I didn’t allow my brain to fester over what I would find at the bottom. The less I thought about it for now, the more likely I was to control my growing anger. Four steps down, we reached a carpeted landing. Looking up, I gave the cavern we’d just descended a quick scout before eyeing the passage before me. The walls on either side, covered in the same foam as the stairwell, appeared eerily darker the further it went. Sparse bulbs hanging from the dark ceiling offered little light to see more than a few steps in front.
“Here.” Wilkes held out a torch.
“Why do I get the feeling this will make me sick.”
“It is.” His face somber, he led the way to the end of the passage and a gray steel door. Although it stood partially open, my gaze flicked to the two deadbolts on the hard metal. “Have a look, sir.” He pushed at the heavy door, opening it wider, and tipped his chin for me to enter.
Pausing at the entrance, I scanned the contents of what looked like open-plan living quarters. Box suited the description better. A single yellow bulb hanging from the ceiling in the center of the room provided very little light, restricting my vision. What I could see, though, hammered at my already thumping heart.
Three walls covered in the same black and green tiles as the outside dialed up the room’s claustrophobia. The fourth wall, wrapped in full black foam, sported a green door at its center. I saw the gaping hole around the door handle from where I stood.
“Your handiwork,” I asked.
“My Glock’s the perfect key when I need one.” Wilkes’ confidence made me grateful he was on my payroll. “Trust me, sir. You’re going to hate what’s in there even more.”
My gaze narrowed, I stared at the door, not wanting to walk in there just yet. About to take a step forward, I heard Wilkes tap something a second before brightness filled the room. With the semi-darkness at my rear, the white halogen hit my eyes, forcing me to blink against the blinding contrast before my eyes focused once more and zeroed in on the single steel-framed bed in one corner of the room.
Without moving forward, my vision hazed crimson as reality set in. “She lives down here?” I growled, my heart rate shooting through the roof, my eyes seeking Wilkes over my shoulder. His anger matched mine. “If I’d walked into a dark dungeon, dank with death and reeking of foul odors, I would’ve been more prepared for the story of a kept slave. But this.” I sucked in air through my teeth. “This is a madness I’d fear more.”
Wilkes stepped in beside me, shaking his head. “Either her captive has a serious case of OCD, or he’s fucked in the head.” My head of security was usually a ‘danger beneath calm waters’ kind of man. Now though, his words hinted he was as affected as I was by this girl’s circumstances. “I’m keen on the latter,” he muttered, taking the torch I held out to him.
Jaw clenched, my shoes clicked against the light green tiled floor as I walked around the small room, taking in the sparse contents. Next to the military-precision-made bed with its minimalistic bedding of one blanket and pillow, no sheets sat a bookcase with an odd assortment of books. I squatted in front to read the titles. They ranged in genres that made no sense for a girl that young. Fairytales, Shakespeare, Aristotle, encyclopedias. Old Forbes publications and a dictionary. Nothing to hint at modernity. Finding the mixture strange, I shifted my gaze to the neatly stacked magazine cutouts on the side. I rifled through them, noticing they were pictures of beautiful landscapes, nothing else.
An easel leaned against the wall with a shoebox filled with various paints below it. Rising, I inspected the folded canvas. Landscape paintings in bright colors, a stark disparity in the dull room, stared back at me. It took a moment to realize she’d painted replicas of the cutouts, not as defined but artistically pleasing.
“It’s a fucking rectal cavity down here. How does a person live in this tiny space,” Wilkes snorted behind me. “This is the bathroom, sir.” His disgust rang through his words.
I moved to where he stood in front of an area separated by a wall mimicking the same green ceramic tiles as the floor. “What is the fascination with green?” I muttered, taking in the setup. A toilet, one large bucket, a drain in the floor, and a small shelf above a single tap, made up the space. “No toiletries, towels, or toothbrush. Not even a fucking mirror.” My annoyance grew in heaps.
“I think they or he brings it down every day.” Wilkes rubbed his chin, his expression thoughtful. “There’s a tray in the kitchen with soap, toothbrush, paste, towel, hairbrush, and possible face cream.” He opened the tap and stuck his fingers under the running water. “Cold. That girl must’ve suffered in winter.”
“She suffered every minute, not just winter.” I glanced around the smothering space. “The question is, how long?” Briefly, my mind went numb as a thought occurred. “If he lived alone and something happened to him, she would’ve died here.” My words fell out on a harsh exhale, my troubled gaze meeting his.
“We’ll find him, sir. Promise.”
“And when you do. I’ll make him pay. Slowly. Painfully. Inch by fucking inch,” venom dripped off my tongue. “The bastard will feel every scratch, punch, and kick that girl endured.”
Wilkes nodded, then jerked his thumb over his shoulder. “You want to see what’s behind that green door, or is this enough.”
Dragging a hand through my hair, I blew out a harsh exhale. “Do I want to?”
“You won’t like it,” he didn’t mince words. “But it will give you some insight into what she’s been through.”
With a nod, I followed him to the door, my heart already in my throat. Even though I resisted, I knew I had to see it for myself. If not for me, then for her. Maybe it would help me help her.
He kicked open the door and hit a switch. Immediately red lighting filled my vision before I followed him inside. Anger crept through my veins as I did a slow three-sixty turn, taking in the room’s contents, draped primarily in black.
I wasn’t prepared.
My heart stopped ticking for just a beat. “Christ.” I was an experienced man capable of withstanding most shit, but the view in front of me had instant nausea curling my stomach.
“Sick bastards,” Wilkes muttered, moving toward the camera on a tripod at the foot of a large bed.
Unlike the neat bed outside, the white sheets were rumpled and covered in streaks of blood. Not sufficient to kill someone but enough to leave the person in agony. Heart racing, my thoughts backtracked to Juliette’s summation of the girl’s wounds. Had the bastard tortured her following Turner’s visit?
Next to the bed stood a table dressed in black leather, fitted with cuffs on all four ends. I inched closer, inspecting the bloodied chains heightening my fury. On the red wall behind that hung a variety of whips, chains, floggers, and paraphernalia of sex toys.
“Fuck.” Wilkes’ curse had me turning to look at him. He was staring at the screen on the camera. His eyes lifted to meet, his head a slow shake. Without asking, I knew it was a recording of the girl. My feet laden, I reached him with a deep inhale.
