Chapter Five - Sunrise

I couldn't remember the last time I woke up and it was still dark outside. The blue-black color of early morning painted the woods on the other side of my little window. My body wanted to return to sleep - my eyes would not have that. For the longest time I stared at the ceiling, breathing evenly. My face felt swollen on the left side. Most of the pain had subsided.

Lincoln obviously knew about injuries. I wondered who taught him, or if he'd studied in classes based on anatomy. My mind turned with thoughts of Lincoln. He was human, after all; he underwent all the things that every other kid went through; school, friends, dances, parties - had he been apart of those things? Lincoln was once a child. I found it incredibly hard to imagine him as a child.

He was by no means old. But he was not my age. I guessed him to be in his early to mid-twenties, possibly 25 or 26. That made him even more of a criminal. An adult kidnapped a minor. I still couldn't figure out why.

I pushed myself up and scraped my fists over my eyes. If I couldn't sleep then I'd work towards an escape.

I examined the window. Through the slivers of space between the boards I could see trees. Breaking the glass of the window would be easy. Getting past the boards was what worried me. My only chance was slipping out the front door again and making a run for the road. I hadn't the faintest clue of the location of Lincoln's property. All I knew was that it was far from civilization by foot.

I opened my bedroom door, peering out into the hallway. Ribbon had not moved from his spot in the foyer. He appeared to be dozing, soft snores leaking through his nostrils. I removed the sleeping pills from my sports bra, tucking them at the corner of the mattress where the tight end of the sheet was pulled taut. I tip-toed to the kitchen.

The house was fairly well-lit despite it still being night-morning. I didn't need to risk turning on a light to snoop around.

I started with the idea of a house phone. Maybe, if Lincoln was anything like my grandparents, he'd own one.

The counter was clean of dishes. The table clear of plates. The desk at the back of the room looked all but bare as well. I walked the perimeter of the kitchen in order to eyeball everything effectively.

"Shit," I sighed.

A light flicked on as soon as I spoke. I turned around, eyes wide, unsure of what else to do. Run? Hide?

Lincoln stood in the hall I had just came from. His hand was still on the kitchen light switch, retracting slowly as he noticed me. I was positive he knew I was in there before the light turned on. It's something that he would know.

I backed away, towards the fridge. "I was thirsty. That's all." I wanted to think it sounded believable. "I'll go." Anywhere was better than the kitchen at that moment. Standing next to Ribbon sounded more pleasant than remaining in Lincoln's presence.

He didn't move as I started to approach the archway. His body became bigger, taller, as I grew closer. Had I shrank in the night? As per usual, he had his mask on his face. Lincoln's eyes were unblinking as they stared down at me. But they held a look of surprise - maybe even delight.

Suddenly he was shaking his head, small turns, and then his hands came out and landed on my shoulders. I shied away but he didn't take offense. He definitely noticed. I had to assume he was in a good mood, a far better mood than yesterday. That made me curious.

Lincoln turned me around. He walked me toward the table, hands still encasing my shoulders. The callouses on his palms felt strange against my skin. Though I was nervous, I wasn't afraid anymore. It was clear he had no intention of hurting me. He indicated for me to take a seat.

That didn't mean I had to follow his orders.

Lincoln didn't wait for me to sit. He went to the refrigerator, yanking open the wide, steel doors. Digging through the contents, he all but forgot about me. I felt awkward and intrusive, though that was apparently supposed to be my house as well. I did not like being the victim of a kidnapping - it was confusing and frustrating.

Lincoln produced plastic bags from a drawer, tossing them on the counter. I scanned the room for a weapon while he was preoccupied. Hitting him from behind would be easier than head-on. Anything would do; the vase, maybe, a chair, a plate-

Even a baseball bat.

I caught sight of an aluminum Louisville Slugger propped against the desk. The irony of what I was about to do was not lost on me. To take out a ball player with his own bat?

About to take a step towards it, my heart rate accelerated. Could I really hit him? Yes. Would I be strong enough to do damage? Hell yes. I nearly giggled deviously.

I turned on my heel halfway when a hand smacked down on my shoulder. I jumped, gasping, knocking into the table.

Lincoln was a foot away, eyes shining. Two plastic zip-lock bags dangled from his hand, the contents including a single sandwich each. Turkey bits, lettuce, and cheese all spilled over the crust of the bread.

