Capture Me: The Complete Trilogy

Chapter 7

7Yulia

As Lucas leads me to the living room, I reflect on what I just learned. What Lucas told me about Al-Quadar fits perfectly with the information in Esguerra’s file. Lucas’s boss is merciless with his enemies, and I’m one of them.

By all rights, I should’ve already been killed in some gruesome way, yet I’m alive, fed, and unharmed. Now that I’m thinking more clearly, I realize Lucas’s decision to manipulate me emotionally rather than torturing me physically is a stroke of unbelievable luck. My feelings may be wounded, but my body is whole, some minor soreness aside. I have no doubt that he’s playing me, but it’s possible that at least some of his game is real.

It’s possible that his desire for me is temporarily stronger than his hate.

I tested that theory when I came out of the bathroom, first by showing vulnerability, then by being subtly friendly. When my captor seemed to respond well to that, I brought up the plane crash, a topic that had provoked him before. The fact that he didn’t attack me—that he actually conversed with me, telling me some of his story—is beyond encouraging.

It means that some of the sympathy he displayed earlier may be genuine.

Feeling hopeful, I glance at Lucas as he walks beside me. He has a fresh coil of rope in his hands, and when we stop in front of the chair where he had me tied before, I do my best to assume a vulnerable expression.

“Do you really need me naked?” I ask, letting my eyes glisten with tears. It’s easy to bring them up; my emotions are still ricocheting from hurt to anger to lingering longing for comfort. “It’s cold when the air conditioning comes on.”

He hesitates, and I give him a desperate, pleading look. I’m only half-acting. It’s a small thing, clothes, but being dressed would make me feel more human. More importantly, though, Lucas granting me this request would mean that my strategy of playing on his emotions is working.

“All right,” he says, giving in as I hoped. “Come with me.” Leaving the rope on the chair, he takes my arm and brings me to the bedroom.

“Here,” he says, handing me a T-shirt. “You can wear this for now.”

Trying to hide my ecstatic relief, I accept the piece of clothing and pull it over my head, noting the heat in Lucas’s eyes as he watches me do so. It’s a man’s shirt—his shirt—and it’s long enough to cover me to mid-thigh.

“All right, let’s go,” he says when I’m dressed, and leads me back to the chair. As he ties me up, I look at his big, sun-darkened hands looping the rope around my ankles and wonder if he’s feeling the same electric tingle that I am. It’s f****d up that I still want him, but it may also aid me in escape.

It may help propagate this new, more amicable dynamic between us.

When he’s done tying me up, Lucas stands up and says, “I have to get some things done. I’ll be back in a few hours.”

“Okay, sure,” I say, keeping a poker face.

With a lingering glance at me, Lucas departs, and I let my relieved smile break across my face.

After a while, my ebullient feeling fades, replaced by a combination of boredom and discomfort. The chair is hard under my butt, and the ropes bite into my skin every time I try to change my position. The minutes begin to stretch, passing by slowly and monotonously. I keep looking at the window, waiting for the mystery girl to return, but she doesn’t. There’s only an occasional lizard running over the window screen.

Sighing, I look down and ponder the other tidbit that gave me hope. If Lucas didn’t lie, my dark-haired visitor wasn’t his girlfriend.

He doesn’t have a girlfriend at all.

The knowledge is like a balm to my ragged feelings. I don’t know why it matters to me whether Lucas is single, married, or hooking up with a dozen women, but the fact that he’s not cheating on that girl with me makes me feel better about last night. I didn’t wrong another woman. Whatever’s going on with me and Lucas is just between the two of us. Nobody else is going to get hurt.

Of course, I have to allow for the possibility that he lied, that this is all part of his interrogation technique, but I’m inclined to believe him on this. There are no signs of a woman’s presence in his house: no decorations or picture frames, no hair dryers or feminine products in the bathroom.

This place is a bachelor residence, right down to the almost-bare fridge, and if I hadn’t been so terrified and exhausted yesterday, I would’ve noticed that obvious fact.

