “Someone named Crystal, who answered the telephone earlier, said you work the early shift tomorrow. Or will you turn me down again and send me home heartbroken?” Claire sighed. This was outside of her comfort zone, but then again, she didn’t want to be responsible for sending some poor, successful, gorgeous businessman home heartbroken. “I’m supposed to get off tomorrow at 6:00 PM, but if you recall from last night, it isn’t always prompt. I could be ready by 7:00 PM, if that isn’t too late?” His tone sounded lighter and quicker, “Wonderful. Should I pick you up at the Red Wing or your place?” Oh God, she wasn’t ready for him to know where she lived. “I can meet you—” He cut her off. “I’m sure you can, but let me pick you up in style. I’ll see you at 7:00 PM at the Red Wing. We’re going to Chez Czar, until tomorrow, Claire.” The telephone disconnected. For the next sixty to seventy minutes, the barrage of orders and customers needing pacification kept her mind from fully registering her actions. She’d accepted an invitation to one of the most exclusive dining spots in Atlanta, with someone she barely knew. She broke her no dating a customer rule and her no going in the same car on a first date rule; however, just maybe, the first date was in the booth at the Red Wing. Then this would officially be the second date—which was totally acceptable. Oh my, what would she wear? The next morning, she didn’t have much time; however, after shaving her legs, Claire decided to swing by Greenbriar Mall and see if Macy’s had anything appropriate for an evening with a man like Anthony Rawlings, in her price range. It turned out there was nothing for free, but she did find a simple black dress on its second markdown. It was shorter than she normally wore, but it fit, and she didn’t have time to be picky. After a quick run through Burlington’s, she purchased a pair of simple black heeled sandals. These items, accompanied by a black cotton half sweater, she had at home, would be perfect for a cool spring evening. March 17th was a bigger holiday in the bar business than Christmas. Thankfully, Claire’s shift ended at 6:00 PM. She wanted to be gone before the holiday crowd hit the Red Wing. St. Patrick’s Day bestowed a claim of Irish roots on each patron, all anxiously awaiting their share of the green beer. By 6:15 PM, she was officially clocked out, with her register balanced. In the back of the bar, was a small locker room where the female employees kept their purses, coats, and extra clothes. Opening her locker, Claire pulled out the black dress. After changing her clothes and stuffing her Red Wing T-shirt and jeans back into the locker, she looked at herself in the mirror. Twisting and turning, her uneasiness came out in her reddened cheeks. This wasn’t her. She was jeans, T-shirts, and tennis shoes. Pushing forward, she added eyeliner, mascara, and lip-gloss. That, accompanied by a quick brush through her hair, was as good as it would get. Judging by the hoots from both sides of the bar when she entered the front of the Red Wing, she did all right. “Check you out, hot stuff. Where ya going all dolled up?” This flirting tone was one of the many voices from Claire’s manager repertoire. Feeling playful, she decided to respond all Southern belle, “Why, sir”—the syllables drawn-out—“I don’t know what you mean.” He raised his eyebrows and stared. “Well, goodness gracious, I do have a little ’ole date with a tall, dark, handsome stranger.” A few minutes later, a shiny black Porsche pulled up to the front of the bar. “See y’all later. Don’t wait up.” The coworkers behind the bar did some more hoot’n and holler’n as Claire smiled and the voices faded into the sounds of the night on the other side of the door. Anthony got out of the driver’s side. His perfectly tailored light-colored Armani suit validated the purchase of her new black dress. Chivalrously, he kissed her hand and escorted her around to the passenger’s door. At the time, Claire believed that the simple act was the most elegant gesture she’d ever experienced. Being a four-star authentic Italian restaurant in the heart of Atlanta, Chez Czar had a reputation for being continually booked. Claire wondered how they could possibly have reservations on such short notice; however, as soon as they arrived the hostess greeted them warmly and guided them to a premium table. When the waiter arrived with menus, Anthony immediately asked for their best bottle of Batasiolo Barolo. After the waiter departed, Claire began to look at the menu. She couldn’t help notice there were no prices. What did that mean? When she looked up from behind the large leather-bound folder, Anthony was looking at her—not his menu. Once again, Claire felt her cheeks flush. “Do you already know what you want?” she asked. “I believe I do.” He reached for her menu. Claire released it, although she hadn’t had a chance to really see her choices. The whole no price thing had her a little be-fuddled. “And, I can’t see you behind that big menu.” Claire smiled. She’d never met a man like Anthony. She felt like she had his full attention, which was nice, but a little unsettling. When the waiter returned with the wine, he poured a small amount into a glass. Anthony tasted the liquid and replied, “Ahh, yes.” The waiter poured two glasses. Claire wondered if this was the type of service people talk about on cruise ships. Goodness knows people weren’t treated like this at the Red Wing or Applebee’s for that matter. Before she realized what happened, Anthony had ordered dinner. Tentatively, she replied “Well, thank you.” “Don’t you like Caesar salad and shrimp linguine?” he asked, dismayed. “Oh, I do. It’s just, no one has ever ordered for me without first asking me my preference.” Claire thought to herself, But then again, I have never met anyone like you. The tips of his lips moved upward and his eyes shone. “If you don’t like your food, we can certainly send it back for something else.” As soon as the linguine arrived at the table and the aroma of garlic and butter penetrated her senses, Claire knew the taste would be even better. When the shrimp touched her tongue, she relished the seasoned flavor. Anthony was incredibly charming and polite. After dinner, as they waited for the valet, he gently placed his arm around her waist. He was much taller than she realized at the Red Wing. Leaning down to her ear, he whispered, “May I kiss you?”
