Chapter 15

Makayla couldn’t be sure how long she’d been gone, or what day it really was. What she was certain of was that she had no recollection of the events that lead to her sitting in the dark, all alone. Her hand brushed against her naked thighs where she felt a patch of sensitive skin, she’d come to realize two things, her nails were extremely long and felt artificial, and she was wearing nothing but underwear, or a bikini by the feel of the smooth Lycra on her skin. The room had a strange smell to it, and although it was hot and humid in there, her body shook as if she were cold. Makayla gave an audible sigh as her stomach growled for food; her feet were threatening to cramp. This too her was an indication she’d been without hydration for an extended time. Knowing her body so well she estimated at least over twelve hours.

She stood in the pitch black, a little shaky at first, but as her hands felt along the walls of the room - her determination to gather intelligence morphed into a kind of mental strength that pushed her forward despite her uncertain state. Fingers skimmed along the walls that caged her in, for any weakness or clues about her current surroundings. When she was done walking the room, she took stock and mapped it all out in her mind.

There were walls on both sides, about six feet across. The texture was coarse and dusty like it was made of some kind of natural stone, perhaps even clay. On the far side was a thick metal door, which was cold to the touch, and behind her was a rickety bed also made up of steel, but a mild steel she surmised because as her shins hit the bedframe, it moved and sounded hallow. With a careful shuffle of feet on what felt like smooth tiled floors, her hands swung back and forth before her like a blind woman swinging her cane in search of objects that might obstruct her path. All too soon, she had crossed the room and her shins connected with the bed again, leading her to wonder if the drug was making her feel disorientated, or if she had forgotten where the bed was placed. It was unlike her to forget her training so easily. Feeling around the bed, she noticed a hotspot on the wall the bed was pushed against, she climbed up with the intention of discovering more.

The bedsprings creaked and for a moment, she froze wondering if anyone had heard her. When no one came she stood, continued her investigation of the uneven surface, the lumpy mattress tilting her this way and that until she found the source of the heat. It seemed to be a window, which had been blocked, situated about a foot above the bed. The heat was immediate to the touch, letting her know the sun was still up. Makayla had never been a girly girl, but today she thanked her lucky stars someone on her team had convinced her to get her nails done as they worked perfectly in scratching some of the black paint off.

With a lot of scratching and clawing, she managed to chip at the paint and pull away long flakes until the sun finally broke through and the dust motes danced around her face as sunlight streamed in though the gap.

Getting on the tips of her toes, she got into a position where she could get a view of outside. It was a luscious garden of grass, palm trees, and a wide variety of cacti that were in bloom. She then noticed the Strelitzia flowers, which were growing beneath the shade of a tree. This flower grew in gardens all over Los Angeles and California, but the shade of orange of the flowers were a deeper shade, indicating that the soil was unique; maybe even unique enough that it could point to a certain region. This was crucial information she could use when she got hold of her team. Jarvis, she knew, was a pro at things like that.

With the help of a lot of yoga and a decade of being a gymnast growing up, she managed to climb up using the bed to steady her foot. She got a great view of what lay beyond the garden. Desert. The perfect prison surrounds.

Not giving up on her quest to escape, she knew she had to recollect her thoughts. Staring out into the room, the faint light through the gap gave more light on her ‘living ‘conditions. She sighed at the tiny basin and bucket in the corner—was that meant to be the bathroom? If she could remember why she was wearing nothing but a bikini, perhaps she could spark some kind of memory of where, how, and when she had disappeared. Hard as she tried, most parts of her assignment, and of the last few hours seemed missing. The last full memory she had was of her on her way to report at Quantico for a special assignment, but she couldn’t even recall if she made it there. Frustrated with herself, and feeling a sudden drop in morale, her memories appeared darker than the room she found herself imprisoned in.

Makayla fell back onto the nasty, lumpy mattress, her physical strength suddenly drained. Wallowing in fleeting self-pity, she was aware of a strange, sweet taste in her mouth. A kind of sticky substance was wedged between her teeth, and with her tongue, she managed to loosen what at first felt like ribbon, but which she soon realized was more like the petal of a flower. A flash of a memory came to her, a hand over her mouth, a white flower being forced down her throat. As quick as the memory surfaced, it disappeared again. She knew the flower; it was like a moonflower; and she knew moonflowers brought on hallucinations when made into a tea but could be extremely poisonous when consumed. Could it have contributed to her memory loss? She was most sure it had.

Her eyes took in the sudden light that appeared beneath the door and Makayla instinctively became what she was trained to be when undercover—the victim. Pulling her knees to her chest, she attempted to cover her exposed body. The sound of keys being shoved in the lock clanged throughout the room. A sliver of light crawled over the dusty tiled floor as the door slowly opened on its rusty hinges. A figure stood in the door, blocking her escape. Makayla squinted hoping it would give her better view of his face.

The figure stood with his shoulders as wide as the inner door frame.

“Dinner’s ready,” his husk voice said.

