MORIANI HOME, CELLAR
"Hitting it isn't going to get us
out of here," Ryan calls across the cellar.
"It might," Claire replies, trying
with as little success as her several previous attempts to pry the steel
doors open.
"Nope, I don't think you're going
to get anywhere. You're just giving me a headache." Ryan, sitting on a
box, drops his head into his hands. "I should've left the cuffs on you.
At least you wouldn't have been able to make such a racket."
She sneers at him and then strikes
the doors again. "Well, there's no need to keep me tied down, since we're
apparently not going anywhere anytime soon."
He hears Claire sitting down -- at
last -- on the steps. He finishes rubbing his temples and looks up at her.
For a moment their eyes meet, but the hold is quickly broken. He isn't
sure which of them jerks away first.
"I don't know where my cell phone
is," she says. "I thought I had it on me ... Then I'd be able to call the
police and get the hell out of here."
Ryan ignores the mention of the authorities
as best he can. "Mine's in the house."
"Doesn't do us a lot of good there,
does it?" She brushes her dark hair back with her whole hand. "Dammit,
why did you have to drag me down here?"
"Because we didn't need you making
trouble at my father's wedding."
"Is that a hint that I'm onto something?"
"Not at all." Ryan stands up and
stuffs his hands into his pockets. "I just think that my father would prefer
not to have his wedding interrupted by someone slinging totally unfounded
accusations."
"I'd hardly call them unfounded,"
she replies with a sarcastic laugh.
"You don't have any proof, do you?"
"No, but ... I have enough to create
some suspicion, don't you think?"
He shrugs. "I don't know. I guess
we won't get to find out, will we? Because we're both going to be sitting
down here at least until that wedding is over, unless my father is for
some reason stricken by lunacy and decides to come search for me. Which
I doubt will happen."
"Tim knew I was coming over here,"
she says, bristling at the thought of Tim sending her on this wild goose
chase. "He'll come looking for me eventually."
"What a guy." Ryan begins pacing
back and forth over a small area of the cement floor. "Your hero, right?"
She just stares blankly at him.
"I never knew you to need someone
to play that part for you, Claire. You were always more than willing to
be your own hero."
"I still am."
"Then why do you let Tim be in that
position? It sounds like you let him dictate an awful lot of what you do.
And you're just going to sit here all night until he comes and rescues
you."
"That's not--" She stops herself.
She doesn't need to be getting into this now. She doesn't need to be discussing
her Tim-related issues with Ryan, of all people. "Besides ... if there's
anyone I need to be rescued from, it's you, don't you think?"
She can see something flare up in
him. She isn't sure what it is -- anger, remorse, frustration, or what
-- but it fills his face almost instantly with a burning shade of crimson.
His shoulders tense visibly, crunching up closer to his ears, and his hands
ball up into tight fists.
And suddenly, once she sees his reaction,
something is sparked inside her. Horrible images -- the images of gnashing
limbs and muffled cries that have filled her nightmares for so many years
-- flood her mind. She can feel the pressure on her arms, pressing them
down, all over again. His breath, hot and disgusting against her neck,
is there again. She is no longer in the cellar, but back in that living
room all those years ago ...
"Get away from me!" she shrieks,
flailing her arms. Ryan has now come close enough that she strikes him,
and the first impact just drives her to keep going. She batters him with
her hands, fighting so hard now against the demons of the years.
When Ryan snaps out of his momentary
shock, he grabs her arms firmly. She cries out even louder and it is clear
to him that she is reliving the rape. But he doesn't care -- not now, not
after seeing her react so violently to him.
"Stop punishing me for this!" he
screams in her face.
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