Consequences Consequences Page 11 Feeling the unstoppable sensation of his stare, Claire only nodded. When his soft and full lips touched hers, she momentarily felt the rest of the world disappear. It ended too soon as he pulled away and smiled; Claire’s cheeks flushed. Once they were alone in the car, he asked, “Are you ready to go back to the Red Wing, or should I take you to your home?” As Claire contemplated her options, he offered her a third alternative, “Or would you like to join me in my suite, perhaps for some more wine, or we could call room service for dessert?” Smiling, she responded, “I like dessert.” The hotel’s foyer was exquisite—marble floors, large glowing chandeliers, and huge floral arrangements. Claire tried to not look around. She’d never entered such an exclusive establishment. His suite at the Ritz Carlton was as large as an apartment. Once inside, he remained suave and sensual with deep dark brown eyes. His glance transfixed her, giving her the sensation of chocolate, dark and melted. Although she didn’t know him that well, she agreed to romance and sexual pleasures. Something about him made her break all her own rules. He was prepared, romantic, and attentive. After midnight Claire lifted her head to meet Anthony’s soft gaze. “I really need to go home.” Claire enjoyed the soft 700-count sheets a little too much. “I don’t want to disturb you, so I can get a taxi downstairs.” When she started to shift away, he gently reached for her arm. “If I promise you a ride in the morning, would you consider some more dessert?” Anthony’s expression, as well as another of his features, informed Claire he wanted her to choose the dessert. She knew she wasn’t scheduled to be at work the next day. “I don’t want to disrupt your schedule. I’m sure you’re busy.” “I promise this is not a disruption. And maybe after more dessert, we could have another glass of wine. There is still some in the bottle from room service.” The last time she looked at a clock, it was 1:15 AM. Even at that moment, Claire didn’t realize the consequence of their napkin agreement. As Claire lay on the sofa recalling the events that led her to this place and this situation, she couldn’t recall traveling. She remembered a car but couldn’t recall any other part of this house. She couldn’t remember any other memories of Atlanta. That time—1:15 AM—was her last conscious memory of her life. From the other windows near the bed, she saw only trees. Because she couldn’t see more of the house, Claire decided she must be at the end of the dwelling. Even if her windows opened, they were high off the ground. If she tried to jump, from this height she’d break something. Each morning the skies lightened to shades of gray and in the evening they darkened too soon. Keeping track of days became difficult. Staring out at the unfamiliar landscape, Claire questioned her location. She told herself when Catherine returned she’d ask where they were. Catherine didn’t come—the young non-English speaking man came and went. Day after day, no one came to talk to her. The food came and the room was cleaned. Clothes were miraculously washed and returned to her closet or drawers, but no person was ever seen. She was alone. The isolation was hell. It may not leave physical markings, but there was no question, in Claire’s mind, it was a neater form of Anthony’s abuse. Although Claire wasn’t a TV watcher and the TV in her suite didn’t receive many stations, she did check the news each day to learn the date. On April 2, she finally heard a repeated knock at the door. During her thirteen days of isolation Claire learned a few key things. First, after two or three days she realized the weather channel would do local weather. The first time she sat to watch, she stared stunned. The midnight announcer, Shelby, graduated from Valparaiso the year before her. Claire watched in disbelief. Why was Shelby on the Weather Channel while she was being held prisoner in a house in Iowa? The local weather came from Iowa City, Iowa. Claire discovered her windows faced southeast. This was discovered on one of the few days during which the sun actually shone. Though the hours of sunshine grew in length by minutes each day, the outside still looked cold. With the insulated windows and warm fireplace, Claire’s only knowledge of outdoor temperature remained Shelby and her coanchors. As a means of escape, Claire turned to reading. The built-in bookcases were filled with current bestsellers. There were series and individual books. When she was a child she loved to read, but life had become too busy. That no longer seemed to be a problem. Claire also discovered a small refrigerator continually stocked with water and fruit. No one asked what she wanted to eat and truly she wasn’t hungry. There wasn’t anything for her to do to build an appetite. Each day she showered, dressed, and primped a little. Her initial rebellion became meaningless with no one to rebel against. One positive with each passing day, her bruises faded from red, to blue, to purple, to green, to a now very indistinct yellow. The knock came again. Food usually entered after the first knock; this person was waiting for an invitation. Claire didn’t think it was Anthony—he didn’t knock. Could it be Catherine? Slowly, she approached the door, and asked, “Yes? Who’s there?” The anticipation of actually hearing a voice stimulated her as she waited for a response. Disappointment to a noble soul is what cold water is to burning metal. It strengthens, tempers, intensifies, but never destroys it —Unknown Chapter Five ‡ “Ms. Claire, may I come in?” Claire’s heart leaped. The woman she barely knew was the one person Claire prayed would come to her each of the last thirteen days. Excited to use her voice again, she said, “Yes, Catherine, please come in.” It wasn’t as though Claire could open the door from her side. Claire heard the beep. Catherine opened the door and smiled sadly at Claire. Claire wanted to hug her, but something in Catherine’s eyes said, “No, not now. I wasn’t able to come up here before.” It was as if she spoke, yet her lips never moved. “Ms. Claire, you seem…well rested. I have a message for you.” Claire nodded, anticipating the message from Anthony. “Mr. Rawlings will be coming to see you tonight. He will be late in the city. He said to expect him between 9:00 PM and 10:00 PM.” Claire looked at the clock near the bed. It was only 4:35 PM. “Okay.” She didn’t know what to do. She couldn’t exactly refuse his entering. He didn’t ask, only proclaimed. “Will we be dining?” “You’ll dine alone. His arrival will be too late for dinner.” Catherine looked as though she wanted to say more, but knew better. Maybe someday Claire hoped she would be like that—know better. Then again, hopefully, she would be out of here before then. “Catherine, could you please help me prepare?” “No, miss. I’m sorry, but your attire and presentation are to be of your own doing.” Catherine turned to leave the suite. “Please wait. Catherine, can’t you please stay and talk to me, even for a little while? After all, we have five hours before Mr. Rawlings will arrive.” “I must go, but may I say, you look beautiful? I like your face…well—ah…clear.” Catherine smiled a real and tender smile and exited the suite. Somehow Claire knew it was a mind game. He was testing her to see how she would dress, look, and act. He was also testing her to determine if the mere promise of his presence caused uneasiness. She decided this examination was an opportunity to respond to her circumstances—instead of react. He would take her body. That reality had been made painfully clear; however, she would not let him have her mind. He wanted her to spend the next five hours alone, dreading his arrival, filled with fear and trembling. She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction.
Consequences Consequences Page 12 Claire had five hours to prove she was in control of her life—if not to him, then at least to herself. She walked into her closet and, like a general selecting soldiers, perused the racks and shelves selecting an outfit that would bolster her self-confidence. She found it—a black dress with a long flowing skirt. The idea of being near him in a dress made her queasy, but she liked the boldness. With each flash of the mascara, or zip of the flowing black satin dress, she reviewed her decision. Escape from this room was not possible. The only way to get out of here was to concede to whatever he demanded and find another path. Looking at herself in the mirror, Claire straightened her neck, righted her shoulders, and confirmed her mission. She had tried physically fighting. It had been counterproductive and only seemed to intensify Anthony’s resolve. She needed to yield—temporarily—to his demands in order to access a means of exodus. Completing her hairstyle, she dissected her plan. It may have seemed like surrender, but her gut told her that resigning to him, with a straight face and experiencing the effects of her verbalization, took more control than the pleas, accusations, and fighting of two weeks earlier. At 8:45 PM Claire buckled the Jimmy Choo sandals and stood before the mirror. She looked the part; she just needed to perform it. With each tick of the clock her nerves wreaked havoc with her stomach. The meal she’d consumed hours ago threatened to revolt. Damn him! She knew this was his plan, and she refused to give him the gratification. Reaching for her current novel by the bed, she went to the overstuffed chair and sat. Although she read the words, the text made no sense. She couldn’t concentrate as her chest thumped with a too rapid heartbeat and her mouth tasted like cotton. Getting up, Claire retrieved a bottle of water. While her sweaty palms made opening the cap difficult, the water helped her dry mouth—until it hit her stomach. Fearing she would need to run for the bathroom, she remembered to breathe—deep cleansing breaths. Miraculously, her nerves began to calm as the flames of the fire warmed and she attempted to concentrate on the words of her book. At 9:58 PM, preceded by the beep, her suite door opened. Anthony walked in like he’d been there earlier that day—not two weeks ago. Dressed in a dark gray double-breasted silk suit, he appeared heavier than she remembered; maybe not heavy—massive, broad-chested. She wasn’t sure of his height, but guessed about six four which would make him an entire twelve inches taller than she. His age showed in fine lines around his dark eyes. Claire estimated him to be in his late thirties. “Good evening, Claire.” His voice rumbled through the suite. The heat from the fireplace helped to ward off trembling. Claire stood and nodded. “Good evening, Anthony.” Taking command, she suggested, “Shall we sit?” Anthony sat on the sofa, leaned back, and unbuttoned his jacket. Claire sat on the edge of the chair and looked directly into his eyes. She wouldn’t show fear, although his dark eyes were the scariest things she’d ever seen. “Do you think you are ready to continue with our agreement? Or do you need some more time alone to consider the situation?” “After consulting my attorney, I feel I have no choice but to continue with our agreement.” Anthony’s eyes darkened at the mention of a consultation. “Claire, I know you’re joking, but do you really think it’s a good idea? Considering your circumstances?” Keeping her smile intact, she said, “I’ve had a lot of time to think, joviality has sustained me.” “I must say your demeanor impresses me. I’ll need to deliberate on this new personality.” The two sat in silence while the fireplace blower hummed in the background. Claire used every ounce of control to appear calm while Anthony pondered. He