"What are those for?"

He didn't answer. Unexpectedly, he grabbed my hand. I made to pull away, to spit at him in disgust and bleach my hand to remove his germs, but he was quick. Lincoln partly dragged me out of the kitchen, taking me down the hall and to the front door. There was a coat rack along the wall in which he grabbed a heavy flannel shirt off of on the way by, handing it to me over his shoulder. It smelled like him.

Ribbon leaped up, growl churning in the back of his throat. Lincoln slowed so I could catch up with his pace. Before Ribbon did anything, Lincoln directed his arm that held the sandwiches toward the living room. And, like a good little Doberman, Ribbon obeyed without second thought.

The dog disappeared. Lincoln opened the front door, adjusting the locks easily. The first one turned left - that was all I saw. He stepped back with a grand gesture. 'Ladies first,' he didn't say. He clung to my hand but I was able to take a step outside. Only one step. He was at my back in a heartbeat, his breath fanning the top of my scalp. I clenched my teeth.

Once again he took the lead, guiding me through the blue-black morning light towards the garage. Cold wind crawled over my bare shoulders.

Unlike the first morning I tried to escape, a shiny, giant black truck sat in front of the garage door. Lincoln walked towards the vehicle. Gentleman as he was, he made for the passenger door first. While my hands were free I took the opportunity to slide on the jacket. That was another moment in which I hadn't thought about what I was doing, as when I had picked up the fork to eat Lincoln's pancakes. Outside it was cold. Instinct told me to cover my scantily-clad torso. I had yet to receive a garment other than the sports bra that wrapped my chest. Lincoln opened the door to the truck, light igniting the inside. I glanced between the leather seat and Lincoln.

Where was he taking me? Was he going to drive deep in the woods and kill me? Bury my body in some random spot where no one would ever find it? Why the sandwiches?

"Where are we going?"

I attempted to stall in hopes of receiving an answer. Lincoln blinked. I huffed, and there was a single sharp squeeze on my hand; it was nothing more than a simple order.

Warily, I scrambled up in the cab. The truck was big - bigger than the one that Dad owned. Dad's truck was only a little two-seater Toyota. The name might be larger, but the size had no comparison to Lincoln's Ford. I felt like a baby bird sitting on the smallest branch of an oak tree.

Lincoln insisted on helping; his hand hovered over my back which made me climb all the more fast. When I was properly seated, he reached up and began pulling the seat belt across my body.

"I can do that," I said, just as he clicked it in the buckle. Lincoln had moved very close. His torso was just above my lap, face equal to mine. He turned towards me, blinked, then backed out of the cab.

The passenger door slammed shut. Inside the truck it was eerily quiet. Perfect thinking silence. So I didn't even waste a second when the idea of locking him out struck my brain.

I pushed the door lock down, hearing the heavy click as the locks slid into place. A shaky breath blew through my teeth. I waited.

Lincoln rounded the truck. He pulled the door handle, obviously expecting the door to open. His torso jerked back when it didn't.

He looked up, eyes finding me through the tinted window. My heart stuttered. Shit - maybe that wasn't my best idea? Lincoln was the kind of man that was crazy enough to throw a rock at the window if it meant getting inside.

To my surprise, he didn't leave to find a rock. He simply held up the key fob so that I could see it clearly. And then, exaggerating the movement, he shoved his thumb on the 'Unlock' button. The locks slipped back in that heavy clicking noise. I reached for the button on the door again but it was too late. The door swung open, filling the inside with light again.

He blinked at me. I shrank into my seat. Lincoln closed his eyes, shook his head very softly, then reopened his eyes. He climbed into the truck without a word. Sweat coated the underarm sleeves of the flannel he loaned me.

Lincoln slipped the key into the ignition. A lion roared to life beneath the hood of the truck. It was so loud I imagined it would wake a neighborhood. He shifted the truck into reverse, turned us around, then took off down the road at a steady speed of twenty miles an hour. Trees swept by the car on either side of the road. Nothing to see but wood, leaves, and dirt.

My one hand clutched the edge of the seat, the other holding on to the handle of the door. The speed was by no means fast but the road was bumpy, it was still dark out, and I had never driven with Lincoln before. Driving with Lincoln may have been the same as handing my life over to a Demolition Derby competitor; he was all over the road, hitting every ridge and bump as it came by - he didn't hold back, that's for sure.

