Dolby(37)
Author: Maryann Jordan
But when the first meal came today, the woman cast her eyes up and down Marcia and then turned and whispered to the man. He also raked his gaze over Marcia, but it didn’t feel sexual. She pressed her lips together, knowing what she looked like. She’d used the water spigot to clean herself, but without any soap, she’d simply had to rely on the water, grateful it would get warm. She’d washed out her panties each evening and had washed out her camisole just last night, letting them dry while she slept.
But she still had her long-sleeved T-shirt that was unwashed because it gave her a layer of warmth. It also felt like protection since she didn’t want to only be wearing a camisole. She had become accustomed to the meal delivery but wasn’t about to let down her guard.
Without speaking, the man and woman left the room, and Marcia ate the hard-boiled eggs and buttered bread. Today, there was coffee along with the water bottle, and she wrapped her hands around the cup, inhaling deeply.
The warm, bitter drink wasn’t sweetened like she normally prepared it, but she wanted the shot of caffeine. While grateful for a toilet, running water, light during part of the day, and the way the wooden window covering allowed her to have a bit of vision during the rest of the time, and the food, she knew change could come. Her minutes were filled with the ever-present fear that, at any moment, she could find her nightmare situation worsening.
She’d just finished breakfast when a light knock sounded on the door, and instantly alert, she jumped to her feet. The door opened, but the man didn’t step inside this time. The woman entered alone, and Marcia’s gaze dropped to her hands which held folded cloth. Her brow crinkled as she sought the woman’s face again.
“For you.”
Marcia blinked but stayed still. The woman stepped hesitantly forward, her hands extended. Marcia realized she was holding several items of folded clothing. She reached out before the woman could decide to take back the offering. Looking down, she saw at least two shirts and possibly a pair of pants. Her breath rushed out as she clutched them to her chest, holding them tightly. “Thank you.”
The woman nodded, her expression softening. She glanced over her shoulder toward the man whose expression had not changed. Looking back at Marcia, she pressed her lips together before sliding her hand into her skirt pocket. She pulled out a small plastic bag and held it out as well.
Marcia’s lungs depressed when the air rushed out at the sight of a small bottle of shampoo, conditioner, body wash, toothpaste, and a toothbrush. “Oh,” she breathed shakily. Her fingers clasped the bag and pulled it against her chest along with the clothes. “Thank you, thank you.”
The woman’s shy smile widened.
“Tudora. Come,” the man said, his words curt.
While it was an order, Marcia noted it wasn’t harsh. The woman nodded, then patted her chest. “Tudora.”
“Thank you, Tudora,” she whispered. She watched as Tudora gathered the tray, and they left, the door closing behind them and the lock clicking into place.
Marcia stood still for a moment, then with more excitement than she thought she possessed under the circumstances, she hurried over to the water spigot. While waiting for the water to warm, she sorted the small pile of clothes Tudora had brought. The pair of dark blue pants with elastic at the waist was functional, which was all she cared about. There were two T-shirts and a small plastic package with two pairs of panties inside. She was stunned, but a cotton bra was included. It wasn’t new, but it was clean. And on the bottom was a thin towel.
Stripping quickly, she stepped underneath the stream of water, thrilled with the body wash, then shampooed her hair, luxuriating with the conditioner. Stepping out, she toweled off and slipped on the underwear, pants, bra, and T-shirt. Using the old bar of soap, she washed her pajamas and socks, wrung them out, and draped them across the floor. Carefully placing the small bottles on the tile underneath the spigot, she stared, tears pricking her eyes.
She sucked in a deep breath, then let it out slowly. Her mind was a mixed bag of gratitude for the toiletries and clothes while knowing she was a prisoner trapped on a ship that must be far out into the ocean going who knows where.
She’d spent the past couple of days being scared out of her mind, unable to think past the next meal or the next knock on the door. Rubbing her head, she grimaced. Time to think more clearly.
Moving back to her bed, she sat on the mattress and once again tried to think of why she had been kidnapped. She wished she had paper and pen to write down her thoughts the way she plotted her mysteries but talked through the facts she knew out loud.
Channeling Inspector Marley, she closed her eyes, blocking out her cell so she could see him standing before her, just the way he did when she created a new book about her fictional character. Brown hair was now sprinkled liberally with gray, particularly at the temples. A slightly messy mustache. Dark brown eyes that were a little small for his face gave him a beady appearance, but he never seemed to miss anything in a room. A quiet man, he observed everything around him, not speaking unless he had something to say. But he absorbed evidence like a sponge.
His brown suit was slightly rumpled, but he shunned buying a new one, preferring what he was accustomed to. Familiar things gave him a sense of calm. And a calm mind allows us to think more clearly, Marcia.
He talked to her at times… usually when she needed to work through a difficult plot point or scene. But now, he seemed to want to guide her again. Ask yourself why, Marcia? Why did they take you?
“Someone knew I was at Angela’s house. Who knew? Angela. Well, she certainly didn’t have me kidnapped. And… Jonathan. Nope, not him either.” Racking her brain, she couldn’t come up with anyone else who knew. “How did someone find out that’s where I was? In fact, the only people who knew Angela wasn’t also at home were her attorney and me. She didn’t want Roger to know what she was doing and had mentioned that she didn’t trust any of their friends.”
Sighing, she leaned back against the wall and stared at the wooden board over the window, wishing she could see the sky. “Why didn’t they seem concerned about Angela being somewhere in the house? They should have been prepared for her to be there when they came for me.”
An inkling of an idea began to form, but just like when plotting and writing, an exhausted, anxious brain was not the best for analyzing. Snorting, she stood and began pacing the floor. Another knock on the door halted her, stunned at today's extra visits. Once more, the same man stood there, but Tudora stepped in, her gaze sweeping over Marcia's new clothes. Tudora smiled, then said, “Outside. We go outside.”
Her brow lowered as she tilted her head to the side in confusion. “Outside?” Her heart pounded again at the fear of why she was now being summoned out of her room.