Pretty
“You need to get back in her mind,” Loki said. His hands were clawing the knees of his sweatpants. Only a few hours passed. The sun had just set.
“I can’t. I can’t. She’ll just kick me back out again. She wanted time to herself to process things,” Stephen said.
“Are you on meth?” Tony came out of his seat. “Are you an actual, functioning meth head? Peach is alone waiting on someone to come back and rape her and you’re afraid she’ll be a little disturbed by your presence?” His brows were raised, bewildered at Stephen’s inaction.
“You’re a coward,” Loki said cooly, spitting at the floor next to Strange’s feet.
“In a hostage situation, strategy—”
“I need you to understand,” Loki said quietly. “And I mean this in the most serious way I can express to you, how close I am to actually killing you. In real life. Dead. You will not be alive. There will be a funeral for you. Your soulless corpse will be in a casket. Listen to me. You’ve lost your opportunity to control the situation, so now it’s my turn. You’re going to sit in her mind as long as it takes. As long as it takes. If she kicks you out, you go back in. Her wanting to be alone is unfortunately going to have to take the backseat so that we can recover her. It’s a consequence of the circumstance, but I doubt a woman who’s been tortured to this extent will have the energy to fight you on this for very long. I’m going to give you ten minutes to fuel up and if you still insist on defying me, you will not be alive anymore. That’s the final say. Are we clear?”
Stephen swallowed and nodded his head.
“You’re a man. Speak with your mouth and confirm that you and I are on the same page,” Loki said.
“Yes,” he breathed.
“Try again. Properly.”
“Yes sir, we are on the same page,” Stephen croaked, defeated.
“Excellent,” Loki said, suddenly all-too-chipper as he slapped his hands against his thighs. “I’m in the mood for a granola bar.”
Approximately five energy drinks, one peanut butter sandwich, and a box and a half of granola bars later, Stephen Strange clenched his jaw as he prepared to betray the wishes of his darling Peach in the most necessary way. He sat cross-legged on the floor, strewn snack wrappers and crushed cans lined like a moat around his body. Loki leaned back in an armchair, his legs wide, face and shoulders finally drooping, relaxing, as he nestled into the familiar sensation of being in charge. He watched Stephen intensely, prepared to pounce at the slightest indication of insubordination and, as promised, literally murder him. Stephen drew another precious strand of hair from Peach’s brush, admiring the sheen, and cast his spell.
…
…
…
…
Is someone there?
…
I can feel you. Are you going to answer or just hide in here like a coward?
…
Hello? Seriously?
Hey.
What do you want? Was I not clear with you?
Boy you and Loki are two peas in a pod, huh?
Don’t be nasty. I know how to get rid of you now.
I just thought I’d keep you company.
What are you playing at?
Has anything happened since we last talked?
No.
Is that true?
Stephen heard the door to Peach’s cell jostle as it opened. She opened her eyes, and he could see through them as if they were his own. It was the guy with the bird on his wrist. Stoki. He was alone. Holding something behind his back. Stephen felt Peach’s pulse thrumming in the sides of her throat. She was panicking. The energy in her mind had gone from hostile towards Stephen to completely blank on all fronts. Numb.
“Oh, hi, beautiful girl,” Stoki said warmly. He tilted his head in a charming way, approaching her slowly. “You’re awake.”
“Hi,” she said softly, scooching imperceptibly against the wall behind her. He sat on the edge of her cot and the muscles in her back went rigid.
“Hmm, you look tired. Why don’t you come here and get a little shoulder rub and we can talk?”
Stephen’s stomach tensed. He watched the emergency flares shoot off inside Peach’s brain as she tried to think her way out, but was blanking.
Tell him he’s right and ask him to go to bed, Stephen instructed.
“Umm, you’re right, I am actually very tired. May I please sleep?” Her voice had taken on a docile, fawn-like quality.
“If you don’t c’mere, I’m going over there to you. Think, girl,” Stoki said.