Two minutes passed. I kept track of the time as a means of distraction. Four minutes passed. I had to stop counting as I nearly screamed when a raccoon darted out in front of us, crossing the road with wobbly steps, a gray blob in the vast array of yellow headlight.

"Can you slow down, please?"

I all but begged him. Lincoln's fingers gripped the gear shift more tightly. He cast a glance my way, eyes bright despite the earliness of the day. He did not listen; if anything, I think his foot pressed on the gas peddle just a little bit harder.

I shut my eyes. After a few moments the vehicle veered left sharply. My head cracked against the window.

"Lincoln," I said, irritated. "Stop! Stop this damn car!"

He gave one good rev of the engine, sending the truck forward fast. I felt my heart leap as we broke through the seemingly endless trees and the road in front of us disappeared.

I screamed. "Lincoln!"

The truck lurched to a halt. There was no road that I could see past the black hood. Then again, it was still fairly dark, so I could have been night-blind. Lincoln yanked the key from the ignition and opened his door, slipping out of the truck and stuffing the key in his pocket. The slam of the door made me jump. I hadn't let go of the seat quite yet.

Lincoln appeared next to my window, gray eyes warm with humor. I wanted to punch him. He opened my door, reaching for the belt buckle. I swatted his arm away, pushing him, then undid the buckle myself. I didn't look at him as I slid out of the cab. He took one step away but didn't let me go anywhere; his hand engulfed mine as soon as my feet hit the ground.

I glared up at him. "You-you idiot!" I swung my free hand in the air. "You could have gotten me killed! What the hell is the matter with you, you psycho?"

He stiffened. I could detect his anger by then. Lincoln, because he never said anything, allowed his frustration to show through his body language. His right hand slammed my door shut, nearly clipping off a few of my stray hairs in the process. Then that same hand balled into a tight fist, and his eyes avoided my own. Lincoln wheeled around sharply, yanking me along, and took me in front of the car. I gasped.

I had been right about the road disappearing; in front of the truck was a huge cliff. A sheer drop into nothingness. But as Lincoln pulled me closer, I could see a darkness resting at the bottom, calm and shimmery.

It was a vast lake, no less than sixty feet directly below. The lake stretched out a good mile or two before it touched land again, a small grassy field, and on the other side of the field there looked to be a road, though it was still hard to see in the dark. The outline of two bulbous mountains in the distance completed the portrait. Short rays of sunlight peaked out from behind them, the only sign of the day to come. Lincoln released my hand and dropped down suddenly, sitting on the ground, his legs dangling over the dirt cliff.

Since he was down, my first instinct to run hit hard. My feet itched and I bent my knees, ready to pivot and take off down the road. I was too slow.

Lincoln's hand shot out and wrapped around my ankle. The constricting grip caught me off guard. I winced, my leg automatically twitching from his touch. I could feel his calloused hand on my exposed ankle so it was just a habitual reaction, to cringe away from my kidnapper.

Lincoln turned his head up toward me, staring. Already knowing my intentions, his hand squeezed my ankle. I knew he wanted me to sit down. So I did.

I awkwardly lowered myself to the ground beside him. Not too close. The proximity between us could never be enough.

Once I was sitting, he released his hold on my leg and turned his attention back to the mountain range that was miles away in the opposite direction. I really had to think - was there a purpose to him doing that? Or did he just enjoy sitting on a cliff face? While I debated the many reasons that could have brought him to this spot, my eyelids started to droop close. Even though I had slept better than I did the first night, I was starting to grow tired. And then two things happened in the next minute.

First, the sun crested the ridge of the mountain in the most brilliant rise I had ever seen in my entire life. Second, Lincoln grabbed my left hand with his right, squeezing it as hard as he did my ankle.

I was so wrapped up in the morning light that I didn't pay attention to his hand. The sky was all soft oranges and gentle yellows, wisps of baby blues hugging all of the colors together. The mountain peaks glowed, the tips coated with a layer of snow, the sunlight causing it to sparkle. I watched as the sun rose higher and the front of the mountain started to soak up the light, turning the black-colored rocks gray.

I recalled where I was and who I was with. Hastily, I shook my hand from Lincoln's, scooting farther away from him.

"Don't touch me," I said.

