Psychiatrist's Puppet (Loftry University Playthings 3)

Chapter 4

Jane Doe

It’s there again.That voice that haunts my waking nightmares and soothes me all at the same time. I could listen to him for hours. All he’d have to do is talk, and I would be mesmerized. At least, I’m assuming that’s how it would work.

I can’t see him or feel him. I can only hear his voice calling out to me. Warmth engulfs my body in a way it’s never done before. It’s always cold - freezing, in fact. Now, I’m lying on a stone, warmed by the summer sun, just like when I was a child. For a few moments, my hellscape transforms, showing me my life growing up.

My sister and I run through wildflowers until we exhaust ourselves and collapse onto the ground, just soaking in the sun. Mother always fussed at us, threatening us with wrinkles and skin cancer. But that’s for old people. Not us. We still have our whole lives in front of us. Pesky things like wrinkles and cancer aren’t even a blip in our concern.

Giggling, I turn towards my sister, fully prepared to laugh at our mother’s antics, but she’s not there. Instead, it’s him. His cold, brown eyes study me for a moment, taking in my gasp of shock as if this is just another day, another minute - eternity. His hand clamps around my mouth as I suck in a deep breath, fully prepared to scream.

Surely someone will hear me. This is my safe space. Where’s Mom? Dad? Anyone? My eyes dart to and fro, my gaze violently looking for my sister. What has he done to her? There’s no way I’ll allow him to lay one finger on her. Not while I’m still alive.

Righteous vengeance pours out of me as I rain my fists about his body. This has to be a dream. There’s no way he’d let me raise a hand to him in any capacity without a violent reaction. Instead, he lays there, fingers curling into my cheeks. It hurts. Everything hurts. Pain blossoms from my fists, traveling down my arms and lodging into my shoulders.

From there, the pain continues down my body, wracking me in a blanket of agony. I shudder as wave after wave flows through me, threatening to suffocate me. My jailer stares at me, his eyes crinkled in a wordless smile. He’s enjoying this, just like every time he enjoyed degrading me and hurting me for his pleasure. His face wavers as my body contorts, like a mirage on a hot road in the deep south. As if he’s never been there but always will be.

He leans in to bite down on my earlobe, the pain blossoming to add to the others that are overtaking my body. Pulling back with that evil grin, he bops my nose with his index finger from his free hand and makes a big show of loosening the fingers embedded into my face one by one. I feel them lifting, but the discomfort is still here.

“I’ll see you again later. When you dream, make sure it’s of me.”

Brown eyes, softer somehow - warm, peer down at me. Lips move, but no sound comes out. I can’t hear anything over the loud pulsing ringing in my ears. I bring my hands up to cover them, to try and drown the sound out, but they don’t move. My heart seizes as I stare back up at the eyes. His face comes into focus, not at all my tormentor, but someone else. Have I truly been sold then? Is this my new owner?

I struggle against my bonds, relief flooding my body as I wiggle my fingers and roll my shoulders. My arms are just immobile; they’re not missing or damaged. At least not that I can tell. Am I in a cast? I draw my head up, only then noticing that I’m lying on this stranger’s thighs. The warmth from his body is the only thing keeping the frost of fear from further lodging into my heart.

He feels warm, secure, safe. But am I truly? I can’t even hope that I’ve somehow been rescued. Countless days of hell on earth ending in just a snap? I angle my head down, noting the off-white fabric holding my arms to my body, and I still. I know what this is. My brain is clicking about in slow ticks, trying to wake up, trying to work. What is it? And why is it important? I know there’s something about this material and the way it’s forcing me to hug myself that means something, but I can’t pull it up from the dredges of my mind. Too much. It hurts too much. Everything is too much. My breaths come in harried gasps as I force myself to breathe, but even that is too fast.

I feel the beginnings of hyperventilation, but I can’t stop. It’s all so overwhelming. For the first time since I was given this horrid drug, I wanted to be back under. At least there, I knew what I was getting into. I knew how to navigate, how to hide. There’s no hiding here. The light is too bright. This stranger’s hands on my body are too much. Everywhere he touches hurts. Each finger pressure is like knives stabbing into my body.

I want to tell him to stop. To beg him to leave me alone. To tell him to kill me. Anything to put me out of this miserable existence. How can I live when even breathing hurts? Closing my eyes, I force myself back to my safe space - to my sister and the wildflowers. The pain chases me, even there, but her smiling face gives me comfort. I reach out to brush my finger along her cheek, grazing it with just the barest of touches before it starts disintegrating before me.

It’s like a movie where someone brushes against a dead body, and all the pieces float away on a breeze until there’s nothing left. Falling to my knees, I sob, letting the tears rain down my cheeks and into the ground. I fist my fingers into the dirt to anchor me, give me something to hold onto.

“I’m here. I’ve got you.”

That voice. It’s that voice again. I open my eyes, assaulted again by brown orbs. But not the same. Not his eyes. They’re calculating, but not as cold, not as harsh. They’re warmer, more inviting. But where do they want to take me? Moving my head from side to side, I take in my surroundings. It’s a nice room, nicer than anything I’ve been in since I was kidnapped. Could this really be salvation?

I lift my head up to the ornate ceiling and spill out half-mumbled, half-imagined promises to a God I shunned years ago. I don’t even know what I’m saying. My madness and delirium bubble up from deep inside me as I crack open and bleed out.

“Please,” the words slip from my consciousness and out of my lips. “Please let me be safe. Please.”

“I’ve got you,” the voice repeats.

He doesn’t say I’m safe. My brain latches onto that, demanding an answer from me. Why didn’t he say I’m safe? The words bounce about my brain like the multi-ball level of a pinball game. All of them come crashing down at me, demanding I either smack them back or have them pummel down. I volley each thought as I can, but my brain is slow. Every movement is like moving through molasses.

“Please don’t hurt me anymore.”

The brown eyes peer down at me, and he remains silent. A scream bubbles up from inside my brain, but I can’t get it out. It stays there, ricocheting around my mind with the thought balls, all of them bombarding my senses and driving me mad. I’m not safe. I never will be. Wrinkles and cancer. If only that was all I had to worry about. Wrinkles and cancer.

I close my eyes again, allowing the hysteria to take me away - to take me somewhere I can heal and lick my wounds. Somewhere that didn’t hurt. Blackness encroaches my mind as I succumb, the stranger’s voice lulling me even deeper. Safe. Secure. Owned. The words flood my mind as I slip even deeper down. I can’t understand what he’s saying anymore, but it’s okay. Everything is okay. It will all be okay.