remained seated against the back of the sofa, yet his jaw seemed to clench as his eyes devoured her, scanning and taking her in. She wished she could read his eyes. Then suddenly they caught hers. “Tell me what you have learned during your reflection time.” “I’ve learned I have many clothes, very nice clothes, may I add. I have a balcony that I can’t access because the door is locked. I have a refrigerator and small microwave, but honestly, the microwave seems unnecessary as I also have food brought to me three times a day.” “That’s all very nice”—Anthony said with a hint of sarcasm—“But what have you discovered about your situation? Do you even know where you are?” His mocking tone suggested confidence that only he held the answers he sought. Claire contemplated her response. Should she be honest and tell him she learned Iowa City from the Weather Channel? What if that resulted in loss of TV stations; she might not know what day it is. Then again, if she lied and said she didn’t know and he caught her in a lie, what would happen? Maintaining an air of confidence, she said, “I’m in Iowa, or at least somewhere near Iowa City.” Gripping the arm of the sofa with his right hand, Claire watched his muscles tense. Each word became more exaggerated as he spoke, “And you learned this from whom?” “I learned it from the Weather Channel—Local on the Eights. The local weather for this area comes from Iowa City, Iowa.” Claire continued to sound as lighthearted as possible. Anthony’s body relaxed and he nodded his head in approval. “Very well, that will spare me telling you.” Claire wanted to ask how she got there, but before she could, he continued, “For the sake of clarity, since that seemed to be a problem in the past, you are aware that your indebtedness to me can only be determined paid by me?” Claire swallowed. This is what she anticipated. Smiling, she nodded. His voice, was strong and authoritative, “I prefer verbal confirmation.” “I am aware that you are the only one who can decide when my debt is paid in full.” The calmness of her voice surprised even Claire. She said a silent prayer that he wouldn’t notice her hands balled into fists with her nails biting into her own palms. If she concentrated, she could remember to relax her hands, but at this moment, her concentration was needed elsewhere. “You are also aware that your duties require you to be available to me whenever, wherever, and however I demand?” His dark eyes never faltered, staring directly at her, yet his body language looked relaxed, arrogant. He was definitely a man willing to push Claire to the brink. It was like watching a *** game, pushing the odds. Would there be a payoff? Or would someone blink? “I am aware.” “You’re aware that you must at all times obey my rules?” Anthony’s eyes penetrated. “I’m aware that I must do as I’m told.” The words hurt her throat but sounded easily spoken. She was not going to let him fluster her, and damn, she didn’t need that skin on her palms anyway. Her smile remained steady and undaunted. Anthony remained silent for an extended period of time, watching Claire. Finally, he spoke, “Very well.” He stood. Claire expected some kind of directive. Instead, he walked toward the door. “Wait.” She proclaimed. He turned to look at her, displaying astonishment at her command. She immediately realized her words overstepped her bounds, but she couldn’t go on locked alone in the suite. Her tone softened, “I’m sorry…but may I leave this suite?” “As long as we are certain on the terms of our agreement and you follow the rules and orders given, I see no problem with you roaming the house”—He reached for the door handle—“It is rather large. I’ll be working from home tomorrow. Your services will be utilized then, so be prepared for my call. When I have a chance, I’ll give you a tour of the house and define your limitations. I think it’s best that you don’t roam tonight. I don’t want you getting lost.” She heard the beep as he reached for the lever.
Consequences Consequences Page 13 “Anthony? I don’t have any…duties tonight?” her voice began to fail her. She sounded less like the strong, lighthearted woman she desperately tried to project and more like a child. “I have recently arrived from a series of meetings in Europe and am quite tired. I’m glad to know we have a mutual understanding. Good night, Claire.” “Good night, Anthony.” He shut the door. She heard the beep and the lock. Her thoughts swirled. He has been in Europe! I’ve been locked in here while he was on another continent! Okay, focus, the door will be open tomorrow. I engaged in a conversation, the first one in almost two weeks. He didn’t say anything about my appearance, all that work and not a word. Perhaps compliments aren’t his style, only criticism. That’s all right, because tomorrow I’m leaving this suite and leaving the suite is one step closer to going home! Tossing and turning, Claire had too much energy to sleep. It wasn’t just her body—her mind spun with the excitement of her impending release. During the past thirteen days her every need was met—except her need to be with people. She couldn’t remember a time in her life that didn’t include interaction. It was something she took for granted—until now. The isolation was unbearable. While it was happening, she wouldn’t allow herself to think about it, but now that the end was near her anticipation mounted. She lay in bed and pondered Anthony Rawlings. What kind of man is he? He obviously liked control—complete control. What did he mean when he said, “Be prepared for my call”? Did that mean she should be up early waiting for someone to come and get her? He didn’t give her a time. She looked at the clock: 5:33 AM. Should she get up now? What if she fell asleep and wasn’t ready when he called? Could she end up locked in her suite another thirteen days? She couldn’t take that. Claire needed companionship. Her mind slipped back to college and recalled living in the sorority house surrounded by girls. She often longed for alone time, away from the drama. There were always issues between sisters, with boyfriends, classes, or parents. At the time, she wished for a place of her own and time by herself. Another of Grandma’s sayings came to mind, “Be careful what you wish for.” She would love to have that camaraderie and even drama again. At 6:00 AM she gave up, got out of bed, and went to the bathroom to get ready for whatever the day had in store. She spent almost two weeks doing the same thing. Now, she prepared to venture into the unknown. It both scared and excited her—just like the unpredictability of weather. Claire’s breakfast waited on the table when she left the bathroom. With her hair styled in a low ponytail—casual yet classy, and her make-up done, she decided to dress before eating and entered the closet. Stepping into the sea of material Claire wondered if every outfit would be so difficult to choose and every action was a test? Decision made, she put on dark jeans and a sweater. Entering her suite, ready for coffee, she suddenly dropped her shoes and let out a startled, muffled scream. Lost in her own thoughts, Anthony’s presence caught her off guard. She hadn’t heard him enter. Damn. Could he learn to knock? He grinned at her surprised and shocked response. He’d startled her, and she could tell that made him happy. “Good morning, Claire.” “Good morning, Anthony, I didn’t hear you come in.” She picked up her shoes and regained some composure. “Are you ready for your tour?” He looked at her uneaten breakfast. “Did you plan to eat first? I have a web conference in forty-five minutes.” “What’s a web conference?” Suddenly, she thought she shouldn’t have asked, or should she? She just didn’t know what to do or say. She knew it was just nice to have someone to talk to—even him. “It’s like a conference call between many different people, but instead of being on the phone it is over the Internet.” She couldn’t believe how casual and friendly he spoke. He even looked more relaxed, wearing slacks and a shirt with no tie or jacket. It reminded her of the Anthony she met in Atlanta. “It’s okay. I’m really not hungry. I’m more excited to get the tour.” She put on her shoes and sipped a little coffee. He began by explaining the shape of the house, a main section which housed the dining room, formal living room, sitting room, kitchen, and the grand foyer. The foyer contained the main stairway. Two large wings projected off from the main section. Stairways were also found at the end of each of those wings. The staff had access to an elevator for transporting carts and larger items to the second and lower level. He continued to explain, Claire’s suite was located on the second floor of the southeast wing, as they stepped out of the suite. Claire looked slowly down the great expanse of the hallway at many other doors. She hadn’t heard anyone or anything her entire stay. Anthony moved five steps ahead before she remembered to walk. The sensation of stepping out of the suite was unnerving, like leaving the security of a nest. She quickly caught him and did her best to walk at his fast pace. At times he wouldn’t say a word, just walk. Other times, he spoke at great length about a piece of art or antique. Along the tour he showed her a library adorned with beautiful cherry woodwork and book-lined shelves. It occupied two stories and contained a back wall with a sliding ladder like you see in movies. She could get lost in there for days. She looked around for a computer. Didn’t all libraries have computers? “Is there a computer in here, some way to find books?” “I think it would be best for you to not have access to computers, the Internet, or telephones.” Anthony’s statement wasn’t an answer to Claire’s question—it was a proclamation. The tour of his magnificent house held so many treasures that Claire momentarily forgot why she was there. His declaration brought the reason rushing back. She knew all forms of communication were absent from her suite, but assumed that outside the door there would be Wi-Fi. Even though she hadn’t seen her BlackBerry for over two weeks, she hoped she would once again be connected to the real world. He looked at her with his dark eyes as he spoke. She did her best to maintain his gaze, swallowed, and nodded in response. Next, he took her to an exercise room in the lower level, complete with all kinds of weight equipment, as well as a treadmill, elliptical, and stepper. Attached to the workout room was an indoor pool. Though not full sized, it was big enough to swim laps. When she saw the pool, the stunning mosaic tiles that covered the walls and floor, the windows that allowed sunlight to penetrate, and smelled the familiar chlorine, she let out a gasp. “Do you like to swim?” he asked. “Oh, yes. This is amazing.” Claire’s eyes glowed. “You’ll have bathing suits tomorrow.” His words surprised her. She hadn’t asked; however, he was offering, and she did like to swim. “Thank you.” The formal dining room was exquisite. The table currently held chairs for ten, but the room seemed as though it could seat at least three times as many. The intricate woodwork accented light yellow walls and included hand-carved trim, molding, and built-in cabinetry. The ceiling was divided into sections separated by wood trim, each section embellished with different designs and some sort of gold flaking that created a shimmer in the light of the sun. The cabinetry held what Claire believed to be very lavish crystal and china. The height of the ceiling allowed the windows and French doors to be taller than most, at least ten feet, and adorned by exquisite flowing draperies. “We’ll eat in here when I decide. If I’m not home, you’ll eat in your suite.”
