Wakingup again was a repeat of the most horrid nightmare of when I'd awoken before. I was on a sick merry-go-round in the depths of hell. My hands were still tied, but my mouth was no longer gagged, and I was sitting up, strapped to a wooden chair. Lifting my head that rested limply on my chest, I took in my surroundings with blurry eyes. I was in a basement or wine cellar. There were boxes all around me, and to my right and left were shelves that housed dusty bottles of wine. The room was dark, dank, and there was a sharp chill in the air. In front of where I sat was a staircase leading to the floor above.
Pulling against the straps that held me securely to the chair, I wasn't surprised I couldn't make them budge. Pope wasn't going to lose his captive because of loose knots. He clearly was a pro at this. Taking a deep breath, I struggled with the battle going on inside of me. I was at war with the frightened little girl who wanted to scream for help. This little girl psyche was pleading and begging I do something-anything. But I remembered what Viv had said. How it was important for me to remain silent. She said she would help me. But I wanted to scream at the top of my lungs more than I wanted to even breathe.
Where was Viv? Where wasshe?
Where wasPope?
Where wasI?
"Oh good. You are awake," came Viv's gentle voice behindme.
I tried to turn to see her, but was unable to. All I could see were stacked boxes all around. "Viv? Hurry, untieme."
There was silence.
I wiggled my fingers and toes and was pleased I still had feeling in them. I would at least be able to run once I wasfree.
"Viv?" Why wasn't she rushing to me to free me from my restraints? "We need to hurry."
Silence.
"Viv!" I wiggled in my chair as if showing her that I was tied and couldn't move would trigger her to take action. "You have to do something before Pope comes back down here. Please hurry."
"Now, Demi. The more you resist, the more those ropes are going to flaw your perfectly creamy skin." I froze in place as a chill ran down my spine. The voice was Viv's, yet it wasn't Viv's. She had a thick southern accent that seemed to ooze off her tongue. It reminded me of a southern belle attending charm school so she could win the local beauty pageant. "It's important you take care of your skin, child. No man wants a woman with raw and red wrists and ankles. It simply isn't ladylike. You must rememberthat."
The click of heels on the cold concrete floor came from behind until they circled around and stood before me. Viv Montgomery stood before me. The sweet little old lady whom I had fed in the diner because she wasn't able to feed herself, stood before me. Yet, this person wasn't Viv. This woman seemed different. It wasn't just her thick southern accent that I had never known Viv to have, it was something more. This woman stood with a straight back. Her chin lifted with a sense of arrogance mixed with elegance. There was no shaking or even a tremble of a single body part. She was composed and exuded a sense of strength. She wore a wool, cream pencil skirt, a perfectly pressed ivory blouse, and her trademark tan pantyhose that I recognized. Yet this was not the frail, Asian lady who had Parkinson's that
knew. This woman even appeared younger in age if that were possible, and definitely much healthier.
"Viv?"
