football stories and loud sense of humor. He moved up through the ranks with relative ease, thanks in part to his father.
But life at home was a different story. Morris was filled with an anger he couldn’t control, and the drinking only made it worse. He was a distant, impatient father, and a harsh, resentful husband. The littlest thing would set him off. Every argument with Lenore seemed to end with something in the house-a vase, a stack of dishes, their framed wedding photo-being smashed to pieces.
Like many alcoholics, Morris refused to acknowledge he had a drinking problem. Lenore, codependent and terrified to raise three boys by herself, stuck it out despite the marriage being a farce. Eventually she found a support group, who made her realize she’d never change him and that she could, and would, survive without him.
They were both better off now, though Morris wouldn’t exactly consider them friends. Lenore was still living in Texas, happily remarried to a lawyer who apparently hated football.
A few years after the divorce, Morris accepted a job at Bindle Brothers in Seattle, and he moved out of Texas for the second time in his life. The boys were finally out of high school and it seemed like a good time for a fresh start.
The job was satisfying, but it was lonely being in a new place. It was hard to meet women his age, and most of the guys at work were married. So he didn’t have much of a social life. The pounds began to creep on-too much television, beer, and takeout. As he gained weight, his bad knee began to hurt again. Then the other knee began to creak. Exercise became torturous.
When he met Sheila, he was still in denial about his drinking. Even when it began to affect his work-so much so that he was told by Bob Bindle Jr., the managing partner of the investment bank, to start Alcoholics Anonymous or lose his job-he still thought it wasn’t that big a deal.
It was Sheila Tao who gave him the kick in the ass he needed. He’d had a crush on her long before anything romantic happened between them, but the thought that something might happen if he cleaned up his act was enough to spur him on. A few weeks after meeting her, he joined AA.
When he’d completed all twelve steps a year later, Sheila was the first person he called. By then he was completely in love with her and determined to win her heart. He was over the moon to discover she felt the same way. When he kissed her for the first time, just before midnight at the end of their first date, holding the bag with the goldfish he’d won for her, he’d felt sixteen again. They’d been inseparable ever since… she was his whole world.
As cliched as it was, Morris was a better man because of her.
His Bloody Caesar arrived. Before he even took the first sip, he asked Suki to bring him another. He ignored the look on the flight attendant’s face-yes, he was sure he wanted it, and, no, he didn’t need a lecture.
He’d never had a problem making decisions. But he did have a problem with quitting.
Halfway through his fifth drink, Morris made up his mind. He was going to stay with Sheila. He would marry her on Saturday, as planned. They could work everything out after the wedding. Every addict deserved a second chance, and he was damn well going to bet on her the way she’d bet on him. He was in it for the long haul.
But goddammit if he wasn’t gonna get good and drunk first.
CHAPTER 17
S heila’s wrists and ankles burned from the handcuffs. After three days of being chained to the bed, her skin was raw, her back and shoulders ached, and she was constantly disoriented from whatever sedative Ethan was mixing into her water.
He’d left the TV on, tuned to a channel that played old sitcoms. Sheila couldn’t stay awake long enough to watch an entire episode of anything, so she stared up at the white ceiling instead. Her greasy hair was sticking to her cheeks and forehead in itchy clumps she couldn’t swipe away. Her teeth-unbrushed since she’d been here-felt coated in wet cotton. She tried not to think about her full bladder. The adult diaper Ethan was making her wear was dry because she refused to pee in it.
She wiggled the fingers on her left hand to keep the blood flowing. Her engagement ring was gone. She knew Ethan had taken it and wondered abstractly if he was planning to pawn it or keep it as a trophy of some sort. She’d never ask him. Her questions aggravated him. He’d talk when he was ready.
The room was large and sterile, with a ceiling that appeared to stretch up forever. From her position on the bed, she couldn’t see any windows or doors, though a vent directly above her head funneled in fresh air. The only light in the room came from the overhead lights, which Ethan kept dimmed. A bottle of water and the remote control for the television sat on the bedside table next to her, but she couldn’t quite reach either. Against the wall across from her was a brown leather sofa where Ethan usually sat when he came to feed her. He never stayed long.
Sheila decided it was good he was keeping her tired. It helped pass the time. If not for the sedatives, the hours would have been agonizing. She didn’t have an appetite so she couldn’t eat much, though she did try. It angered him if she didn’t at least take a few bites-it was as if he thought her rude for not eating the food he brought.
So far, unless the chafed wrists and ankles counted, Ethan hadn’t hurt her. But she had no doubt he was going to. The anticipation of what was to come was the worst part of all.
Sheila considered herself to be a pretty good judge of character-most psychologists were-so how was it possible she’d been involved with Ethan sexually for three months without having the slightest clue as to who he really was? Never in her wildest, darkest dreams could she have envisioned she’d be locked up here, that any of this could happen. She and Marianne had pegged Ethan as a sociopath, yes, and blackmail had come as naturally to him as breathing… but kidnapping and murder?
Diana St. Clair’s face flitted through her mind. Ethan had killed the beautiful young woman-Sheila was certain of this now. To think, the comparison to Ted Bundy hadn’t been so absurd after all.
A door slammed from somewhere on the other side of the wall, jolting her. She whimpered as her wrists rubbed painfully against the cuffs once again.
Footsteps approached, and every muscle in her body tensed.
“How are we doing today?” Ethan’s head popped into view. “Miss me?”
Just the sight of him filled her with fear. But there was no point in screaming-the room was soundproofed and her shrieks were absorbed into the walls.
“I have to use the bathroom.” Her voice was hoarse. She cleared her throat, but didn’t ask for water. She wanted to keep a clear head long enough to try to talk to him. “I really have to go.”
“So go.”
She couldn’t. Not in front of him. Not in a diaper. It was too humiliating. She’d have to wait and let it happen in her sleep, as she had the last couple of times, so he could change it while she slept.
He smiled. It was the first time she’d seen him smile in the past couple of days. Something had shifted.
“Can I ask you a question?” she said.
“That in itself is a question.”
Sarcasm. Decidedly normal for him. He was in a better mood. A good sign.
“How come you’re not claustrophobic in this room? No natural light, no windows. Why aren’t you a basket case?”
Ethan snorted. “That’s what you’ve been lying here thinking about?”
“Yes.” It wasn’t, but she needed to get him talking.
Ethan looked around the sterile room and shrugged. “I’m home.”
Home. This huge white room with no windows was home? But of course she knew that all phobias stemmed from fear-fear of losing control. And Ethan was in complete control here. He would decide if she lived or died. It was a terrible thought.
“You can change the channel on the TV, you know.” He frowned at the flickering screen. “You don’t have to watch reruns all day.”
Maybe it was the banality of his words, or the casual tone of his voice, or the sedative that had worn off, but something inside her snapped. “I can’t reach the remote, you piece of shit.”