Consequences Consequences Page 14 Down the west corridor just off the main section was a set of grand double doors. “This is my office. Your services will be required in here on days I work from home—like today. My office is strictly forbidden without my permission. Is that clear?” Claire nodded. Anthony turned to look at her, standing very close. “Claire, I want verbal responses to my questions. Do not make me tell you that again.” “I understand, your office is off-limits unless you tell me to be there.” Her eyes fluttered from his eyes to the wall, straining to maintain eye contact. They hadn’t made it down the rest of the west corridor when Anthony looked at his watch. “I have business I must do. It’s 7:25 AM. I want you back at my office at 10:30 AM. You have some debt to pay off.” He obviously enjoyed the uncomfortable feeling his remarks produced. “Do you think you can find your way back to your suite?” “Yes, I can, but do I have to?” She told him how she would like to go back to the library and look around. She promised she would be back by 10:30 AM. He hesitated, but reluctantly agreed. “We have not discussed all of the rules pertaining to the house. At this point, do not go outside. Permission for entering the grounds will be contingent upon your ability to follow rules within the house.” “I understand, and I’ll be back by 10:30 AM.” Filled with exhilaration, Claire walked down the marble corridor toward the library. The sensation of her shoes on the marble floor, the sound of her steps, and the coolness of the empty hall thrilled her senses. To be so deprived of anything except the same four walls, no matter how beautiful, and to be free to roam was ecstasy. She had three hours to spend in the library. Anthony’s collection of books was amazing. He had classics: Tale of Two Cities, Pride and Prejudice, Great Expectations, Moby Dick, and literally hundreds more. There were resource books, encyclopedias, dictionaries, and language translation books. She found biographies and memoirs, science fiction, romance, thrillers, and fantasy. Just as she entered another section Anthony met her face to face. Once again, she jumped. This time he wasn’t smiling. Claire’s mind spun, I can’t be late, I’ve been watching the clock over there. The clock read 10:37 AM. Where had the time gone? “Oh, Anthony, I’m so sorry. I was just engrossed in all you have—” His hand struck her cheek. She didn’t fall but wobbled off balance. He then pulled her toward him. His warm hand on the back of her neck, entwined her hair, and caused her face to tilt upward until all she could see were his penetrating eyes. “Simple instructions, which were what you were given, perhaps you’re not ready to leave your suite, not quite yet.” He loosened the grip on her hair. “No, please don’t say that. I can follow instructions—I can.” Claire didn’t want to beg, but she couldn’t stand the thought of being locked in her suite another day. “Follow me to my office, now.” Each of his strides equaled three of Claire’s; she practically ran to keep up. When they reached the double doors of his office, he opened one and shoved her inside. She had only seen his office doors, but now she looked around the interior. Like everything else in the mansion, it was lavish and substantial. The walls were surfaced with more of the impressive cherry paneling, decorative trim, and ornate bookcases. There was a very impressive mahogany desk, a leather sofa, chairs, and a conference table. His desk contained many computer screens as well as a large screen on the wall that could be one or divided into multiple screens. Currently, it was subdivided, and each screen contained stock market information. The lights on the telephone indicated it held multiple lines. He turned and locked the door. Claire’s heart pounded, her face felt flush, and she began to tremble. Standing alone in the vastness of his office, she watched as Anthony contemplated his next move. His angry expression terrified her. The completely black eyes were the same ones she’d witnessed in her suite two weeks before. After a protracted silence, he spoke with an even flat tone, “So you say you can follow instructions, we will see.” The debate was over. It was the outcome that frightened Claire. A few hours ago he’d been another person. Now, the man standing before her was the same one who abused her so violently the first two nights of her stay. His grin wasn’t playful—it was ruthless. “Let’s start with you taking off your clothes.” Doing her best to be obedient, Claire did as she was told and removed her clothes, starting with her shoes and ending with her sweater. Next, he told her to lie down on the carpet, face first and keep her eyes down. She did—feeling the plush carpet rough against her skin. Her trembling intensified as the vulnerability of the position alarmed her. She couldn’t see or hear his movements. Straining to listen, she eventually heard his belt—as it passed each loop. The first lash hit so unexpectedly that it made her scream out in agony—and shock. She moved her hand to her mouth, bit down, and refused to scream anymore. When she didn’t respond, he turned her over, stood above her, and removed his tie and slacks. He didn’t say a word but watched for her reaction. Perhaps she was in shock. Whatever it was, Claire was unable to respond. She waited, knowing that whatever he chose to do would be bad. His hands forcibly moved her legs, while she observed—disengaged—as if in another dimension. The scene she witnessed was brutal and domineering. By the grace of God, she felt everything in a removed yet present fashion. She saw his actions and heard his demands. She was present, saw his expression, felt his body, smelled his skin, and tasted her shame, yet she was somehow detached—not there. By the time he finished, her body exhibited various rug burns, and her hair was tangled and matted from the same lush carpet. Anthony Rawlings then callously stood and dressed. Pausing for a moment, he loomed six feet above her and then silently walked to the attached bathroom. There, he combed his hair and replaced the tie he’d removed. Meanwhile, Claire sat in the middle of the room involuntarily shivering, holding her clothes, and silently weeping, unsure of her next move. When he returned to his office, his expression was of disdain and his tone was flat and cold, “You may go to your suite, clean yourself up, and get ready to demonstrate to me again your ability to follow instructions.” Claire began to gather her clothes and dress, when he added, “Do not leave your suite until I decide. Your pass to roam has been revoked.” Her mind was beyond comprehension; thinking outside the box was more than she could handle. She remembered an agreement with herself for self-preservation, conceding to demands, yet at this moment in time, Claire didn’t know or understand what she was doing, agreeing to, or being forced to do. She was lost and most likely suffering from shock. She only remembered his directives—go back to her suite and clean up. Leaving his office, she turned toward the grand staircase. Beyond the stairs through the magnificent foyer with the high ceiling, Claire saw the double doors leading to outside. They were tall and ornate. Without thinking she walked toward them, perhaps she should have run, but no one was around. The house was empty, like a museum or perhaps a tomb. She heard her heart pound in her ears as she approached the handle wondering if it would open. She wouldn’t learn. Suddenly, the sound of shoes on the marble floor of the corridor muffled her heartbeat. The footsteps didn’t sound rushed—but determined—and were getting closer. Claire quickly turned and began the ascent to the second floor. She didn’t look back down. She didn’t want to see the person producing the footsteps, especially if that person would meet her gaze with a black-eyed stare. Instead, she walked toward her suite.
