Apple Or Orange-A

Sometimes it was hard to tell between dreams and reality. Fact and fiction. A sexual encounter with a man who's name I didn't even know could have easily been both. And it was just that fiction. I failed to believe that I would chase him, let a man take me before proper introductions had been made. Light fell through each individual crack in the blinds and curtains shining right on my face. I was sore, and parched. Smacking my lips I sit up pushing the blankets from me. I was underneath several blankets, sheets, and comforters, clothed in undergarments and the little red nightgown. A half-drunk cup of water sat on a light brown coaster with a digital clock next to it. The bright orange numbers blurred my eyes. I blinked before being able to read and focus them. The clock had been set to standard time, not military. Making the change quick in my head I focused on that and the date. I jumped from the bed springing the blankets over the cleaned floor. Jesus! It had been a month since I had been taken from California, taken from Spruce. Sadness stores inside of me as I remember my partner. Spruce. I would have liked to stay with him, stay safe in his arms, instead of here, wherever here was. I was pretty sure it was somewhere in New York but the heavy French accent of M and the light accent of Lauren made me second guess myself. Thomas the cabbie had just the same heavy accent as M, only instead of French his pointed him out as a man from the bronx.

It wasn't the time that had startled me. Eight am was a normal time for me to wake up in the mornings, my body was naturally set to it at this point. I had been gone a month and they had still not found me. I had thought hiding my badge would lead to a point, then again they found my ring so there is no way to say that they didn't find my badge as well. No, I was not worried about Spruce Randall being unable to find me. He was my knight, and I was sure every day he got closer and closer to me, leaving no traces as he crossed the lines. He would show when I needed him too, not before, not after. But when it came close to the final showdown, then my knight would rescue me.

I didn't really care about being found. I didn't really care how long it would take them, what I cared about was the trail for the highway killer. My disappearance would have caused him to go deep underground he would have covered his tracks and left White River California early he'll be long gone now harder to find harder to track harder to trace my fear was missing his neck victim my fear was losing his Trail after 6 years of following him with across the country and finally come out on top of him after six long years of fighting. I thought I had finally won. I have one more year left. I wasn't worried about missing it. Killers stuck to the pattern and this one was no exception. July every year on that day, at the turn of July 4th he would strike every year on July 5th. Every year on my birthday he would taunt me, tease me, parade himself around and plain sight knowing that I have never seen the man before my life leaving clues for me to follow; shoe size song playing on each car, in the victimology he always targeted First Responders. A police chief named Randall. A fire captain named Ben Heart. A veteran named Lotus, or a military man named Hank it didn't matter.He didn't care what they're standing for in life, or who they were, he was always in power over the normal Mortals and he would always take their lives in his hands and crush them beneath his foot.

I had a year left to find him. I could fell myself further and further drifting away each day. Each day I spent here added ten years to my sentence, not in the streets finding this man the only thing that kept me going was the death of a man whom I did not know. Was the blood on my hands of a man who does not deserve the well-being of a prison system. Was my bullet in his skull as his eyes closed for time and eternity. Only then, after I was done with him there would be nothing left, just ashes not even fit to feed pigs. Nothing to identify its body. Nothing to identify my crime. An FBI agent with resources and a getaway plan would make it happen. An FBI agent that one night on July 5th 8 years ago now who lost everything. An FBI agent who is pushing all her power and doing anything it takes to get out of this prison, including having sex with its master and enjoying it. And forming relationships with people of this house until they trusted her enough to leave where she would then continue her search and journey until she found the man in his life within her hands until she can finally have peace and rest. I would do whatever it took to get out of this house to find the Killer not only for Ben but for Charlie, an infant who never had a chance to live. An infant's life was taken before it even began. Her infant, her infant son.