“Maybe you could come to me and we can lay down? So I can sleep,” Peach said carefully, nodding. She scooched to the far-left side of her cot that met the wall, immediately wondering why she would corner herself in, but couldn’t find the courage to move. Stoki moved up close and pulled Peach onto his lap, cradling her like a baby. The ease he was able to maneuver her with was unnerving.
“Boy, your heart’s just a going, isn’t it?” He pressed the side of her head against his chest, petting her hair as he rocked slowly back and forth. “It’s okay. You’re safe.”
That’s rich, Stephen thought to himself.
Peach stayed quiet, focusing on keeping her breath even.
“You didn’t tell nobody about our little fun earlier, now did you, Pretty?”
“Unh uh, I didn’t.”
“That’s a promise?”
“I promise I didn’t.”
“What a good, sweet girl you are. I got you a present for being so nice and quiet and keeping our secret. I know it’s a little past suppertime, but I thought you might like this. It’s a real delicacy around here,” Stoki said. He pulled a small glass bottle from behind his back. Inside was a burgundy cola. The red label around the waist of the bottle had a white oval with white lettering in the center that read “Cheerwine.” Stephen recognized it instantly, his heart skipping a beat in his chest, but he said nothing.
“Wine?” She asked innocently, clasping the bottle in both her hands. She wondered to herself whether getting drunk might help her face whatever Stoki had planned for their visit.
“No, Pretty. It’s a sweet soda, sweet like you. I thought you might like some dessert,” Stoki murmured, dragging his fingers across Peach’s scalp. “Drink up. You’ll like it.”
She sighed and reluctantly popped the cap off her bottle, quickly pulling a large swig to get it over with. What Stephen tasted along with Peach was like a cherry nectar, a soda so thick and saccharine it was almost like syrup, with heavy carbonation. Stoki had told the truth, despite the name, Cheerwine was not alcoholic. Peach could see why it was a local treasure. Absurdly delicious. Like a starving vampire taking a sip of blood, Peach turned ravenous over her Cheerwine. She gasped into the bottle, tightened her grip, and chugged about three quarters of it before realizing she might want to savor her rations.
“There you go,” Stoki hummed, petting her back. He kissed Peach’s temple as she panted into her drink, catching her breath. “My brothers and I used to walk by the Cheerwine factory on our way to school, not far from here.”
“So good,” she huffed, running her tongue across the rim of the bottle to keep any stray dribbles from escaping. “I like this.”
“I know. You earned it.”
“Can I get more when this one’s gone?”
“I’ll think about it. You’ll need to be a real good girl. Might have to give you a special job to make that happen.”
She shrugged and took another pull of soda, letting it sit on her tongue until the carbonation fizzled out before swallowing.
“You ready for bed, Pretty?”
She nodded.
“Finish up your drink now. I’ll be at your door until morning.” Stoki ladled Peach off his lap and placed a thin sheet over her body. “I’ll start working on getting you a real blankie tomorrow, how about that?”
Peach smiled at Stoki as she glugged down the last of her treat before handing the bottle to him.
“That’d be real nice, thank you.”
Peach had completely forgotten Stephen was lingering in her mind, watching this entire ordeal through her eyes. He didn’t say anything to give himself away, choosing to lurk in the pink haze that was her sleepy, contented, sugar-rich brain. When she finally fell asleep, Stephen pulled himself out and revealed his findings.
“They’re in North Carolina,” he said. “It’s just past dinnertime there, apparently, so she’s in the same time zone as us in New York. At least one of the guards has a southern accent and speech pattern. Calls dinner time ‘suppertime.’ And he gave her Cheerwine.”
“Cheerwine?” Tony asked, perking up.
“It’s a soda that was sold almost exclusively in North Carolina until the nineties. He told her it was ‘a delicacy around here’ and hinted that they are stationed near the factory. All we need to pin them down is a little more information, but we need to get there fast. I think they’re trying to induce Stockholm syndrome.”