Chapter 7

Shivering, Jemma slowly opened her eyes, keeping very still so as not to alert anyone to her awake state. After the events of the last few days she needed some time to herself to assess the situation she found herself in and work out what she was going to do.

Taking a deep breath, she felt the ache in her shoulder intensify, damn but she'd hit the ground hard! She still felt mildly foolish about her little overreaction but she'd started to justify it to herself, I mean who wouldn't be scared when bound and blindfolded in a room with a complete stranger.

Okay so maybe she'd found it a little arousing to begin with, the fantasy of an unknown man having his way with her whilst she was unable to resist, but the reality had soon kicked in and suddenly it hadn't seemed half as appealing, in fact it was quite frightening. She'd reacted in a perfectly normal fashion to the possibility of being raped and tried to escape, surely he was reasonable enough not to hold that against her.

Listening carefully, Jemma tried to work out if there was anyone else in the room. After a minute or two of only hearing her own breathing, she decided to risk sitting up, unfortunately the move jostled her damaged shoulder and she drew in a sharp, whistling breath as the pain hit her again. She hoped to God that this was just a really bad bruise and that she hadn't broken her collarbone or anything more serious.

Mind you, a broken collarbone would probably necessitate a trip to the hospital, which would mean getting out of here. She mulled the idea over in her head, a hospital would be easy to escape from, but where would she go? It's not like she had a home any more, and if she just skipped out then she'd have no access to her bank accounts or credit cards, she'd have to go underground like they did in the movies, become a fugitive. And where would she work? Going back to her old jobs would

be impossible, and she wouldn't be able to use her social security number, too easily traced.

Realistically, she was trapped here until either Kyle came to get her and they cleared up the mistake, or until the debt collector decided to release her.

A little shiver of fear trickled down her spine as the thought occurred to her that Kyle wasn't due back from his course for almost three months. But surely after that message she'd left he'd get worried when she didn't answer his calls. If he called, that was. Often he'd forget, or perhaps he'd just assume she was working. How long would it take for him to begin to worry, a week, two?

Maybe then he'd call her mother, but the two of them got on about as well as two cats in a box. If, and it was a big if, her mother answered her phone, she'd probably just assume they were having a tiff and refuse to check up on her. That would frustrate Kyle and they'd end up having another of their rows, meaning that both of them would forget to check up on her for another few days.

If she was lucky, after that, Kyle might make the trip back at the weekend, find the flat empty and maybe call the police, but that was a good three weeks away and there were no guarantees.

Or worse, she thought, panicking, the debt collector might have her phone and be replying to messages on it. If that were true, she could be completely at his mercy for the next three months! Angrily she tamped down the threads of excitement and arousal that the thought had generated. She was not going to get turned on at being forced to do whatever this sick fuck wanted. She wasn't. She just wasn't that kind of girl. Was she?

Not wanting to dwell on that thought any further she went to stand before noticing the blanket wrapped around her legs. That reassured her slightly, that someone had been concerned enough to come in and make sure she was covered during the night. She wondered if it had been him or one of the girls. Probably a girl she thought, maybe the first one that had bathed her, the other one had seemed too strict, probably thought a night with no blanket was what she deserved.

Worried now, Jemma wondered where to hide the thin covering. If it had indeed been one of the girls who'd brought it in, she didn't want them to get into any trouble.

Standing, she bunched it in one hand, walking carefully around the room so as not to jog her injured shoulder. She remembered yesterday, the girl had walked towards the room and a type of laundry chute had opened to take her towel. If she was right, it was just about halfway down the wall opposite the window, just before the door.

Holding the sheet outstretched with her good arm, she offered it up to the wall, wondering if it would accept it or whether it was like the doors and would just ignore her. The swoosh of the panel pulling down in front of her startled her, making her jump slightly as the chute opened, waiting for her to deposit the blanket, and she realised that she hadn't really expected this to work at all. Stepping closer, she peered into the hole, seeing only darkness.