I fight everyday just to see the end of my life. Spend everyday deciding between the ledge and the pills, the knife and the bullets. Every day opportunities come, every day I ignore them, the only thing keeping me alive is the death of a man I had never once before met. Death of a man who I craved more sexual passion who's name I didn't even know. The death of a man who would strive to break apart the very foundations of lives spending years to build. The death of a man that was no more a man, who instead was a demon sent to torture me as hell on earth.

I could choose the blade. I could easily choose the blade I had a pass with the knife. A past shown over the years of self-doubt and hate on my arms and my legs. A past once healed time and time again just to be opened at the slightest inconvenience. I could choose the bullets. I hated guns. I had been shot with them one too many times to learn to love them bullet would not suffice. A bullet would only mean a possibility of survival. I can choose the pills. So many to choose from in the world, so many to take, so many that would get the job done a painful death, a deserving death for someone who let so many lives be ruined over my own stupid accords and needs. I could choose the ledge. Split seconds of fear before disaster and a rush that cushions will fall and pain, it would be painless, it would be quick. I could choose the water. some nurse myself under the surface pushing myself deeper below to the bottom to keep myself Pinned long enough for the air to escape my lungs but no. I will wait for death. I would wait for death to come and chase me the way it has been all these years. I would wait for death to show her face. I'll wait for death so that I can provide an exterminator to the Man the Killer. His name I didn't even know who took my son for me took my husband for me who took the life I had planned. I would wait for death until after I had his life in my hands and my debt was fulfilled I would wait for death until all those who came and gone under his Reign to avenge them. I would wait for death and I would laugh at the possibility of this man no longer human crossing into the depths of hell. I am his Grim Reaper. I am his sharp blade. I am his faith and his life. I am the fate he must face. I am the end of his line, not a single person alive could keep me from taking his life. Not a single person would dare to strike the stand against me when his neck is within my grasp.This creature would not survive my encounter. This creature does not deserve taxpayer money for the safety of a prison cell. This beast does not deserve the humanity of a second chance when he was never given one to any of his victims. This Monster would face my wrath. The leather bound book caught my attention. It sat halfway on the bedside table, a miracle it had not yet fallen off to the ground. Red tabs had been carefully placed marking the pages on Beial which I had read. The tabs were carefully placed to not damage the old bindings and papers. Red was something I had always used when I didn't quite understand a passage. Further to the back another page had been marked using a large green note. I did not remember reading or marking any other pages, intrigued. I flip to it sitting back on the bed as I did so. The same neat font was used to mark the top in large lettering. The word Incubus was written with a dash then incubi. I did not remember reading or even marking the pages. There was no image for an incubus like there was for Beial's page, just a small paragraph written in a deep red ink.

Incubus, plural Incubi. The male form of a succubus*see page 200, a demonic creature thriving off the sexual pleasure of women, they need it to survive. They prey on those they choose in their sleep and like the call of a siren, once he has chosen a woman he will continue to prey on them until madness takes over. Most victims take their own life, not able to live without their male mate.

More science fiction nonsense. Still the small one page passage caused the hairs on my neck to stand, a sense I had gotten used to, a sense that told me when something wasn't right. Did I always listen to it, no, but would I this time? Well that would depend on how I got out of here.

Putting the book back down and quickly looking around I find the bucket Lauren had left me the day before, some safety scissors, non click pens, a highlighter.

My clock was atomic, or appeared to be. God I hoped it was

I moved it around making sure of the fact before continuing. Atomic clocks operated on radio signals that would easily tell the time and date, and well this little black box was no radio it did display the glowing letters. Radio controlled atomic clocks had an internal antenna, a broadcasting system. I use the tips of my fingers feeling around for an opening before finding two small screws, standard sizing for littler electronics. Atomic clocks use their antennae to connect to a radio station, telling them the time, date, weather or other things similar. Each clock connected to a low AM frequency bouncing out of Colorado. The station is then relayed to all of the United States, Canada, and even some parts of Central America. The radio station clocks connect too is small, more like a military communication station when clickers were used. You couldn't transmit words or voices, but you could coded communications. Most watches and clocks only had small antennas used to decode and receive information.

