Pretty Girls Dancing(90)

“You must eat to keep up your strength, Whitney.” Here came the lecture. “You have a duty to maintain your own health so that you aren’t a burden to others. If you grow weak, your progress will suffer, and if that happens, you will be punished. My mother always said that sickness was weakness manifesting itself in the body. You must not indulge yourself by allowing yourself to get sick.”

His mother sounded like a real winner. Whitney nodded obediently, as if she wasn’t contemplating the thought that he and dear old mom must be a chip off the same sadistic block. Maybe it took a monster to make one.

“I’m here to help you reach your full potential.” That syrupy sweetness was back in his voice. It always had her flesh prickling. “That’s something so few people ever attain. With my help, you’ll be one of a select number who do. But you must listen. Like most instructors, I can teach, but it’s up to you to learn.”

“I’ll try to eat an apple.” Anything to shut him up.

“Fetch a sandwich and an apple from the meals I brought you, and bring them to center stage.”

She did as she was told. The food was always set almost out of the reach of the chain. As if he knew to the inch how far it would stretch. Whitney shivered as the tips of her fingers touched the wrapped sandwich so she could pull it toward her. Of course he knew exactly how far it would stretch. Every tiny detail in her prison had been planned with one thing in mind . . . allow no escape.

Retaking her spot in the pool of light provided by the computer screen and projector, she awaited further instruction. Fetch, she thought bitterly, like a trained dog. He treated her like an animal with everything he forced her to do, and the punishments for failing. Every year her class raised money for the local animal shelter. She’d gone once and never returned. It’d been too hard to see the animals locked up, barking or rubbing up against the cage doors for attention.

But worse had been the ones that had cowered in the back of their cages, shivering, heads down, refusing eye contact. With a brilliant burst of understanding, she realized that was what he was trying to do. Break her down. Destroy her spirit until she’d do anything—be anything he demanded.

Tendrils of fear curled up her spine. Maybe he’d succeed if she didn’t get out of here.

“Your nightly TV time won’t begin until you’ve finished. Remember, Whitney, healthy body, healthy spirit, healthy mind.” She waited until she heard him move away to begin unwrapping the cellophane from the sandwich.

She couldn’t have eaten quickly if she tried. Her nerves were too jittery with her plans for later that night. But she forced the food down, a little at a time. He was right about one thing—she needed her strength for what was to come. When she’d finished, she returned the cellophane and apple core to where he left the food for him to dispose of the next day.

The TV show began before she even returned to her spot. He watched that closely, hovering over the image from the camera he must have on the computer and responding instantly.

She sat down on the chilly floor, turned to stare blindly at the silly show on the wall behind the barre. He had to have the projector hooked to the computer the way they did when they presented their group projects to the class. The detail wasn’t important, but it had taken her too long to note it. Just like thinking of another use for that screw in the shower should have occurred to her earlier.

It was like her brain had been frozen with terror and grief. But it wasn’t numb anymore. And if she was successful tonight, it might be only a matter of time until the freak was in prison. But she wished, more than anything else, that before he was locked up, she’d get a chance to find his whip and use it on him.



How much time had passed since the lights had gone out? It was difficult to know because Whitney had been busy. First, she’d collected all the food she’d squirreled away and brought it to the mattress. It took more time than she’d figured to turn the nightgown into a sort of roomy backpack. She’d ended up ripping two seams along the sides to thread the sleeves through, which could be tied together.

No use worrying what would happen to her for tearing the garment, she thought darkly. Trying to escape would bring the worst punishment yet.

Her hands faltered at the thought. What would he do to her if she were caught? Her pulse began to pound as her imagination obliged with clip after clip of possibilities. Would he kill her? Or was there punishment worse than death?

She shook her head violently to dislodge the thoughts. He wanted her like this. Paralyzed by fear of displeasing him. And how long would it take until she became exactly what he trained her to be, like one of those dogs, broken and afraid? The memory had some of her resolve returning, and she continued laboring over her makeshift backpack until it was ready to fill with her meager supplies.

Trying it on, she made a few minor adjustments, but overall, she was pleased with the result. Then she went to the barre and worked as quietly as she could at removing each of the screws she’d loosened.

A thrill of excitement pounded through her when she held all six of them in her hand. Carefully she removed the bracket from the end of the barre with no more than a few clinks of metal on metal. Bent to set it and the screws on the floor. Barely daring to breathe, Whitney slid the thick, metal manacle that matched the one on her wrist down the barre. Off it.

The oxygen leached from her lungs. The bracket on the far end of the barre kept it hanging from the wall akilter. She gathered up the long links of chain and did a fist pump in the air. She was free! She wanted to get started on her escape plan. Right now. But it couldn’t be much past eleven. To pass the time, Whitney took out the scroll of papers Kelsey had left. Wrapping the chain around her waist and tucking in the loose end to reduce its jangling, she then carried the pages over to the window, heady with her newfound range of motion.