Wake to Dream(23)

"Why are you doing this?" she asked, refusing to look back at him and meet his eyes.

A grandfather clocked chimed in the distance. When the last bell had tolled, he answered, "Does the why really matter? It won't change things. A better question would be what you can do to prevent the situation from becoming worse."

She looked at him then, saw the glimmer of amusement in his eyes to know that he had her trapped, a mouse left to run the labyrinth he'd laid out for her.

There was no fight left in Alice. It wasn't her life alone that hung precariously on the line.

Twisting to face the left side of the room, Max hit a button on the remote, a television screen coming to life that Alice wouldn't have noticed unless he'd drawn her attention to it. Hung on a wall, the black screen blended seamlessly with the interior decor, a dark space concealed simply because the decor around it sparkled and drew the eye.

Hitting another button, Max said nothing while he watched Alice, studying her reaction as she first recognized what had been revealed on the screen.

A closed circuit camera view of a small, well lit room revealed a woman sitting on a bed, her head concealed by the hood that covered it. Curled over herself, her shoulders shook on a sob, but the sound didn't carry through the speakers of the television.

It was the room where he kept her sister, Alice realized, a room that was in stark contrast to the person it held.

Delilah had never been feminine. Momma always said that even as an infant, Delilah had cried when she was forced to wear the frilly dresses most mothers loved to clothe their little girls. She'd scream and complain until the frocks were removed, much happier in her skin than in satin and lace. She never liked pink, she wouldn't be caught dead playing with dolls.

She was a tomboy through and through, much more suited for sports, climbing trees and splashing in mud puddles than for playing dress up and tea parties.

Alice was the opposite, her attention always drawn to pastels and sparkles. If not for the nightmares, she would have been her mother's perfect living doll.

Growing up, Alice had been the poster child for lace dresses and patent leather shoes. She'd love to wear bows in her hair and would cry if even a speck of dirt marred her clean skin. She'd been everything Delilah was not, but still loved her older sister for humoring her and sitting at the tea table anyway.

With those memories locked tightly within her thoughts, she was thrown even more off balance by the room Max had prepared.

Pink paint covered the walls above white chair rails that ran the room. Posters with kittens and rainbows were hung on each wall, a day bed pushed off to the side with a gold frame and white, frilly bed sheets. The carpet was pink shag that matched the paint, and dolls were scattered throughout the room on shelves and perched to appear lifelike on a large, overstuffed chair.

Clothed in the same yellow dress that Alice wore, Delilah herself resembled a doll, if not for the hood covering her face.

Alice felt sick, the contrast of the innocence of youth against the sinister truth of their captivity - of the wicked game this man was playing - perverting every happy memory she had growing up.

Hot summer days spent lingering in sunlight, the sticky mess popsicles would make when they melted too soon, endless hours splashing in community pools or riding the rope swing into the large lake that sat in the center of her small town: all of those things were now scarred and made dirty by the image of a woman bound, a hood covering her head concealing the tears she shed for her captivity.

Alice hated that room, hated Max for the twisted life he'd forced upon Delilah.

"You'll be able to see her at all times. There are televisions in every room, each one tuned in to the camera monitoring her. You'll see that she is safe and unharmed, as long as you behave."

"Is that supposed to appease me?" she asked, anger dripping from every word. "You're holding her like a damn animal. Can she even breathe beneath that hood?"

He grinned, unfazed by the vehemence in her voice. "If she falls over dead, then I'll assume she couldn't." He paused, smiling more broadly in response to Alice's obvious distress. "However, since that hasn't happened yet, I believe it's safe to assume she can breathe just fine."

Forcing herself to calm down, Alice struggled to keep from staring at the television, from being a silent observer to her sister's pain and fear. "What happens if I don't behave? Will you kill us both?"

He chuckled, the sound cynical and cruel. "Death would be too easy, Alice. Killing you would mean I'd have to start all over. If you'd like to find out what happens with bad behavior, you're welcome to step out of line. I promise that you won't like the results. It'll only take one time to break you completely."

He was so confident in his statement that it elicited in her a need to rage, a heady desire to spit in his face and wipe the sadistic grin from his lips. Fear held no place inside her, only the scathing heat of her fury.

Had it been her alone, she would have given him every reason to punish her, would have taunted and pushed him to a point of no control in the hope that death would become her escape. But what could be gained from disobedience? Nothing except being an accessory and witness to her older sister's torture.

Left with no choice, Alice resigned herself to fate. Her voice weak with easy defeat, she asked, "What do I have to do?"

He studied her, his fingers steepled at his lips, a brow arrogantly lifted. "I'm pleased to hear you finally ask the proper question."