Chapter 7: Viviana
The meeting with Papa is scheduled for tomorrow night.
Damon told me this morning over coffee, like he was discussing the weather instead of the first time I'll see my family in days. A controlled meeting at some neutral location where Papa can see I'm alive and unharmed, and then I come back here.
Back to Damon.
I should be more excited about seeing Papa. I should be thinking about how I'll convince him I'm okay and finding out whether he has a way to get me out of this.
Instead, I find myself thinking about what happens after. About coming back here with Damon, about the way he looked at me this morning when he thought I wasn't watching.
I'm losing my mind.
That's the only explanation for why I'm more interested in my captor than my rescue.
I spend the morning pacing the house, too restless to read, too anxious to watch TV. Damon disappeared into what I assume is his office after breakfast, probably making arrangements for tomorrow night, leaving me alone with my thoughts.
By afternoon, I can't stand being inside anymore. The house suddenly feels too small, too confining, and I need air. I find Damon in his office, sitting behind a massive desk with his laptop open and his phone pressed to his ear.
"...tell him we'll be there at nine. No weapons, no backup, only me and the girl..." He looks up when I knock onthe doorframe, holding up one finger. "Yeah, I understand the risks. Just make sure your end is clean."
He hangs up and leans back in his chair. "What is it?"
"I want to go outside."
"No fucking way."
"I'm not asking to leave. I just want some fresh air. Maybe sit by that pool I can see from my bedroom window."
"The answer's still no."
"Why not? You said this place was secure."
"Secure doesn't mean invisible. You go outside, you're exposed."
"To who? You said the nearest neighbor is miles away."
"Satellites. Drones. Telephoto lenses. Take your pick." He turns back to his laptop. "Stay inside."
"For how long? Forever?"
"However long it takes."
I want to scream. I want to throw things. Instead, I take a deep breath and try a different approach.
"Please, I’m going nuts inside all the time. What if you came outside with me? For a little fresh air."
That gets his attention. He looks up again, and I can see him considering it.
"Ten minutes," I continue. "Just long enough to feel like a human being instead of a prisoner."
“Okay,” he finally says. “But only for a few minutes. And we need to stay out of the sight line in case someone might be watching from the trees. Go change clothes and come get me when you’re ready. I’ll be a few more minutes here, finishing up. Wait for me.”
“Great,” I say, already hurrying out before he changes his mind.
Quickly, I change into a bikini I found in the closet and head back downstairs. When I walk by his office, I can tell he’s deep into another phone conversation. What does he expect me to do? Wait around all day for him to get off the phone?
I go outside without him and lie down on a lounger by the infinity pool.