Consequences Consequences Page 15 By the time she closed the door her internal monologue was in full gear. He actually hit me with his belt! My God! The man is mad. I have to find a way out of here! At that moment, she didn’t search for an escape. Instead, she showered, redid her hair, her make-up, and put on another outfit. While she cleaned herself up she contemplated fleeing. Questions arose. Where would she go? How would she get there? How far to civilization? And what were her chances of success? And most importantly, if she failed, what would he do? Her lunch arrived. Even though she missed breakfast, she barely ate. She sat quietly on the sofa, read a book, stared into space, and waited for instructions. A feeling of helplessness settled into her chest like nothing she’d ever known. About 4:30 PM, the beep sounded, the door opened, and she dutifully obeyed. His demeanor, less malicious than before, seemed merely callous. The forbearance of the early morning and the tour were gone. Anthony had a goal for his actions. Claire needed to understand who was in control. She had done this to herself. He told her. She needed to do what she was told. But did she? No. He made her say, “No, I didn’t do what I was told.” And behaviors have consequences. Could she remember that? “Yes, I understand behaviors have consequences.” That evening they didn’t dress appropriately as they prepared for dinner in Claire’s suite. Anthony decided Claire would model some of the lingerie. Dinner was eaten while wearing a flowing black silk negligee. Every time she thought he was done and would leave, he regrouped. Maybe a drink of water or check the messages on his iPhone, then he resumed. The violence ended, but the domination continued. Although Claire wanted to scream, she didn’t. The more she obeyed, the less ruthless his instructions. After midnight, Anthony left her suite. He didn’t say whether her door would be unlocked in the morning, and she couldn’t remember if she heard the familiar beep. She wanted to check, but her body barely moved. Instead, she closed her eyes and went to sleep. Human beings, by changing the inner attitudes of their minds, can change the outer aspects of their live. —William James Chapter Six ‡ Her eyes didn’t open until she heard the door and her breakfast arrive. It usually came after she awoke. Looking at the clock, she saw that it was 10:30 AM, the latest she’d slept since her initial arrival. The young lady with the food apologized, “I’m sorry, Ms. Claire. I know you were still asleep, but Mr. Rawlings would like you dressed and in his office by noon. Catherine said you need to eat.” She handed Claire her robe as she got out of the bed. “Is Mr. Rawlings working from home again today?” Claire’s head pounded and body ached. This was way too late for coffee, and perhaps the activities of yesterday were affecting her. “Miss, today is Sunday. Mr. Rawlings is usually home on Sundays.” The young lady left the suite. Claire made a mental note: Watch out for Sundays. Timidly, Claire approached the mirrors in the bathroom. Lowering the soft robe, she saw long red stripes on her back and new bruises. She didn’t cry; instead, she steamed with anger. Of course, it was directed toward him but also at herself. She wanted this nightmare to end, but she couldn’t figure out the solution. Claire wasn’t accustomed to the feeling of helplessness, and she didn’t like it. Her only solution was to remain resolute until an opportunity for escape arose. At 11:57 AM, Claire knocked on Anthony’s office door. The door opened, and he looked up from his desk. “Good afternoon, Claire.” Smiling respectfully, she replied, “Good morning, Anthony. I believe it’s still morning.” Claire walked into his office and stood before his desk, the same place where twenty-four hours earlier had been the terrifying scene of his rage and domination. With her back straight, chin high, and smile plastered on her lips, she looked at his eyes and wondered who he would be today. The blouse she chose and her make-up covered the visible signs of the prior day’s happenings. Anthony sat quietly and studied her. The silence made her uncomfortable. She prayed he couldn’t hear her heart beating too fast or notice her wet palms. Long ago, she learned that awkward silences were an interview technique. She wouldn’t be the one to break the silence. Finally, he said, “I believe you are correct, for another two minutes.” Anthony’s eyes seemed lighter, so Claire breathed easier and smiled. She was on time. He continued, “Lunch will arrive here in a few minutes. I thought we would discuss some of the glitches that our business deal has encountered.” He stood and moved toward Claire. She kept her ground, neck straight, and watched as he circled the grand desk. He stopped only inches away. She inhaled his fragrant cologne and tilted her neck upward to see his face. He didn’t speak but indicated with a gesture that they move to the conference table where he pulled out a chair for her to sit; she did. He sat at the head of the table with Claire to his right. The room was silent as Claire thought to herself how his gentlemanly behaviors were such a farce. With her smile still intact, Claire asked, “Glitches? I’m not sure what you’re referring to.” * Before responding, he sat back and contemplated Claire Nichols. Her eyes contained an intense fire. She had more daring than half of the presidents of his many companies. After what he put her through, he couldn’t help but be astounded. “I wasn’t sure you would come here today.” “I wasn’t aware I had a choice. I believe my job duties include doing as I’m told.” “That’s correct.” He chose his words carefully. “Perhaps you can be trained.” * Claire’s mouth twitched, but she stayed steady. Getting upset would only accomplish losing control. By losing control she would be giving it to him. He may take it, but by God, she wasn’t giving it. “I’m trying my best. Now glitches?” A knock came as the door opened and their lunch arrived. They sat in silence as the young lady placed their food in front of them and asked Mr. Rawlings if they needed anything else. He informed her they were currently fine. She retreated from the office and closed the door behind her. “Glitches, yes—I spent 215 thousand dollars for a business deal. I make deals that will be lucrative to me. I expected a better return for my money than I’ve experienced in the last three weeks.” If this was supposed to shock Claire, it didn’t. She casually picked up her fork, ate a piece of broccoli, and responded, “I would believe that yesterday you successfully increased your return.” Stabbing another piece of broccoli, she added, “Besides, wasn’t it you that decided your business holding would be locked away for almost two weeks?” She ate more broccoli. Part of her feared retaliation, but the other part believed he appreciated the bravado. “That is true, and after what I’m currently witnessing, I’m considering the possibility that it was worth it.” He watched her expression as he spoke. “And we have no deadline for completion of our contractual agreement.” Claire didn’t know if she should be happy that he seemed impressed. She did think an estimated timeline would be nice, but she didn’t mention that either. Instead, she said, “Then apparently, the glitches have been resolved.” She felt she appeared respectful enough to avoid confrontation, but impertinent enough to demonstrate resilience. The light brown gleam around his irises, somehow told her he wouldn’t explode. She would learn to read him. They continued to eat.