I couldn't smash the clock open without damaging the hardware or athena, which I needed. I had previously explored the room finding no loose edges and sharp corners, the safety scissors would be too big to fit in the cross. Rummaging through the blue hamper I find a dull nail file with a metal edge. I head to the bathroom and stand under the bright light, using the edge I gently begin to twist the four screws removing them. Once they were placed to the side I lifted the back to reveal the internal hardware. I set the clock on the counter and walked back to the basket taking four clicker pens and the scissors from it. Carefully I use the scissors to strip wires and connect them to the spring on a pen, removing the tip, but leaving the rest intact. I connect the wires to the antenna.

A telegraph system worked by distributing the sound frequencies in a series of beeps and dots. I hoped that the Colorado station would receive the transmission. Clocks sent out transmissions to the station, but in a curtain order and frequency. Disrupting that frequency would cause concern and draw attention. I used the push of my pen as a clicker and connected it to the clock's small antenna. The messages would come a minute apart and would need to be short and quick, nothing large would be transmitted as it would be too much for the frequency to handle. Pen springs were made from steel, steel conducts electricity. The push of the spring would be enough to disrupt the flow of sound and interrupt each radio transmission. GPS receivers which were used by most search and rescue teams as well as used in military purposes also operated in the frequency. The hope was that my signal would connect to them. I could turn a clock into a telegraph, but couldn't find a way out of this room. I checked the mirror angled at the door making sure nobody was around or in the room, then I began my transmission. God I hoped this worked.

Click, click, click. S. Break, break, break. O. Click, click, click. S.

Pause

Click, break. A.

Click, break, click. R.

Break, click, break, break. Y.

Click, click. I

Click. E.

Click break. A.

Pause

Break, click, click. D

Click, click, break. U

Break, click. N

Click.

Pause

Click, click, click. S

Break, break, break. O

Click, click, click. S

Pause.

Break, click. N

Break, click, break, break. Y

Break, click, break, click. C

Pause

Click, click, click. S

Break, break, break. O

Click, click, click. S

I look towards the door in the mirror. Still closed. Quickly I turn the clock back replacing wires and turning it back on finding the place of it on the nightstand. I replaced the pen caps fixing it the best I could with the nail care kit Lauren had left me, using tweezers to wiggle it into place. Unable to fully tighten the clock I angle it against the lamp slightly so that it appears unharmed, I nearly throw myself onto the bed opening the book and wiggling a pen in between my fingers. A knock at the door and Lauren's head peaks through, her hair falling over her breasts and onto her shoulders. Once she saw my clothing on, she props the door open and comes in. She carried with her a small plastic bottle she tossed at me. She threw underhand and the bottle sailed across the rooms. Using both of mine I was able to catch it.

"Nice catch" she says, coming closer.

I turn the bottle to examine it. It was a prescription bottle, large and white with a blue lid. It had a picture of a small, red, round pill. Ibuprofen was written across a blue label in the middle in white letters. I hold it up a bit, motioning towards her.

"Thanks." I say, then placing the bottle on the nightstand next to me, hoping it would cover the changed position of my clock.

She joins me on the bed, sitting sideways where she turns her head towards the page I had opened too, one of the pages on Beail. Her eyes widened at the image of him drawn in. Once she saw me watching she quickly returned to normal. She smiled warmly, the way she always normally did. She wore the same maroon shirt I had first seen her in a month ago, only changing her pants to some gray striped leggings. She was barefoot, showing multi-colored toenails like skittles.

"Figured you may need those." she smiles.

I stand, closing the book and heading towards my closet.

"What do you need?"

"M needs to see you."

I groaned, he had already left me in enough pain as is.

"Again?" I whine

Lauren raises her brow.

"Again what do you mean by that?"

"He came to see me last night."

She stands from the bed and walks towards me, both of us now standing in the doorway.