Yawning, I look at the window again. Another lizard runs by. I watch it and wonder what it’s like out there, in the jungle beyond these walls. Every part of me aches to be out there, to feel the warm sun on my skin and hear the singing of birds. The small glimpse I got yesterday hadn’t been enough.

I want to be outside.

I want to be free.

Soon, I promise myself, shifting in the hard chair. I now understand the game Lucas is playing, and I can play along. I’ll be his s*x doll for as long as he lusts after me, and I’ll seem weak and open. I’ll tell him everything except the information he seeks, and I’ll let him think that he’s prying the secrets out of me, that his soft interrogation is working. This way, he won’t resort to harsher methods for a while, and I’ll use this time to formulate a real escape plan, something more promising than a desperate attack with a broken toothbrush.

I’ll also work on building a bond with Lucas.

Lima Syndrome. That’s what they call the psychological phenomenon where the captor sympathizes with the captive so much that he releases said captive. I studied it during training, as there was a high probability I’d be captured one day. Lima Syndrome is not as common as its inverse, Stockholm Syndrome, where the captive falls for his or her captor, but it does occur. I’m not foolish enough to think that I’ll be able to get Lucas to release me, but it’s possible that I could get him to lower his guard and do little things that would make my escape easier.

Like letting me wear clothes.

Yawning again, I watch yet another lizard scurry across the window, and I imagine that I’m small and green. Small enough to slip out of my bonds and slither through the vents. If I could do that, I’d be the best spy in the world.

It’s a silly thought, but it comforts me, taking my mind off what awaits me if my plan fails. My eyelids grow heavy, and I don’t fight it. As I nod off, I dream of little green lizards and my baby brother, who’s laughing and chasing them around a jungle park.

It’s my most joyful dream in years.

“Yulia.”

I wake up instantly, my heart jumping, and look up.

Lucas is back—and he’s not alone. In addition to my captor, there is a short, balding man standing in front of me, his brown eyes regarding me with a detached curiosity. His clothes are casual, but the bag in his hands appears to be a medical kit.

My stomach drops. I was wrong about Lucas waiting to use the harsher methods.

Before I can panic, the short man smiles at me. “Hello,” he says. “I’m Dr. Goldberg. If you don’t mind, I’d like to examine you.”

Examine me?

“To make sure you’re not injured,” the doctor explains, undoubtedly reading my confused expression. “If you don’t mind, that is.”

Right, okay. I take a deep breath, my fear easing. “Sure. Go right ahead.” I’m tied to a chair wearing nothing but Lucas’s T-shirt, and the man is asking if I’d mind a doctor’s examination? What would he do if I said I minded? Apologize for the intrusion and go away?

Apparently oblivious to the sarcasm in my voice, the doctor turns to Lucas and says, “I’d like the patient to be untied, if possible.”

Lucas frowns, but kneels in front of me and begins working on the rope around my ankles. Glancing at the doctor, he says tersely, “I’m going to stay here. She’s creative with household items.”

“But—”

At a hard look from Lucas, the doctor falls silent. Lucas finishes untying my ankles and moves around me to undo my hands. I wiggle my feet surreptitiously, restoring circulation, and think longingly about the bathroom.

I don’t know how long I’ve been tied up, but my bladder’s convinced it’s been forever.

“I need to pee,” I tell Lucas, figuring I have nothing to lose by being honest. “Would it be okay if I went to the bathroom before the examination?”

Lucas’s frown deepens, but he gives a curt nod. “Let’s go,” he says when he’s done with the rope. Grabbing my arm, he pulls me up, his grip as rough as upon my arrival. Startled, I nearly stumble as he drags me down the hallway, the gentleness of this morning nowhere in sight.

My anxiety returns. Was I wrong about him, or did something happen? Does this examination have something to do with it?

Before I can analyze my captor’s alarming behavior, he pushes me into the bathroom and says harshly, “You have one minute and not a second longer.”

And on that note, he slams the door shut.