Consequences Consequences Page 16 Claire let Anthony do most of the talking. He discussed more of the house rules. She could roam the house; however, in anticipation of more glitches, she was not permitted to go outside or consider leaving the property. His office and the corridor of his suite were off-limits. Her schedule would be hers for most of the day—unless told otherwise by him or Catherine. He didn’t work from home that often, but when he did she would be required to be nearby and available at all times. On days he went to the office, his only requirement would be that Claire be back in her suite by 5:00 PM to receive evening instructions. He was a very busy man and wouldn’t be home every evening to dine with her; however, on the nights he intended to be home, she would receive instructions for time of dinner, apparel, and other plans he may have. If he were in town, she would receive instructions as to his intentions regarding visiting her suite and the estimated time of his arrival. Claire verbally responded to all of his rules. The young lady with the food came back to clear the dishes and brought a carafe of coffee with two cups. Claire’s headache was improving with food, but more coffee would be helpful. Anthony told the young lady that he and Ms. Claire would be having coffee on the sun porch. She thanked him and left with the coffee. Claire didn’t remember a sun porch from the tour. Walking beside Anthony, they left the office. Located in the rear of the main section of the mansion, through the archways behind the grand stairs, and past the sitting room, they stepped down into a room made completely of glass. Claire felt faint as her eyes adjusted to the sunshine and she inhaled the fresh spring air. The room was decorated with brightly cushioned rattan furniture as well as tropical plants. Anthony sat on a loveseat and Claire on a chair. The sides of the room were opened to allow a cool fresh breeze. Her bogus composure disappeared as the sensation of the fresh spring air blew her hair and she listened to the faint sounds of nature. When she was a child, her dad, a policeman in Indianapolis, knew how much Claire loved the outdoors. Each spring he’d take her to one of the many state parks. They would spend the weekend together hiking, fishing, talking, and wandering. Her grandfather, his father, had been FBI. It was ingrained in them to be cautious. On those weekends he let Claire believe she had control over their plans and the direction of their adventures. Remembering their activities she smiled, knowing he did most of the steering and all of the protecting. The aroma of the fresh spring air brought the memories of those adventures soaring back to Claire’s consciousness. Just off to the side of the sun porch Claire saw a large pool. The water was covered with a large tarp, furniture was absent from the deck, and fountains were nonoperational. Though not in season, it definitely held potential for a wonderful place to spend her Claire time once the weather warmed. As they sat and sipped warm coffee with a cool breeze, Anthony informed Claire that he’d be leaving for three days on a business trip. His businesses were located all over and traveling was an important part of his work. He would leave later in the afternoon as his meetings were scheduled to begin very early in the morning. He did plan to be home Wednesday evening, and she would be informed if his plans changed. “Anthony, what do you do?” “Do you truly not know who I am?” It frightened her to bruise his ego, but erring on honesty was always best. “I’m sorry if I should, but I don’t. I thought at first that your name sounded familiar, Anthony Rawlings, but I’ve tried for over two weeks, and I admit I don’t know.” He leaned back on the loveseat and offered a brief autobiographical synopsis. He called himself a businessman who had built his fortune from nothing. The beginning of and bulk of his success came with the Internet; he and a friend created one of the first Internet search engines. He later bought out his friend’s part of the company, diversified his holdings, and has done pretty well. Claire chuckled. “You made your fortune, because this”—looking around the vast expanse of his mansion—“is more than doing pretty well, with the Internet? And the only technology in your home is in your office?” “Perhaps I want my home to be an oasis from my business life.” Claire pondered that for a moment. “I understand. My grandfather and my father were both in law enforcement. They saw things that people should never see. Sometimes my grandfather would be gone for months at a time doing undercover work. Actually, I remember a story from when I was young, where he was gone for around two years. My father was home each night, but anyways, my dad didn’t want home to be anything like work. I couldn’t even watch COPS on TV. I think it was like you were saying—an oasis.” Anthony went on to ask about Claire’s family. She said her grandparents passed away before she graduated high school. Her parents were tragically killed in a car accident during her junior year of college. She did have a sister and brother-in-law in New York State. Fleetingly, she wondered when she would talk to Emily again. With the breeze and the sound of birds, Claire casually went on talking. She asked Anthony about his family. As soon as her question left her lips she saw his eyes darken. She calmly added, “But if you don’t want to say anything, I don’t need to know.” Perhaps it was her quick observation or the realization that she could read him, but his eyes lightened. “My parents are also gone. It was an accident when I was twenty-four. I have no siblings, and my grandparents are also gone.” The serenity returned as they both offered each other sincere condolences at their loss. Claire’s coffee was gone and she didn’t know what else to say or discuss. She could see Anthony watching her as she stared out to the pool area. Beyond the pool was the backyard. The corner of it could be seen from her room but not the pool or porch. Past the yard were trees. From the second story she knew they went on forever, but from this vantage, they created a gray veil surrounding the yard. Soon little starts of green would transform the bleak veil into a colorful curtain. Claire really enjoyed spring. Anthony excused himself, saying he needed to prepare for his trip, and informed Claire she was welcome to stay on the porch or go elsewhere in the house. He would look for her before he left. He smiled what appeared to be a real smile. “I’m pleased that the glitches have been resolved. I have plans for our agreement.” The smile seemed right, the unspoken portion of his statement made Claire shiver. After he left, she looked down at her arm and saw the goose bumps that rubbed her sleeves. She told herself they were caused by the breeze. Claire returned to her suite recognizing that with the ability to roam she didn’t feel the need. Besides, she was tired. Sleeping late can do that to a person; however, her gut told her yesterday’s glitches were more likely the cause of her fatigue and her aching body. She contemplated a nice long bath in her beautiful garden tub as she entered her room. On the bed, laid out so she could see each one, were multiple bathing suits: one-piece suits like she wore in high school swim class and bikinis that would be perfect for the sun. She liked the styles but wondered if they would fit. Of course, they would, hadn’t everything else? She had to wonder how a promise made Saturday morning could be so quickly fulfilled on a Sunday, seemingly far away from anywhere. Anthony told her that she would have bathing suits tomorrow. Apparently, he was a man of his word. That earned him one on the positive column. The negative column had more tallies than Claire could count.
Consequences Consequences Page 17 Peeking out from under the white cover up was a wrapped gift. It was a small box wrapped in white paper with a gold foil ribbon. Claire usually liked gifts, but she didn’t feel good about this one. What did it mean? Was it because of how he had been or because of how he would be? She picked it up and decided she didn’t want to know. Sitting the gift on the corner of the bed, she wearily entered the bathroom to soak in the tub. After the bath she chose the same soft robe she wore before. It felt warm. With some slippers, she would be comfortable until she retired. Combing out her wet hair, she chose to not put on make-up. It was only 5:30 PM but she was exhausted. Anthony said he would look for her before he left. She expected to find him in her suite. If she opened the door and he wasn’t there, would she be disappointed? Only because she wanted him to leave, so seeing him one more time would be a means to that end. Upon opening the door, she wasn’t disappointed, and his presence didn’t startle her. He was seated at the table with the gift in his hand. “You haven’t opened your present.” “I knew it was from you and thought you might want to see me open it,” she lied. He set the gift on the table and walked toward her. Although his height dominated her small frame, she held her ground and looked up at him as their bodies touched. He pulled her close and held her there with his strong, solid arms. She knew her emerald eyes appeared weary as he examined her face. His soft brown eyes gleamed while his musky fragrance overwhelmed her senses. She wasn’t afraid, only tired. Silently she prayed, Dear God, if he wants me to do something, I hope it’s over soon. In one swift yet gentle motion he lifted her and carried her to the bed. Although he had a trip to take, he didn’t seem rushed. Instead, he laid her on the bed and leisurely untied her robe. Claire remained still as he stood and looked at her body—completely nude—pink from the warm bath—and smelling of bath beads. Neither one spoke. There were no instructions, no insults, and no rules. Attempting to conceal his burning carnal desire, Anthony’s fingers moved slowly as his light touch traced over her breasts, down her stomach, and over her hips. The heat intensified as his touch turned to caresses. She didn’t want to respond. Wanting to remain unfazed by his actions, she reminded herself, this is the man that hurt me; however, when his lips contacted her soft skin, beginning at her neck, nuzzling her collar, and suckling the flesh of her breasts—her body stirred deep inside. Fighting the sensations, she remained stoic until his tongue tenderly teased her nipples and his fingers explored new depths. Unconsciously, she pushed away the absurdity of the situation, as well as the abrasiveness of his five o’clock shadow. Her nipples hardened while her back arched, pushing her breasts upward. The open drapes filled the room with natural light. As his mouth tantalized her skin, she sat forward allowing him to gently remove her robe. It was then—Anthony gasped. Claire froze—unsure why he made such a sound, and turned to see his face. His features were softer and more concerned than she’d ever witnessed. He didn’t say a word but tenderly caressed her neck and back. His actions were sensual, careful, and tender. Slowly, he joined her on the bed, and only after ensuring that she was moist and ready did he enter her body. He’d been there before, but this was different. The only sounds from his mouth were incomprehensible noises that made their meaning clear. Soon, she responded in the same language. This time he wasn’t the only one to experience fulfillment—Claire did too. After