CHRISTIAN’S POV

Day eight:

 

From: Jason Taylor

Subject: Fluid Analysis Results

Date: July 20th 2012 Time: 07:15 AM

To: Christian Grey

Mr. Grey. The lab was able to confirm the blood on the towel belongs to Mrs. Grey.

-T

 

I’m sitting in my study as I read the email, a very full glass of bourbon in my hand. It’s only me, Carrick, Elliot, and Ethan in the house now. My entire security team has gone to my parents’ house in Bellevue along with my mother, Mia, Teddy, and Mrs. Jones. Without my son here, I am consumed with pain and I try to subdue it with liquor.

I can’t handle it anymore. I can’t do it. This is going to kill me, I know it. I will literally do anything to avoid feeling the way I feel now. I drain my glass and reach for laptop to compose an email.

From: Christian Grey

Subject: Time and Place

Date: July 20th 2012 Time: 07:18 AM

To: Elena Lincoln

9am. Escala.

Christian Grey

CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings, Inc.

 

I push away from the desk, and trudge up the stairs to my bedroom. In the bottom drawer of my dresser is a pair of worn, faded, ripped jeans. I put them on and pull a black t-shirt out of the top drawer.

On the way to Escala, I stop at the Liquor store and buy another bottle of bourbon. It clinks against the metal railing of the elevator as I ride up the elevator to my Escala penthouse and I realize I’m shaking. I have no thoughts. No guilt. No remorse. Nothing. I have only pain. I will do anything to get rid of this pain.

The elevator doors open and Elena is waiting in the foyer.

“Christian,” She purrs, a wide, genuine smile on her face.

“Elena,” I acknowledge her flatly. She gestures towards the apartment and I follow after her robotically.

“Can I fix you a drink?” Elena asks, and I hand her the bottle of bourbon. I can’t focus on anything, my eyes just stare blankly into nothing.

I feel something cold and look down to see Elena has placed a glass of bourbon in my hand and I swallow it in one gulp.

“It’s natural to be nervous,” Elena says reassuringly. “It’s been a long time for you, Christian. But I assure you, once you’re in there, it will be like riding a bike.”

“There’s nothing in there,” I say lifelessly.

“What do you mean, Christian?”

“Ana,” my voice breaks. “She doesn’t like the whips and canes. I got rid of them.”

“Well, you’ll need to get creative then,” She smiles, pouring me another drink. “It’s going to feel good, Christian.”

I slam the drink once more, kick off my shoes, tear off my t-shirt, and march forward towards my playroom. It’s already unlocked and I know it’s because Elena has already let the girl in. She knows where the spare key is kept in the laundry room.

I enter the dark red room and see the small brown haired girl kneeling by the door out of the corner of my eye. I cross the room and look at the wall. Once full of whips, canes, and belts, it now only holds one brown riding crop and a suede flogger. I can’t use these things. These are Ana’s things.

I look around the room and realize, everything in here is Ana’s. That’s the bed I tie her to to keep her still when I fuck her. That’s the cross I truss her up on when I want to worship her. That’s the bench I bend her over when I spank her. Everything in here is Ana.

I sit on the bed and look at the naked girl kneeling on the floor, staring at the ground. It sickens me. I actually feel sick seeing her there like that. I can’t do this. I don’t want to do this. I don’t want to fuck some strange girl, I want to make love to my wife. My Ana. Only Ana.

I push away from the bed and storm out of the room without a word.

“Christian, what’s wrong?” Elena asks. She’s in the kitchen with a glass of wine.

“Get out,” I say.

“Christian?”

“Get the fuck out of my apartment and take her with you!” I yell. I can feel how hard my glare is, hear the threatening undertone of my voice. Elena shivers slightly.

“But I thought…” She stops speaking as a furiously charge at her. I knock the glass out of her hand and it shatters on the floor. I’m towering over her, my anger radiating over her as I scream.

“Get the FUCK out of my apartment, Elena, and don’t ever fucking come back here. Do you understand? We do not know each other any more. I do not want to know you. GET THE FUCK OUT!”

She gasps and hurries forward. I hear her dragging the girl with her as she flees from the apartment. I look down at the broken glass on the floor. My hands fly up into my hair and I tug, feeling overwhelmed. By what? Anger? Sadness? Frustration. It’s frustration. My entire adult life, I’ve been in control, the master of my universe. I needed it. I thrived on it. And now it’s gone. Nothing is in my control. I can’t even hire a fucking security team.

I reach up to the rack where my crystal wine glasses hang and begin to shatter them on the floor. I storm into the living room, pick up a chair, and throw it into the television. I’m a bull, raging through my own home, and I don’t care. I want to destroy everything. I can control that.

My living room and kitchen lay in shambles. Mrs. Jones is going to have a heart attack when she finds this mess, but I don’t care.

I need to get home, god knows what I’ve missed since I’ve been here, but I can’t go home in these clothes. I can’t bear to have them touch me any longer. I strip as I make my way through the mess of broken glass and furniture towards my bedroom. I pull new clothes out of my dresser, wondering briefly if I should also take a shower. I want to wash the grime of what I almost did off of me. I stomp towards the bathroom when I hear the blood curdling sound of a musical ringtone. I turn and see another pre-paid cell phone sitting on the nightstand. I launch myself at it.

“Hello? Hello?” I say desperately.

“Are you bored yet, Grey?” the cold voice asks.

“What?” I respond confused. He sighs.

“I’m getting bored. Anastasia isn’t very good company. She doesn’t seem to want to talk to me, which is rather rude. I’m a very interesting person to talk to. Don’t you agree, Grey?”

