After a small eternity, they head toward the elevator. Trevor nods at me, concern or maybe apology flashing across his handsome face before he steps inside.
Dammit.
Alexei addresses me without glancing over. “The elevator needs my thumbprint to operate. The windows are reinforced. Don’t try anything stupid. I’ll be back. If anything is destroyed when I return, you won’t enjoy what happens.”
Just a statement of fact to inform me that he holds the key to my roomy cage. He’ll return when he wants to. And I can’t do a thing about it.
Though I’m tempted to hurl a lamp at his head as a free parting gift.
The elevator doors close with a heavy clank that reverberates through the massive space, emphasizing just how alone I am.
How trapped.
I sit, food forgotten as the reality of my situation seeps in. I’m alone in a killer’s home.
A killer who will eventually return to start round two of my interrogation.
Unless I discover a way out first.
Chapter 11
Aurora
The elevator’s echo fades, leaving me in a silence so complete, my own heartbeat drums in my ears. I remain frozen for at least a minute, waiting to see if this is a trick. If Alexei will suddenly leap out from behind a corner and catch me plotting.
Nothing happens.
A few more minutes pass.
He doesn’t come back.
Just me, alone in this concrete cage, with sunlight streaming through windows that might as well be prison bars. I jump to my feet. No time to waste. I need to locate an escape route before he returns.
First, I check the elevator, the most obvious exit route. I press my palm against the cold steel doors, searching for any seam or panel to pry open. No luck. The call button doesn’t even light up when I tap it. Alexei wasn’t kidding about the thumbprint scanner.
ThatI’m too scared to touch, let alone mess with. For all I know, an alarm will blare if the wrong person’s thumb deigns to nudge the screen.
I eye the small black panel beside the doors, wondering if I could short-circuit the device. There must be an override in caseof fire. But without tools, or knowledge of biometric systems, or at the very least, YouTube to teach me new tricks, that idea is hopeless.
Why would a criminal like Alexei follow residency laws and fire code anyway?
Next, I check for other doors. There’s the bathroom, of course, but that window is way too tiny. A smaller door near the kitchen opens to showcase a closet filled with impeccably organized linens, all in varying shades of gray. I’m starting to think this guy has a fixation. Maybe if his childhood contained more rainbows, I wouldn’t be in this position.
A pantry holds enough nonperishable food to survive an apocalypse, including every variation of ramen noodle cups.
I yank open cabinet doors to find them mostly empty. A few sleek plates. A stack of crystal tumblers. The refrigerator reveals an even more depressing story, with a loaf of bread wrapped in plastic, a single lime, and rows of bottled water. Who lives like this? What does the man eat? The freezer holds only vodka, each bottle arranged with military precision.
Down the hallway, near the bathroom, I discover three more doors.
Cautiously, I open one and find a large bedroom that dwarfs my entire apartment. The same giant windows from the living area continue here, eating up one entire wall.
And of course, the entire thing is decorated in shades of gray. Shocker.
Along the white brick wall, in the center of the giant open area, sits a huge bed, nightstands, and a dresser, all situated on a pale gray rug. I stop in the middle of the space, arrested by a splash of color against the far wall. A massive painting, at least six feet wide, dominates the space above the headboard.
Unlike everything else in this sterile environment, the art piece is vibrant, alive with vitality and texture. Impressionisticbrushstrokes capture an island at sunset, the sky bleeding orange and pink over deep blue water. Small houses dot the coastline, their lights twinkling against the approaching darkness. On the beach, figures gather, indistinct shapes that together form a group.
Such sterile living quarters, yet this hangs on his wall. What memory does it hold for him? What meaning?