Briefly, she contemplated trying to squeeze into the gap, but instantly she saw in her head images of the chute closing whilst her body was only halfway through, without the safety mechanisms they have on car windows she could be sliced in two. Or worse, what if what was waiting at the bottom of the chute wasn't a laundry basket but a sealed incinerator, automatically set to cremate everything inside at some specified time each day. Did she want to spend the remainder of her life kicking herself for jumping into the unknown, not from some sense of adventure or exploration, but from fear of the known? Especially when the situation she was currently in was enviable in many respects, or at least it had been, until she'd messed up.

Deciding not to dwell on that any further, she dropped the blanket into the gaping darkness and stood back as the door swished shut, instantly becoming part of the wall again. It reminded her of a horror story she'd once read, where the house was a living organic being that had gradually consumed all of its residents, and with a small moue of disgust she backed rapidly away from it until she was in the centre of the room.

Damn it, she was letting her fears run away with her. Living, breathing houses were the stuff of sci-fi and horror movies, they didn't exist in real life she was just being an idiot.

Sitting cross legged on the floor, she turned to stare out at the ocean. The movement of the waves outside calming her irrational fears. Of course, a voice in her head popped up, they might not be real waves, it might just be a recorded image projected on a screen, you never know.

Feeling like she was slowly going insane, Jemma couldn't help but check, walking up to the window and cupping her hands around her eyes, searching for any pixellation or something that would indicate that what she was seeing wasn't real, but, apart from a strange metallic sheen like looking through a one way mirror, she noticed nothing unusual.

Convinced now that she was allowing her imagination to make this worse than it was, she returned to her position on the floor. Someone would come for her soon surely?

The sound of the door opening roused Jemma from her trance. Staring at the waves she'd drifted away into thoughts of life outside this place, but now she was dragged back into the real world.

Afraid to move, she waited for an instruction, a word to tell her what she should do, but none came. What to do?

Slowly turning her head she looked behind her. The doorway stood empty and she hurried to her feet. Rushing to the empty gap she spotted the strict, older woman striding down the corridor. Running to catch up, she slowed to a hurried walk as the woman glared over her shoulder, fearing that once again she'd made some mistake.

As she turned the corner, breathing hard from exertion, she almost ran straight into the other lady, stood stationary as if waiting for her. The assumption was confirmed as she spoke to Jemma in a hurried whisper, her voice low and urgent.

"He's waiting for you. Don't disappoint him."

The woman renewed her rapid pace down the corridor and Jemma followed, the woman's words making her raise her chin. This time, regardless of what he did to her she was determined she would live up to his expectations. She would not act like a silly, scared little girl, instead she would behave like a mature woman and not shy away from the bargain she had made. It was a point of pride for her that she had never reneged on any of her debts and she was damned if she would start now, however distasteful the repayment may be.

Halting in front of another opening door, the woman hissed a few words of advice.

"Kneel, do as you're told, speak when you're spoken to."

Then before Jemma had time to protest, she pulled the lapels of the robe tight and retied the bow neatly before nudging her into the room.

The sound of the door closing behind her made Jemma glance quickly over her shoulder. The woman, it seemed, had not felt the need to follow her in this time.

Looking around her she noted another white, empty room, another sea view, but in this room, unlike the others, there was an archway in one wall, suggesting further rooms beyond.

Wondering whether the woman's words meant she should wait here or follow the path through, Jemma decided to play it safe, kneeling in the centre of the room, her eyes down-turned and her hands clasped behind her back.

She was prepared to be left here for hours as a punishment for her earlier disobedience so was shocked to hear footsteps approaching almost immediately, but she kept her eyes to the floor, partly through fear, partly because she didn't want to anger him by looking at him without permission. The fact that she could tell it was him just by his footsteps gave her pause for thought. Was it possible to know someone that well within such a short time?