I turned away from the picturesque scene, studying the trees with a sudden interest. To him, that was supposed to be a moment of improvement. A moment he believed that would turn me in a direction to make me just a little more docile, a little more cooperative.

Fuck him.

He didn't try anything more. We stayed on the cliff for quite some time, watching the sublime sunrise. Eventually he pulled out the sandwiches from the small lunchbox that I hadn't seen him bring along. Lincoln, ever the gentleman, offered one to me first. I declined of course. It didn't seem to bother him, but I did see his arm twitch like he wanted to stuff the sandwich down my throat or hit me.

Lincoln did not eat. He got to his feet, wiping dirt off the back of his jeans.

I saw an opportunity then and there. I didn't think about it, about the possible consequences if it didn't work. I was hungry with the thought of escape. My body thrummed to life and I acted.

I pushed Lincoln's legs as hard as I could, aiming to shove him off of the cliff. He wobbled, losing his balance, then fell.

But he was always faster than me. At the last second, when my hands were still on his thigh, he leaned over towards me, dropping at an odd angle with a deep grunt. His one leg went over the side, his entire body slamming into the ground with a heavy thud. Lincoln slid across the dirt, gravity pulling him down. I tried to scramble back. His hand found my wrist, and his hold was much stronger than the one he had on my ankle.

His intentions were as clear as if he said them aloud; if I'm going down, you're coming with me.

"No!"

I scrabbled backwards, grabbing with my free hand a jutting root that stood above ground. Lincoln hadn't fallen far enough to pull me down but I did feel his weight drag against me some. My fingers clutched the root in a death grip, bicep straining as I yanked up and held on. I stayed locked in place long enough for Lincoln to use me as a way to haul himself completely upwards.

When he released me, I could feel my entire body shaking. I clenched my eyes shut, refusing to look. I knew what I would see; a very angry, very displeased Lincoln Maddox.

A hand gripped my shoulder. I tried to fold my body into a tight ball, pulling away from his hand. He pinched me harder. Lincoln ripped me to the side, forcing me on my back. My eyes flew open.

The sunlight had become brighter, shining over half of Lincoln's body. The other half was shadowed in the darkness.

He pressed his knee into my stomach, dropping his hand on my throat. I reached up, both my hands wrapping around his forearm that felt more like a band of steel.

"Satisfied?" Lincoln asked.

It was the first time I had ever heard him speak. I was so caught off guard that I didn't think to answer him. His voice was deep, laden with gravel, devoid of humor, and the word dragged out slowly. I wouldn't be laughing either if someone tried to kill me.

I was flabbergasted. He'd spoken. I surprised myself when I answered, "Never."

Either Lincoln was incredibly psychotic or he thought I was being funny because I saw his eyes crinkle around the edges like he was smiling.

I didn't have time to ask what he was amused with as the next second his fist was flying towards my face with no plan of stopping.

***

The mirror in the tiny bathroom reflected my face. It might as well have been replaying the image I had seen the night before. The swelling that I believed to have been going away suddenly reappeared, like an annoying pimple that was popped once already.

I tentatively hovered my forefinger over the purple bruising. Sadly, I was more focused on the state of my extremely greasy hair. I sighed, leaving the bathroom.

Tawnee was in the kitchen. C.J was at the table reading, "Green Eggs and Ham". Ribbon was standing - or rather laying - guard in the hallway. His head raised when I appeared from the opposite hall.

"Easy," Tawnee said, not even turning to look.

I was already starting to ignore Ribbon's presence. He posed no threat to me as long as I stayed a good ten feet away.

Tawnee was focused on her task at the stove. She glanced up at me quickly as I yanked out a chair to sit down on. She watched me run a hand through my greasy strands.

"Eugh," I muttered.

She laughed. C.J. sat quietly at the table. I expected he was embarrassed of our last encounter, when he felt sick; I made eye contact with him once but he quickly looked away. Tawnee placed the turner she was holding down on the counter. She turned to me, teeth showing with a warm smile.

"I can make fried chicken with that."

"Give me a pan. I'll grease that, too."

Tawnee laughed again. "Come here, I can't stand to see a girl suffer through such a horrible thing."

She waved me off my seat, going down the back hallway. I always assumed it was where her room was located. We stopped at a door a few feet down the hall. She pushed it open and ushered me inside.