they were both satisfied, she rested on the satin sheets while he walked to the table, completely nude. From her vantage point she saw his muscles defined from exertion, and firm skin glistening with perspiration, as he picked up the gift and turned back toward her. Lifting her head from the pillow, her long damp brown hair cascaded in waves around her face. Anthony handed Claire the gift and watched as she removed the wrapping from the black velvet box. Inside was a Swarovski wristwatch. She smiled. “It’s meant as a way to avoid glitches in the future,” he said softly. “Thank you. I would really like to avoid those.” She handed him the box and lowered her head to the pillow. Completely drained of energy, she closed her eyes and felt the soft warmth as Anthony lifted the covers over her body. She could still smell his musky scent as she drifted into unconsciousness. She didn’t wake until Monday morning. In that time between sleep and wakefulness, Claire wondered if yesterday evening had been real. How could it be real if Saturday was too? Could Anthony Rawlings really be two such different men? As the fog began to clear she realized that whoever he was—he was gone for the next two and a half days. This comprehension gave her a renewed vitality. She didn’t know what she would do with her sixty-five hours of freedom, but she knew she would find something. Her breakfast sat on the table when she exited the bathroom and the drapes were opened. The sky radiated a very light shade of blue, and there seemed to be clouds forming in the distance. It was spring in Iowa. The weather could be unpredictable. After breakfast she decided to try the indoor pool. She swam laps for forty minutes and rested in the hot tub. It felt wonderful to push her muscles beyond their limit. Other than her duties, she’d done nothing to exercise in almost three weeks. Surprisingly, the lack of physical activity didn’t seem to cause weight gain. She didn’t have a scale, but she could tell in the mirror and with her new clothes. If anything she’d lost weight. She lay back and closed her eyes amid the hum and bubbling of the tub and realized it was her diet. In three weeks she hadn’t had any alcohol—not even a glass of wine. She also hadn’t consumed one ounce of dessert—not a cookie, brownie, or even a piece of dark chocolate. Now that the realization hit her, Claire craved chocolate. The sixty-five hours passed without event. She thoroughly investigated the house. It was luxurious, vast, and held many amenities; however, the more she explored, the more she realized, it was still a prison. She couldn’t leave. She couldn’t go outside. It may be bigger and grander than her suite, but it still had walls. Claire made an effort to get to know the names of the staff. The young lady who brought food was Cindy. The young man who speaks little English was Carlos. Anthony’s driver was Eric. There were others that cleaned, cooked, did laundry, and tended the grounds, but Claire rarely saw them, so she didn’t have the chance to learn their names, yet whenever she passed one or encountered them in a hallway, they would nod and acknowledge her, “Ms. Claire.” On Wednesday, before Anthony was scheduled to return, Claire watched from the sun porch as nimbostratus clouds formed in the west. A month earlier this weather phenomenon would have thrilled her. Watching storms form, either in person, or on the radar screen, had always filled her with excitement. As the dark clouds approached, she began to hear the distant rumbling of thunder and felt the distinct drop in pressure. Claire knew that Iowa, like Indiana, had its share of tornadoes. Despite the drop in pressure, her instincts told her this was going to be just a good old-fashioned spring thunderstorm, the kind that’s loud and boisterous, but usually blows over with little damage. Momentarily, she became mesmerized as she watched and listened. In the past, she’d been too busy to just watch and listen to the weather. Now, with the time, she just stood.
Consequences Consequences Page 18 Catherine finally broke the spell. “Ms. Claire, please come in. We need to shut the windows. You’ll get wet.” Claire came in and went to her suite. The howling of the wind electrified her emotions. She knew Anthony would return today. She hated him with every bit of her being. She detested his patronizing demeanor, his callous attitude, and above all his abusive mentality, and she hated being alone. She liked Catherine very much, but she treated Claire like a guest or a superior. Claire longed for someone to talk to, to laugh with, and to just be near. With all her heart and soul, she didn’t want that person to be Anthony Rawlings. Therefore, when 5:00 PM arrived and Claire waited for word of his arrival, she should have been pleased with Catherine’s report, “Mr. Rawlings is delayed due to the storm fronts. The pilot won’t fly west of Chicago, due to high cloud banks. He’ll be home tomorrow evening and plans to dine with you at that time. You’ll know more tomorrow.” Claire thanked Catherine for the information, ate her dinner, read a little, and went to bed. After Anthony returned, the schedule he discussed went into full gear. She was in her suite at 5:00 PM each evening to learn his plans. Things were very busy with his work and many nights he didn’t visit at all. Sometimes they ate in her suite and sometimes in the dining room. Sometimes he called upon her for her duties, other times he said he had work to do. The days turned to weeks and the weeks to another month. The positive aspect was that there’d been no more glitches. That didn’t mean that Claire experienced anything like the afternoon in her suite. On the contrary, each task to fulfill her contractual agreement was about him. Nonetheless, she felt content to avoid the explosive unpredictable glitches. At some point during the beginning of May after Anthony was finished with Claire, he chose to stay in her bed. She realized this after she fell asleep and woke in the middle of the night to the sound of his breathing—steady and rhythmic. The consciousness of his presence frightened her. Did he have additional plans? Should she be doing something? She was too afraid to wake him and ask. Instead, she quietly, slowly moved to the edge of her side of the bed and fell back to sleep. When she awoke in the morning, he was gone. On May 12, a Sunday, Catherine informed Claire that she and Mr. Rawlings would be eating on the back patio. The temperature had steadily increased and the backyard was vibrant with color—intense shades of greens, ruby reds from the red bud trees, and pure white from the dogwood trees. Anthony employed groundskeepers that had been busily planting thousands of annual flowers in the gardens, beautiful clay pots, and flowing hanging baskets. The pool was recently opened with ever-flowing fountains which at night produced a colorful light show that changed the water from clear—to pink—to blue—to green—to red—and back to clear. Claire remembered the day, because as they sat to eat Anthony asked, “Have you been swimming in the outdoor pool yet? It’s heated.” After so much time of following his rules and being incarcerated inside, her bravado failed; she started to cry. Her reaction obviously surprised him. Through muffled tears Claire replied, “This is the first time I’ve been outside in two months. I didn’t think I was allowed to go outside.” If he had been initially moved at her emotional response, he quickly recovered. “Yes, that’s correct. I know exactly how long it’s been since you have been outside.” His voice resumed the authoritative tone she despised. “And I’m happy to hear you still remember who’s in control of your access to additional privileges.” Claire nodded her head ever so slightly, she understood. Anthony cleared his throat. She looked into his eyes trying to blink the tears from hers. “Yes, I understand, but, I truly love being outside.” “Surely you are smart enough to figure this out,” Anthony teased. Confused and upset by the loss of her falsely perceived equality, Claire said, “I’m not sure what you mean.” “Claire, I’m an important man. I have hundreds of thousands of people in hundreds of companies who depend upon me for their livelihood. I balance a lot on my plate. Being observant to your wants and whims is not on my list of priorities. If you want to go outside—ask.” The simplicity startled her, and the reality nauseated her. She was an adult, and she was asking permission to go outside. Her memory seemed foggy, but she couldn’t recall doing that since she was maybe ten or eleven. It was one of his tests. Would she surrender to his authority or would she refuse and spend the summer inside? If she surrendered was it really submission or was it her way of manipulating the situation? The internal debate continued for a short time. “Anthony, may I please leave the house and go outside?” “You may be outside; however, you may not leave the property without me or my permission.” His tone continued; nonetheless, Claire’s only concern was his meaning. He continued, “Remember to be available to me whenever I’m here. Therefore, no wandering the grounds if I’m present, and you must be in your suite by 5:00 PM each evening for instructions. Can you follow these rules?” “Oh, yes, I can!” It may still be a prison, but it had just multiplied in size. Greed, for lack of a better word is good Greed in all its forms for life, for money, for love, for knowledge has marked the upward surge of mankind. —Gordon Gekko, Wallstreet Chapter Seven ‡ The cloud of smoke levitating near the suspended ceiling created a haze, making the florescent lights appear dim within the small office. Nathaniel clenched his teeth while analyzing the figures. Since taking the company public, the numbers showed profits. The stock continued to grow, and industry reports were favorable. Rawls Corporation was in the black, and considering the current economic climate of the 1970’s, that was good. The problem was Nathaniel Rawls didn’t want good. He wasn’t content with black. He wanted more—a lot more. The sound of the furnace blowing warm air created a hypnotizing hum. He leaned back, took a long draw on his cigarette, and rubbed his temples. How could he make the figures in the profit column multiply? Hell, others were doing it. He wanted to too. Punching the black button on the small box, he bellowed, “Connie, get Samuel in here, now.” The crackling voice responded immediately, “Yes, sir, Mr. Rawls.” * Samuel entered the small paneled office inhaling the suspended cloud. The sight of his father hunched over the books and spreadsheets meant only one thing: he was in for the—We can do better—speech. “Yes, Father, did you want to see me?” “Have you seen the latest figures?” “Yes, sales to major distributors are up eighteen percent.” “That’s chicken feed! Textiles can’t make shit in the United States. We have to revisit the idea of moving operations out of country. In Mexico we can produce the same merchandise for less than a quarter of what it costs here. Hell, the union s here in Jersey are costing us a fortune.” Samuel learned long ago to pacify his father, let him blow off some steam and things would settle. “We’ve looked into that. The problem is that we would lay off hundreds of workers who’ve been loyal through the years. Besides, as I said, we are in the black.” Nathaniel blew a cloud of smoke toward his son. “I’ve decided to hire Jared Clawson as CFO, chief financial officer. The man has some innovative ideas.”
