Stockholm Syndrome by JB Brooks

She
went to the door and turned the knob. Locked. Shit! There were no sounds from
without, nobody to hear her if she banged and screamed.
    She returned to the bathroom and climbed up to the window
again. Maybe she would overhear something useful, or, if she were lucky, see
someone outside to call to. Nothing moved in the shadowy garden below, so she
stood still and listened carefully. After a moment, she made out the
conversation. Her captor’s name was Mace and he had just announced to somebody
called Owe that he wasn’t planning to let her go! She almost fell when he said
that. It was monumentally, mind-blowingly unfair. How dare he not let
her go now that he’d discovered his enormous mistake?
    And he planned to take her away to some godforsaken deserted
ranch! How could he do such a thing when he’d already done her so much wrong,
violated her? A fresh surge of panic swept over her—she couldn’t let him take
her away. What if he never let her go?
    She had every intention of reporting him to the police, of
course. He needed to be punished! The strength of her outrage astonished her,
sending fiery heat quivering through her limbs and washing away some of her shame
and fear. To his credit, Owe seemed to think it was a terribly bad idea, but
that didn’t stop him from agreeing to help her nemesis. Clearly he also needed
to be taught a lesson, especially as he seemed to have played a role in
organizing the events that led to her capture.
    She scanned the ground again. Where were all the people
she’d heard earlier? Maybe she should scream anyway. She drew a deep breath
then released it in a quivering, soundless gust. The only people she knew for
sure would hear her, were Mace and Owe in the next room, and they’d reach her
long before anyone else could.
    When they mentioned leaving by three she climbed down, her
legs trembling. He’d be back soon. She’d better get on with her shower. But at
least she knew what she needed to do to get free. She had to convince them that
she wouldn’t go to the police.
     

Chapter Three
    Mason sat on the bed, deep in thought, when Owen came back.
It was almost time to leave, but Evelyn hadn’t come out of the bathroom yet,
although the water had stopped running over an hour ago. Mason let his brother
in then knocked on the bathroom door.
    “Come on, Evelyn, it’s time to come out.”
    “No.”
    He rattled the thin plywood door. “Don’t be like that,
please. You could probably break this door down. You know I can. Just come out
like a good girl.”
    The door opened, releasing a gasp of humid air, fragranced
with the perfumes of soap, shampoo, and the essence of Evelyn herself. He
inhaled lustfully.
    She was dressed in her jeans and t-shirt again, her damp
hair hanging over her shoulders in gently curling tendrils. Although her face
was flushed pink from the heat of her shower, dark circles marred the
translucent skin under her eyes. She looked exhausted but she met his gaze with
a determined expression.
    “I’ve done a lot of thinking. I realize that what happened
was a mistake, and I admit you didn’t rape me.”
    Damn, there was never a voice recorder handy when you needed
one, thought Mason. But this was too easy and his instincts prickled.
    She went on. “I won’t go to the police, or cause any trouble
about this. I just want to forget the whole thing. Please let me go now.”
    Sincerity throbbed in her voice. Tension crackled like an
electric current between them.
    “Sorry, Evelyn. I think you’re going to run to the police as
soon as I let you out of my sight.”
    “I will not, damn it! I said I won’t, so I won’t!”
    “Won’t you? Look at you. You’re so angry.” His voice just a
whisper, he gazed down on her face, searching for the truth. “You want to
punish me, don’t you, Evelyn? You’d like to see me suffer. I can’t blame you.”
He sounded resigned, regretful.
    “Please just let me go. Don’t take me away somewhere.” Her
voice was a