Possessive Doctor

Then there’s my father. And my future. I can’t see how I’m ever going to get past this, so long as my father still thinks he owns me.

That ad sent chills down my spine.

I know my father will do anything for his little empire. He cares about his money more than anything in the world. He’ll do whatever he thinks he has to do.

And clearly, he thinks he needs me.

Well, he thinks he needs me married to Michael. He thinks he needs his little dynasty.

One million dollars. Plus the thousands he’s spending on that ad campaign, which definitely isn’t cheap.

The problem is, he doesn’t value me. Or at least, he doesn’t value me for me, but for what he thinks I can get him. If it were just me, and this marriage wasn’t involved at all, he wouldn’t care about it at all. He wouldn’t offer a million dollars for my safe return from a kidnapper.

He’d rather see me dead than lose money on a deal.

But I have value to him. My marriage to Michael could be worth millions and millions. One million is nothing compared to what it could get him in the future.

That’s what scares me. I know my father and I know what he’s capable of. I know what he can do and how far he’ll go.

The ad campaign is just the start.

I limp forward and come around a bend. The path moves further from the house at this point. I keep going, careful of my footing, and follow the path until it comes out of the trees. I watch the house, sure that Brent is in there somewhere, staring out a window, watching over me. It almost makes me smile a little bit.

It takes about forty minutes to do one single pass. I hesitate before starting the next one. I can do one more before I get too exhausted to keep going. I limp along, trying to let myself enjoy nature.

I whistle a little bit to myself and it takes me a long moment to realize that the birds aren’t chirping anymore. It’s strangely quiet as I come to the spot in the path that bends away from the house again. I slow my pace down… then hear the crunch of leaves.

“Hello?” I say stupidly. “Brent?”

No answer. I hear another crunch. I start to turn around but I can’t run away if someone’s coming to hurt me. I start to panic, heart racing. I stumble further down the path, walking heavy on my cane. My leg’s aching now, although I could barely feel it before. The eerie silence around me feels heavy and I want to get away.

I turn the path and I can see the great house up ahead. All I need to do is cut across the lawn and I’ll be here. I’m maybe twenty feet beyond the tree line, but if I can step closer, maybe they’ll see me, maybe—

I hear more crashing and turn. A man comes toward me. He’s wearing baggy, paint-stained pants, and my first, irrational thought is about those pants. I don’t understand why someone here, with everything so pristine and clean and white, would have paint-stained clothes like that. He looks at me, his eyes dark and heavy, his pale skin sallow in the afternoon light. His gray hooded sweatshirt is a size too big and his hair is greasy.

“Amber Gibbins?” he asks.

“Yes, ah—”

He doesn’t slow down. He charges at me, grabs my wrist. “Come with me.”

“Who are you? Get off me.” I wrench my wrist away and stumble as my weight hits my bad leg. I groan but catch myself before I fall. I try to hit him with my cane but I’m off balance and it smacks uselessly against his shin.

He grabs me again, this time rough. He grabs me and pulls me against him. I scream as he throws me over his shoulder.

“Sorry,” he said. “I’m sorry. I hope it doesn’t hurt too much.”

“Help!” I scream. “Oh, god, help me! Help me!”

He walks into the woods. He stomps along, moving slowly. I kick and thrash, making it as hard as possible for him. I scream and scream until he growls at me.

“Shut the fuck up,” he says. “This is for your own good. I need this fucking money, you stupid bitch. Just go home. These people don’t care about you. Stop fucking kicking me, you bitch.”

He punches my thigh and I moan as blinding pain washes over me. He hit my bad leg, hit it bad enough to make everything go white for a second.

He keeps stomping then. He moves forward, crashing through the undergrowth, moving away from the house. I can see it receding slowly, disappearing as we start to move down a slight incline. I can just barely see it through the pain. I can just see…