"Sweetheart, are you feeling alright?"

She puts the back of her hand against my head, I flinch away and take a step backwards.

"Yeah maybe you should ask M, or whatever the hell his actual name is."

She looked concerned, before realization took over.

"Honey, you have been asleep for 3 days, nobody came into see you last night."

So what, I had a sex dream?

"Why are you worried anyways, you're the one who kidnapped and drugged me and for all I know killed my partner, or at least ordered him to be killed." I snapped

She seemed generally hurt.

"He isn't dead." she said in a soft hushed voice.

I could feel my eyes filling with tears as my heart seemed to go faster. He was okay, if I could trust her, he was alive. He would find me. I knew he would. Breaking the boundary I had set, Laruen stands directly in front of me. Her stunning eyes catch mine and blur our surroundings as she gently takes my lips in hers. A calm feeling of trust followed as I wanted to tell her everything. Every secret, every doubt, every harsh self feeling. I wanted her to stay there, instead she broke away and went to the dresser grabbing some clothes. She left me standing dumbfounded. Spruce would be jealous. I couldn't tell if she was being oblivous to things around her or actually geuine. I had sex dreams sure, but non as vivid as that, none where I could still feel the soreness between my legs or the ache in my heart for more. None where I could taste the sweet fruits from his mouth still on my lips.

"Well if you're sure you're okay, he's downstairs. Get dressed and go find him."

I'm skeptical.

"You're letting me out by myself without an escort?"

She turns her head to me before leaving, "this isn't a prison."

I sigh. Sure it wasn't. If it wasn't I would be allowed to leave. I take no pride in my clothing, simply a pair of black sweats and a maroon tank top three finger lengths wide. The wedding ring hung around my neck by a silver chain, hair brushed back but not pulled into a ponytail. I exit the room, closing the door behind me making sure it is fully shut once more looking towards the clock finding numbers had gone to normal. With a sign of relief I make my way to the hallway. I was in no rush to find the master, instead I strayed a bit exploring my surroundings. Much of the current floor had already been walked through during my first visit with M and apparently my only visit thus far. My walk to the library where I had first met M was the same, the same room in the same location. I push forward going to the next room and attempting the golden handle. To my surprise the door opened to another bedroom. Walls were the same deep navy blue with a sheer blood red carpet. A fireplace against the wall with a door leading to the deep brown, wooden patio. The walls were gray with the same classic paintings, open windows blinded me at first as I stared directly at the NYC skyline. We were on a mountain seeing the buildings, harbor, and lake pushed back behind towering trees. I couldn't help but smirk as I knew I was right. Heavy clouds hung in the horizon as several helicopters, planes, jets, and even hot air balloons flew around. I couldn't help but wonder if any of them were looking for me. I walk to the wall, ignoring the other details for now, and try the door. Damn. Locked. A little piece of me had hoped that it would be open.

This room was decorated in the same medieval version of mine, except on a smaller more normal bedroom scale. The bed was a queen and had been perfectly made like at a hotel. This room had less bookshelves, but the same gray cobble fireplace against the far wall next to the sliding patio doors. A suit of polished armor took up the far corner, holding a sword and shield with a symbol on it. The symbol featured two intertwined snakes tying each other off. One held an apple in its mouth, the other a dagger. I wander to the bathroom. It was smaller as well, more of a standard bathroom with the same detailing on my walls and the same brick on the shower wall. Both the shower and tub were separated though. On the far wall was a door with a silver round knob. Testing the door I found it locked as well. Moving back out of the room I go to the next door directly to the left. Locked. One more door at the end of the hallway. Locked as well. I turn around walking back towards the spiral staircases. The bars were cold and smooth; the golden leaf design ran down them in circular fashion. The staircases led to a large open empty room, fireplace in the corner and a patio door. I didn't need to bother to check it knowing it would already be locked. But my instincts drove me towards it. I pull the handle, then roll my eyes. Definition of inanity, doing the same thing over again expecting different results. The entire wall to my right was covered with windows. Beautiful curtains ran along a silver rod and were currently bunched together. The tile was gorgeous. Hexagonal patterns and circles bouncing from each other. I could see a cream base then deep maroon reds and navy blues rebounding from it molded together like a dance floor.