There was a slim walkway that on the left side had a floor-to-ceiling mirror, which doubled as a closet. On the right was a door in the center of the walkway, partially open. I could see a bathtub. Tawnee's bedroom was fairly plain; eggshell colored walls, carpeted floor, a nice queen-sized bed with an off-white coloring duvet set, a dresser and a wardrobe. An ornate vanity hugged the south wall. She led me into the bathroom.

The bathroom was cozy. Big enough to fit two people comfortably. Modern tiles painted the floor, the walls dressed in a chic manner, warm decorations giving the room a more relaxed feel. A bathtub rested in the center of the room, set on a diagonal. It was one of those old-fashioned tubs with the claw-shaped feet. The sink was pushed against the same wall as the door and a toilet was right by the sink.

I eyed the tub greedily.

Tawnee walked over and turned on the spout. Water spewed from the big spigot, fresh and clear. Steam started to roll off the liquid as soon as she turned around.

"Adjust with these-"

I held up a hand, smiling. "Got it, thanks."

I almost felt bad with how rude I've been to Tawnee. But then I remembered that her brother kidnapped me, so it was now their duty to take care of me this way.

She held up her hands in mock surrender. A small smile was on her face as she turned and walked out the door. It clicked close, and I was finally alone.

With the door shut it was much easier to smell the odor that drifted off of my skin. I quickly flipped the spigots and got the water running full blast. The sound was relieving. Hot water filled the tub, nearly cresting the top in a matter of minutes. Steam clung to my skin, misting the small mirror above the sink in a hazy fog. I sighed in content.

I locked the door, stripping down quickly. The sports bra and leggings I had been wearing were sodden with a couple days worth of sweat. How strange it was to be nude in a stranger's household. I shimmied into the tub, relishing the feel of the hot water. Once I rested my head back onto the ledge, I thought about never leaving that room. An escape from two crazy people? Perfect. An escape from Lincoln? Paradise. I closed my eyes in bliss.

There was no collection of time as I stayed in the bathroom. Twenty minutes? Forty? Two hours? At one point the skin on my finger pads started to prune. It didn't make me get out any quicker. I washed my hair lazily, scrubbed my body languidly, not bothering to hurry. What was the point in rushing? I was going to walk back out in the psychotic household and face it all again. Why not stay in there, in a beautiful claw-footed bathtub, where it was secure? Where it was peaceful?

But that wasn't true; the bathroom, Tawnee's bathroom, was most definitely not safe because I felt the feeling of another presence in the room. Tiny sodden hairs on the back of my neck pricked upwards and I opened my eyes to look towards the door.

Through the white mist that hung in the bathroom, I could see Lincoln standing in the doorway. His hands were at his sides, clenched into tight fists. All of the warm air that was crowded in the room was swept out due to the open door.

My mouth dropped open. Snapped close, then opened again. I was stunned; no one had ever walked in on me taking a bath before.

"Get out!" I shrieked, sinking lower into the water.

For a second I thought he was not going to listen, walk over to the tub and do something very bad. Lincoln surprised me again.

It was as if he didn't realize that he had been caught. His body twitched, like he was shaken from a daze. Then he spun around, aiming for the doorway, but smacked into the wall. The facemask forced his head to bounce backward and he stumbled.

Lincoln regained himself and hurried from the room. I pressed a hand to my mouth. I hadn't ever seen Lincoln so out of place. It made him seem more human when often times I compared him to a mythological monster, like a Cyclops or the Chimera.

A minute passed. Would he come back? I heard footsteps, soft ones, before I saw Tawnee rush into the room, grabbing the doorway to stop herself. "Are you okay? I heard you scream."

"He came in here." I cocked my head to the side. Tawnee sucked in a breath. "Then he ran out."

"Ran out? Like, took off without. . .?"

Her words drifted off, and her assumptions brought blood to my cheeks. I was thankful it could be blamed on the heat of the room.

I scoffed. "Well, you don't have a lot of faith in your brother, do you?"

Tawnee blushed. "Lincoln never had much. . .self-restraint. Sorry if I scared you."

I shook my head. If Tawnee didn't believe in him, if his own sister did not think well of him, what was in store for me?

"Can I finish, please?"

Tawnee nodded. She closed the door on her way out, eyes downcast. I hurried up washing in the tub. That room was no longer a safe haven. I specifically remember locking that door yet Lincoln had still found a way inside.