“Give her back. I’ll give you whatever you want, just give her back to me.”

“I was hoping you’d say that,” he sneers.

“What do you want?” I ask desperately.

“I want $20 million dollars, and every hour it takes you to get it to me, you’re going to add another million.”

“Yes. Yes, I can give you that. Just tell me where you want to make the trade.”

“The address is in your car, Grey. I hope you don’t have trouble finding the place.”

“And if I get it to you… When, when I get it to you, you’ll give me Anastasia? She’ll be alive and safe?”

“Of course I will, Grey. I’m not a liar. You give me the money, I give you the girl. I have to go now. I hope to see you soon, Mr. Grey.”

The phone goes dead and I run back through my broken apartment, pulling out my blackberry as I go.

“Mr. Grey?” Taylor answers on the first ring.

“Taylor, he’s made his demand. I’m at Escala, I need you to come pick me up. I can’t drive. Taylor, HURRY!

“Right away, sir. I’m just around the corner.”

I hang up the phone as the doors to the elevator close. Taylor is waiting for me in the garage when I make it down stairs. I fly into the front seat of the Audi SUV and dial the number for my accountant.

“Mr. Calloway’s office, this is Abigail.”

“I need to speak to Calloway, right away,” I demand. “This is Christian Grey.”

“I’ll transfer you.” I listen to the hold music. Taylor is staring at me, waiting for instructions but I ignore him.

“Mr. Grey,” Calloway’s voice greets me.

“How long will it take you to get a wire transfer of $20 million dollars together?”

“$20 million dollars, Mr. Grey?”

“That’s what I fucking said!” I roar.

“Can I ask why you need such a large sum of money at once?”

“No! How long quickly can you get a wire transfer of $20 million dollars together?

“Well, a sum that large may take some time. I’m going to have to access several of your offshore accounts to get that kind of money. I’d say that fastest I could get it together would be 6-7 hours.”

“You have 5,” I said harshly. “And I’m going to need $25 million. Call me when it’s available.” I hang up the phone.

“Mr. Grey?” Taylor asks.

“He wants money. All he wanted was money. Shit!” I exit the car and race across the lot to my R8. There is a piece of paper on the front seat with a bank account number and a phone number scribbled on it. I tuck the paper in the pocket of my jeans and run back to the Audi.

“Where to, Mr. Grey?” Taylor asks.

“Take me to Bellevue. I want to see my son.” We drive over the bridge over Lake Washington in silence. I’m anxious now. Why didn’t he demand the money up front? I wouldn’t have denied him once I knew he had Anastasia. All this stress, fear, worry, pain, and all he wanted was money. I need to distract myself.

“Why were you around the corner from Escala?” I ask.

“Welch was able to find the address the courier picked up the package with the towel from so I was investigating, but it was an abandoned warehouse. I searched the property but didn’t find anything. We’re dealing with someone who knows what he’s doing, sir.”

“It doesn’t matter anymore, Taylor. We’re going to get her back. Five hours and I’ll have her back.”

I’m sitting in the armchair of my mother’s living room, staring at the clock while I rock my son back and forth. When my blackberry rings, Mia reaches out to take Teddy and I begin to pace as I answer the phone.

“Grey,” I bark.

“It’s done, sir. I have the whole total ready to transfer.”

“Good. The bank account number for the transfer is 2A 660139208816. Don’t transfer the money until I call you back.”

“Yes, Mr. Grey.”

I hang up the phone and call the number on the bottom of the piece of paper.

“Already, Mr. Grey? I’m impressed,” the voice says in greeting.

“Where do I meet you?”

“The trade will be made on Pier 66. I’ll see you soon, Mr. Grey.”

He hangs up and I walk to Mia, kiss Teddy on the forehead, and call for Taylor. He drives like a bat out of hell towards Pier 66 and as we both run up the dock, I call the number again.

“I don’t have the money yet, Grey,” the cold voice says impatiently.

“Is she here?” I ask.

“She’s here, but I’m not going to tell you where until I have the money. And before you get any ideas, you should know that I can see you and if you take one step, I’ll fucking kill her.”

I turn to Taylor and nod. He has my accountant on his cell phone.

“Transfer the money,” Taylor says. We wait in silence for a moment as I wait for the voice to speak, to tell me he got the money. To tell me where Ana is.

Thirty seconds pass and the phone goes dead.

“No!” I scream and I redial the number.

I’m sorry but the person you have called has a voice mailbox that has not been set up yet… goodbye.

“No!” I yell again, looking down at the phone in terror.

“Sir?” Taylor asks.

“Anastasia!” I call out, looking around desperately. I run further down the pier to the abandoned fish storage warehouse, calling out to her as I go.

“Anastasia! Anastasia!” There is no answer. No. No, this cannot be happening. No. What have I done? Taylor approaches the warehouse and kicks the door in. I chase after him. Oh dear god, please.

“Anastasia!” I call, desperately. “Anastasia!” My voice echos off the walls as Taylor begins tearing through the building. I don’t see her. My world is collapsing in on me. Fuck, it’s over. He played me. Why would I trust the man who kidnapped my wife? Fuck! Fuck, Fuck, Fuck!

“Anastasia!” I call again.

“Christian.”

I hear a weak, muffled voice behind me. There is a door to the left of the room and I launch myself towards it, throwing it open so quickly the hinges groan.

“Anastasia,” I whimper as I look down at my broken, bloody, and badly bruised wife tied to a chair in a closet. I fall to my knees and burst into wet, cathartic tears.