Consequences

bath was fully stocked. In front of her, she saw thousands of dollars’ worth of name-brand cosmetics. She found everything from skin care to eyeliner. Of course, there was also an array of hair supplies. She was wearing someone else’s robe, sleeping in her bed, and showering in her bathroom. Using her hairbrush only added to the list of intrusions. Claire didn’t have many options.
    In the medicine cabinet, she found a toothbrush still encased in cellophane. Claire couldn’t resist. The shower, soap, shampoo, and now toothpaste all helped her feel less soiled.
    When Claire opened the door to the bedroom, she was startled to see a tray of food waiting on the dining table. Prior to that moment, she ignored the pangs of hunger. God knows the thoughts of the previous night made her stomach turn. Yet the aroma from the covered plate intrigued her. She lifted the lid to discover steaming scrambled eggs, toast, and a side of fresh fruit. On the tray, she also noticed a glass of orange juice, one of water, and a carafe of coffee.
    With her stomach full, body relaxed from the shower, and no immediate path to freedom, Claire decided she wanted more sleep. It was then that she realized the bed hadn’t only been made, but the sheets had also been changed. The room appeared as though the horror of last night never occurred. Her body told her otherwise. She pulled back the covers, climbed between the soft satin sheets, inhaled the fresh clean scent, and closed her eyes. It wasn’t the escape she wanted, but it was a temporary diversion.
    The knocking at the door near the sitting area woke Claire. She’d been somewhere in a dream far away. The knock and the unfamiliar surroundings left her temporarily disoriented. How long had she been sleeping? Sunlight, though not as bright, continued to seep from the edge of the drapes. The repeated raps brought her emotions and thoughts dramatically to the present. Fear gripped her being as she considered who was on the other side of the door. Yes, she was a twenty-six-year-old adult. Yet at that moment, Claire decided to behave as any five-year-old child would and imitate sleep. Lying still in bed, she heard the door open.
    Tentatively opening her eyes, she watched as a woman quietly entered the room. Given Claire’s perspective, it was difficult to tell; but the woman appeared taller than her by a few inches, with salt-and-pepper hair. Claire assumed she was about the age of her mother, had her mother been alive. As the woman approached, Claire decided to speak. “I’m sorry if I’m in your room.”
    “No, Ms. Claire, it is your suite, not mine. I am here to help you get ready for dinner. My name is Catherine.”
    Claire slowly sat up in amazement. What the hell did she mean get ready for dinner? She was being held prisoner in some luxurious suite, covered in bruises, and this person was supposed to help her get ready for dinner. “I’m not trying to sound ungrateful. But what do you mean ‘ready for dinner’?”
    “Mr. Rawlings will be here precisely at 7:00 p.m. for dinner. He expects you to be ready and dressed accordingly. I presumed you might need some assistance.”
    At first, Claire couldn’t wrap her mind around the entire scenario. He wanted her dressed for dinner. Who the hell did he think he was? “Listen, if you want to assist me, let me out of here.” Claire did her best to keep her voice from rising another octave, yet the fear of seeing Anthony and the possibility of escape made that all but impossible.
    “Ms. Claire, that is not up to me. I am here to assist you as I can.” It didn’t make any sense. Yet in the desperation of the situation, for some reason, Claire believed this lady. Catherine continued, “We only have an hour. Perhaps we could begin with your hair?”
    Undaunted by Claire’s appearance or even the circumstance of her presence, Catherine’s calmness eased Claire. She shook her head and sighed. Remembering the resolve from her shower, she spoke with a convincing authority. “Catherine, thank you for offering to help, but I don’t plan on dressing for dinner. I actually believe there has been a mistake. I will be leaving here soon.” While Claire explained the misunderstanding, Catherine came and went from the closet with a blue cocktail dress and matching shoes. “Oh, I don’t know whom those clothes belong to.”
    “Why, miss, they belong to you. Now we really should move along. And even if you do not plan to eat, do you not