Outside, just beyond my view from the door, large stone bricks were placed in perfect green grass pushing towards the downhill slope away from my view. My view from here was not the same as the one from my bedroom. I saw more trees and green, more empty blue sky. Above me, a large chandelier like something you would see in a movie. I turned to find the doorway where I first had come into the mansion. With a smaller chandelier, looking like a pebble to the rock that was the one behind me. The smell of fresh fruits, bacon, and pancakes catches my nose. I follow it instead of my instinct. I was like a dog. My stomach got louder with each step closer, my bare feet easily gliding against the smooth floor. I felt a slight breeze drifting through the large space. Shuttering, I pull my arms around myself in a tight embrace, rubbing slightly, then keeping them there. I felt weak and tired, more than normal. There was an open doorway leading to a large dining room and a twenty person table, each place mat had been set as if company was expected. Pushing forward a connected business style kitchen, a single stove in use. M stood looking down in focus as he folds a dough in on itself. He stood shirtless, heat from the stove causing beads of sweat. His curly black hair fell to his ears covering his almond brown skin. His purple eyes revealed hidden gems of blue. He had filled two plates with several sausage links, strips of bacon, a small stack of pancakes, fresh cantaloupe and watermelon. My entrance caught his attention as he slammed a fist into the dough deflating it. He leaned against the countertop behind him and used a white apron to whip his forehead leaving flour across it. He gestured to the plate in front of me which had a glass of brown and orange liquid alongside it, as well as water. A bar stool was pulled halfway out. I just stood.

"I think we got off to a wrong start, my love."

I cringed.

"No." I spat.

He seemed surprised and shocked.

"Excuse me?"

"I am not your love."

He flushed, his cheeks turning a rose red.

"Oh no, you misunderstand. It is a cultural phrase, nothing more."

God, his french accent was intoxicating, making me only want him more.

"I don't fucking care, find something else."

He stood straightening his back and muscles showing full height. I shrunk down feeling the power he displayed over me as it crept down my back and shook my knees. I gulp. M moved towards me, I backed further into the split wall, using my arms to brace against it. This seemed routine for him. There was desire hidden behind fear, desire for his body. Fear overwhelmed desire. His hand wrapped around my face, and he was once more just a man before me. I returned to my normal state, the top of my head at his chin as there was a foot of difference between us. He backs off grabbing the plate next to mine.

"It's not poisoned, you are okay to eat it."

I breathe, then grab the plate and follow his lead. He sets it at the table head, I set mine 4 places down providing space, then using both hands grab the glasses and leave the water.

"I didn't know if you liked apples or orange." he says pulling out the chair for me to sit.

It catches me off guard, I stumble a bit but hold the cups so neither spill a drop. He smiles. The formation seems unnatural on his squared jawline. I set the cups on the table before taking a seat. Spruce had asked the same thing maybe one or two days before, I wasn't sure at this point, I didn't know how long I had been here. The thought of him made me smile.

"Was it something I said that made you stumble?"

His voice is gentle and calm but fills the room.

"No."

"Apple or orange?" he asks, gesturing to the glasses with a fork in his hand.

"What?"

I watch him as he shifts his eyes downward and begins using the fork to glide through his sausages, cutting them in half. He lifts the piece to his mouth and begins to chew it, only after responding to my question.

"Apple or orange, you can tell alot about a person based on what they choose to drink, it's a genuine question."

"Neither."

This intrigues him as he continues to devour his plate. Cautiously I pick up the fork. He had already kidnapped, drugged, and fucked me. I doubt he wanted anything else from me, exept my life maybe.

