“Where did you come from?” You put a hand to your chest, trying to get your breath back. “I can always hear your boots when you come up the stairs!”
He threw back his head and laughed, the shadow of his hat’s brim not hiding his face for once. He was handsome, with a square, clean-lined jaw and sharp, prominent cheekbones. “There’s many times I’m here, sweet fledgling, without your knowledge.”
You were never safe, you knew this. But the thought that you’d been reading, or bathing, or sleeping; and he’d just been standing there? You felt horribly exposed, betrayed somehow.
And that was ridiculous. You were a captive. He was the monster who kept you here, in the Birdcage. How could you feel more helpless than you already did?
“Now, now, Little Bird,” his hand was on your flushed cheek, “go into the washroom and bathe. There will be a pretty dress for you when you come out. The first of your birthday gifts.”
“It’s today?”
“Yes,” he was already heading for the door.
“John?”
He turned to look at you, face shadowed under his hat again. “Yes?”
“What’s…” your voice was small, like a child’s. Like the child you used to be. Clearing your throat, you tried again. “What is the date today?”
Now he did laugh, really laugh, the sound echoing around your chamber. “The first day of the first year of your Eternal Night. Now bathe. There’s so much to celebrate.”
Your washroom was really quite fancy.
There was a massive, white porcelain tub that was more like bathing in a pool, stacks of thick white towels warmed on a bar to use after you bathed, and a marble-topped sink with a huge mirror. Black Heart kept the room stocked with all kinds of expensive oils and lotions, liquids that created mountains of bubbles, and richly scented shampoos and conditioners for your hair. It was very long, now. You’d never cut it since being taken here. He liked to sit you down in front of the fireplace sometimes, combing your hair very gently and brushing it with the magnificent silver-backed hairbrush until it was dry and smooth, flowing like a ribbon over your shoulders and down your back.
You often thought about the fairy tale with the princess high in her tower, who escaped by using a rope made of her hair. It sounded quite promising until you added the problem of the shadow things, which would tear you to bloody pieces in seconds. Hair - even magical hair - was no defense in this world.
You took longer than you knew would please him, but you were desperate to put this off, his celebration of your birthday. There was a beautiful white dress laying on the bed, with a long skirt and elegant lace detailing in the softest silk. You touched it with a finger- you’d never had anything so fine before. There were gossamer-light things that you recognized as stockings that grown ladies would wear, and a brassiere and underwear that were scandalous. Tiny wisps of satin with ribbons holding them together. It was awkward and took a long time to figure out but thank the Lord, you were dressed by the time you heard his boot steps outside your door.
He was carrying a tray with something under a fancy cover, and he paused as he admired you, slowly, deliberately looking up and down you thoroughly.
“Beautiful, my Little Bird. You are a swan.” He placed the platter on the table and pulled out your chair. “Come now, let’s celebrate.” Black Heart seated you gracefully and pulled the cover off the plate. It was … cake-like, at any rate. Plain, with no frosting and a dark reddish-brown. But he placed a candle in the center and lit it.
“Make a wish, my sweet birthday girl, and blow out the candle.”
You closed your eyes, squeezing them shut as you wished with every cell in your body.
Let me find Mama again. Let her be alive and looking for me, too.
Blowing the candle out, the room was left in near darkness, but you saw that your captor’s eyes had bled to gold again. He carefully cut a slice of the cake and put it on a silver-etched china plate for you, handing you a fork and then taking a piece for himself. “Come, you must eat your birthday cake or your wish will not come true.”
Taking a small bite, you tried not to wrinkle your nose. The dessert was sweet but oddly dense and there was a cloying, heavy taste to it. You could identify the cinnamon and vanilla but that overlaying flavor muted everything else. He was watching you, eyes glowing under his hat brim and a finger stroking idly over his full, red lips. Standing, he took your hand. “What’s your favorite song, Little Bird?”
It had been so long since you listened to music, your mother had loved it - she’d played so many songs for you - from Bach to bagpipe music to the Beatles….Don’t think about her,you thought,not now.
Black Heart snapped his fingers and you recognized it; the last song you’d heard when you had a home. And parents. Before the bombs. “It’s Been a Long, Long Time.” You choked back a combination of a laugh and a sob.
“Can you read my mind, John?”
“Not yet,” he shrugged, “not completely.” He took you in his arms, one hand at your waist and holding your other as a proper gentleman would. He apparently knew the steps to a slow and elegant dance that fit and flowed with the song. Had he been a proper gentleman, once?
Oddly, it was the closest you’d ever been to him, your chin resting on his shoulder and your body stiff against his broad chest. His body was hard, an unyielding feel like angles that dug against your curves. There it was again, the feeling of being completely enclosed in this man, absorbed into him somehow. He smelled of old blood and something smooth, like the tang of spices on the tongue and his skin was cool against your warmer body.
When the song that came from nowhere ended, Black Heart dropped your hand and stepped back. With great care, he removed his hat and placed it on the bureau. He was handsome, thick brown hair cut short and slicked back. His black duster followed suit, and then he unbuttoned his black shirt.
“What are you doing?” You took a step back. His behavior was as shocking as if he’d suddenly turned into a human, a man who would bare himself to you. Bare his body, bare his soul.
Unbuttoning his cuffs, he chuckled slightly. “I am taking off my clothes, and then I’m going to remove yours.” Though you edged further away from him, he continued as if you’d not moved. “Sit on the bed like a good girl.”