She sat waiting, expecting the dinner to be handed to her on a tray, but the man still stood in the doorway.

“If you accept the invitation, you must promise to be on your best behavior. After dinner, you will receive your reward.”

Makayla nodded.

“Good, you will get to choose from clothes, toiletries, and bedding. Every day, one reward for good behavior. Bad behavior…”

He paused and Makayla could almost see the smile on his face, “…gets everything taken away—and your social hours stripped away, too.”

Makayla quickly shut down the awkward look she knew marred her face.

“Follow me, Kerry.”

Kerry? That wasn’t her name. She stood, walked over to him while her arms wrapped around her mostly naked torso, and followed him out the room. By the way he spoke, he was an educated man, albeit his ruffian appearance. She studied his gait with care - a little stiff, but for a big guy, he moved almost without sound.

They walked a narrow passage, where she noted her white bikini, scratches on her upper thigh where she had felt pain earlier. Increasing her pace to follow the man leading her to dinner, she took it all in. Floors tiled in a quaint little pattern of white, blue and orange porcelain, with ornate moldings on the ceiling. The walls were an uneven plaster, painted in a light-yellow shade. She could smell the food as they rounded the corner into a long corridor, decorated in exactly the same style, but this corridor had doors on both sides. She counted at least eleven before they had made it even halfway along. Then they turned down another corridor. This corridor held a little more light and held only five doors.

When he stopped and turned, she could finally see his face. She studied the man as he pulled a white curtain aside and stepped out of her way, gesturing for her to go through it. His face was hard, all angles and dark features—defiantly Latino. There was more to him than met the eye. She could sense it. A latent power. An air of discipline and potential for harm exuded from his being. She guessed he had been military at some point—this she was sure of. She passed him and through the pulled back curtain, her eyes skimming over his many tattoos briefly. He closed the curtain behind her. The room was large and filled with other girls all sitting by a very long table, and all dressed in the same white bikini similar if not exact to hers.

Much like herself, they wore no jewelry or shoes, hair free of any accessories. Makayla took her seat by the last empty spot among six others on the one side of the long dark-wood dining table. The chairs were thick solid wood, cushioned with pink velvet. Two chandeliers hung from the wooden cross beams overhead, white curtains hanging from the ceiling. The extravagant curtains were tied back at each white stone pillar with golden throne-looking patterned hooks. The view beyond was of desert, and blue skies, a series of hills as the distant backdrop. In much better circumstances, it would have been paradise.

On each side of her the girls sat expressionless, putting her in mind of dolls. Across from her were six more girls, all young and healthy looking. Some were beautiful, others less so. Makayla noted the silver cutlery with matching under-plates, and white cotton napkins, which all bore a gold thread insignia in the shape of a moonflower.

She pretended to be just as zonked out as the rest of the girls, staring ahead, not making much eye contact. She also tried to mimic the lost look that spoiled each girls’ face. Out of the corner of her eye, she counted the guards posted at each pillar. At the far side of the room, a series of couches faced the dining area, stacked with colorful cushions in blue, cream and white. The whole place had the appearance of some up-market - over the top decorated -lavish spa resort.

A tall, slender man appeared, wearing only white cotton pants, no shoes and no shirt. Makayla tried hard not to stare at the massive tattoo spread across his upper body. No other accompanying tattoos. The guard who escorted her to her seat, pulled a chair out for the man at the head of the table. His chair was larger, with a wide- tall back, embellished with jewels—clearly, he was implying his position as king. He sat down, his dark wet curls touching the sides of his temples. He smelt of pool chemicals and overpowering cologne.

“Please, don’t mind me,” he said right at her. It was only then she realized she was staring too blatantly. His thin, but well-defined arm went up; he snapped his finger, summoning his woman servants who entered carrying silver trays of food.

He spoke directly to Makayla. “All you need, it is yours.”

He was still staring at her, creepily so when she felt herself frown at the oddness of his statement. It was as if from all the girls there, he only had eyes for her. He was free of an accent, but his features were all Latino. When he grinned there was a gleam of gold capped teeth. As his hand went out to reach for a piece of pineapple, she noticed the scar, like he’d had a tattoo removed from the back of his hand.

She quickly looked away and stared ahead at the food on the table. An array of dishes that held lean poultry, grilled fish, raw vegetables, cold soups in vibrant colors, and crystal pitchers of water, which caught the light and sent it scattering on the ornate roof and curtains.

Side plates were placed beside each girl and held a mix of dark green spinach, raw red Chinese cabbage, kale, feta cheese, topped with grated nuts -food of the health conscious.

On signal, the girls ate, grabbing their food like they hadn’t eaten in days. Fork in hand, her eyes couldn’t be drawn away from the man sitting at the head of the table. He was young, handsome, and had an air about himself, as if he believed he was royalty. His eyes met hers, he smiled his shiny grin before his eyes took in his possessions sitting around the table.

He was the king, and they were his treasures.