"Do tell?" he prods, changing from sausage to pancake.

I sat in silence for a couple minutes, deciding to start on the sausage as it held my preference to bacon. I would eat both. My preference always was sausage to bacon.

"Coffee, three sugar two cream."

"Someone with your background would make sense."

His english is perfect and broken at the same time lapping over sentences, syllables and words. I tipped that to the french accent. I ignore him eating half of the sausage. It was grilled and hot. The sticky taste of maple syrup was formed within the meat. Savory and sweet. My offense came when i heard the tone he took when saying background.

"Excuse me?"

He seemed to understand and began tripping over his words which with his french accent was strange.

"Oh no you misunderstand, I met your career background."

I ignore him slightly and finish off the sausage moving towards the crispy bacon. From what I could tell it was a normal pig not too burnt but also still nice and crispy. Four sausages, three bacon, two pancakes loaded with butter and syrup and a handful of fruits. The fruits were full of flavor and juice and cut into squares, except for the grapes. I ate a grape before being bothered to continue our conversation.

"What would my career background have to do with my breakfast drink choice?"

He cleared his throat.

"Well uh, most people choose apple or orange although more children choose apple, adults choose orange, the older your age the more pulp." he paused chuckling at a thought. "My grandparents drank nearly straight pulp and a tiny bit of juice. You are a first responder, my brother was a firefighter and lived off coffee for years."

New information on my captor. Knowledge of his firefighter brother probed me to believe I have met this man before, then again I think I would remember meeting someone this strikingly handsome. He could be my killer. The thought made my stomach turn. Laying in bed with him, eating with him.

"Where was your brother a firefighter?"

He had his plate cleaned and sat sipping from a glass filled with what I would assume was orange juice. He watched me pick at the remaining food.

"National response team, everywhere and anywhere."

The answer was vague, I could probe him more and dig for more information.

"You said was, was as in."

His face grew cold.

"He was murdered 10 years ago."

The profile fit perfectly. We had thought the highway killer had lost a family member to some emergency service. And well 10 years is right around the start of our killer's rampage. A murder would fit that. Either injustices in capturing his brother's killer, or not being able to save his brother. Things were different in the world 10 years ago, if M's brother had his same skin color well I could see any first responder putting his health aside. My skin went cold with the thought. I couldn't be sure not yet. I still needed to know more.

"I'm sorry." was all I could mutter through gritted teeth.

I did feel remorse, sympathy even for him. The loss of a family member was something I never wanted to deal with again. The heartache that followed nearly destroyed me. If it wasn't for Tameryin. Tam. God I hope she didn't kill Spruce. I could not imagine going through it alone, then again M wasn't alone, he had Lauren. He pushes his body back in the chair and spreads his legs, putting both elbows on the armrest of it. He presses the tips of his fingers together and lays them against the bridge of his roman nose.

"I think we got off to a wrong start."

"Hmm."

I let the sound slip between bites of fruit, clearing most of my plate leaving only the juices, which I did not trust. I take the water instead.

"My name is Dixx."

I raise my brow as the glass leaves my lips, the cool liquid wetting my sore throat.

"What?"

"My name, it's Dixx, figured you should know that."

"No last name."

The leftmost corners of his lips curve into a half smile as he lowers his hands. He often seems fidgety with his hands and unsure of what to do with them.

"No, I suppose not."

"Well, " I let out a brief open sigh " it's better than calling you M all the time."

He licks his lips and grows a large wide smile.

"Now you have something to moan."

I nearly dropped the cup, which I had been taking small sips from in between sentences, well water spits from my mouth to the table. I spit out half and choke on the other coughing once or twice. I could feel my cheeks hot and red as the urge to hide them was strong. He laughs, it is sweet and deep not matching his normal voice at all. I clear my throat then tug at the V cut on my shirt pulling it outwards.

"Um, well, ah." was all I could say.

"If you are done there are some things I would like to show you."