Consequences Consequences Page 19 “Didn’t he just leave New England Energy amid allegations of illegal activities?” “Nothing was proven. Besides, I’ve seen the figures. When Clawson was assisting with finance at NE Energy, their profits were through the roof. Since his departure, they’re doing well to keep the grids going.” Samuel remained silent. “The man is a damn genius. We’ve met a few times. He believes Rawls has potential, and he has some great ideas.” Samuel knew his opinion didn’t matter. If Nathaniel’s mind was made up, Jared Clawson was coming on board. The only thing he could do was watch, and do his best to stop anything illegal before it began. “The contracts with Huntington House are in their final stages. They have plans for a new clothing line. The potential for revenue is huge. They have distributors all up and down the East Coast.” “Damn chicken feed,” Nathaniel grumbled. A strong positive mental attitude will create more miracles than any wonder drug. —Patricia Neal Chapter Eight ‡ Survival for the last two months was facilitated by a technique Claire called compartmentalization. She couldn’t bear the entirety of her situation, but she could handle a part at a time. The colossal lapse in judgment that brought her to this circumstance; the treatment, punishment, or consequence that he felt he had the right or ability to carry out—the duties he could tell her to do, and the fact that she obeyed—were all too much. She had to separate them and deal with them in small manageable bits. Some days that was possible—other days it was more difficult. Her morning workouts now included swimming and weight training. Exercise supposedly produced endorphins and endorphins helped elevate mood. That seemed like a good idea. Before she was allowed outside, Claire spent many afternoons with a blanket and a good movie. The lower level of the house contained a movie theater. With Anthony’s busy schedule, she wondered if he ever used the theater. It held hundreds—if not thousands—of digital movies. Claire loved the classics, especially musicals. They were a magnificent escape from reality. She could lose an entire afternoon curled up in a large soft recliner watching happy people sing and dance. It was near the end of May, and Claire had taken advantage of her outdoor liberty every chance she could by lounging at the pool, walking in the gardens, or reading books in the yard. Now, she wanted to explore. The woods held the possibility of both plant and animal life. It had been a few years since she studied Earth science, but she believed it would come back. Anthony said his house had been on this land for fourteen or fifteen years. Claire believed no one had been back in the woods for years. The potential for real undisturbed wildlife excited her. Not that there would be bears or lions, but deer, rabbits, birds, and rodents. In her current situation, self-preservation encouraged her to find happiness wherever possible. Three days earlier she asked Anthony for hiking boots. Now she was tying them and preparing for her new adventure. Inhaling the sweet smells of nature, Claire contemplated her path as Catherine came rushing toward her. “Ms. Claire, I’m so glad I didn’t miss you.” Claire’s tranquility evaporated into the afternoon haze. “No, it looks like you caught me, and I promise to be back before 5:00 PM.” “Ms. Claire, I just received a call from Mr. Rawlings. He has an engagement tonight in Davenport. It’s a fund-raiser for the Quad City Symphony at the Adler Theater.” “So, he won’t be back tonight?” she asked, thinking that perhaps she could stay out in the woods later than 5:00 PM. “No, miss, he’ll be back.” “What?” “He’ll be here at 6:00 PM to pick you up. You are to accompany him to the symphony.” Claire stared at Catherine in disbelief. She’d just been permitted outdoors, and now she was going to Davenport to the symphony. Saying No, thank you didn’t seem to be an option. Her mind swirled. “Catherine, I’ve never been to a symphony before. Can you please help me?” Claire prayed that this wasn’t another test about appropriate dress. “Of course—I will, miss. Now, let’s go up to your room, and we’ll get started.” They did. Catherine went directly into the closet and came out with a long black evening gown. It was simple, yet amazingly beautiful. Claire showered again. Catherine helped with her make-up and hair. They straightened, pinned, and curled her long chestnut locks until they were piled on her head with cascading curls dangling down her neck. There were even exquisite sparkling earrings for Claire to wear. Securing them in her pierced ears, she thought how long it had been since she’d worn jewelry and how nice they looked with her hair up. Another accessory that surprised Claire was the handbag. She hadn’t gone anywhere or needed a handbag in months, but tonight Catherine had one for her. Anthony would be home and ready at 6:00 PM. Apparently, the symphony began at 8:00 PM, with cocktails at 7:00 PM. Catherine explained that it took one hour to drive to Davenport, and Eric would chauffeur them in the limousine. Before she dressed, still wearing her robe with her hair done and make-up perfect, Claire sat on the edge of the large marble tub, fighting the queasiness boiling within. Looking to Catherine, she asked, “What does Mr. Rawlings expect of me this evening? How should I act? If he has rules for being out, he hasn’t told me; and if you know, I would truly appreciate being informed.” Catherine’s eyes shone with care and concern. Claire truly believed she wanted to help her, and she’d do anything to make this evening a success for both Claire and Mr. Rawlings. Sitting next to Claire, she gently took Claire’s hand in hers and said, “Ms. Claire, you are to look beautiful, and you do.” Her smile reassured Claire who nodded as Catherine spoke. “Mr. Rawlings is a very influential businessman. He’s a fervent believer in appearance. If things look right on the surface the underside is rarely questioned; however, things may be great in reality, but if one perceives them to be amiss, it is difficult to change that perception. Therefore, Ms. Claire, you are expected to be the perfect companion: beautiful, polite, contented, and appreciative.” Claire thought to herself, Well, perfect…okay, no pressure. Catherine continued, “A man of Mr. Rawlings’s standing is constantly observed by others. Some watch to imitate, others to mar. That is why he requires his home to be a place of quietude. He must do so much for so many that he needs a place to repose and refuel. That is where you have been so good for him.” Claire looked into Catherine’s eyes; she was sincere. Claire believed Catherine had Mr. Rawlings’s best interests at heart; however, she was sure Catherine didn’t understand the ways he expected to be helped. Catherine continued, “But, above all, Mr. Rawlings requires confidentiality on the part of anyone who works for him or is near to him.” Claire pondered that thought. “Ms. Claire, you have had the rare opportunity to get to know Mr. Rawlings in a way most do not. The information you hold must not be shared with anyone. He has allowed you to see a more intimate side of himself. The Mr. Rawlings the world knows is much more guarded. He has placed a trust in you. You should know he does not fully trust many people. Do not ever discuss Mr. Rawlings or your relationship with anyone.” Catherine smiled and squeezed Claire’s hands. “I know you will be wonderful, Ms. Claire. Mr. Rawlings will be proud to have you on his arm.”
