Nonna, what would you do?She’d certainly have sensed the traumatic, oppressive energy in the walls of this space. I feel dark secrets here, wrongdoings steeped in the history of each brick. I feel pain, anger, and helplessness. A memory slips in—Dr. Don, his eyes scanning the surgery recovery room with sadistic detachment. I was so young then. So trusting. I can still hear his smooth, friendly voice, ordering those of us who were strong enough to get out of bed to stand and line up in a row.
Squats, he would demand, watching as we bent our trembling knees. Then came the jumping jacks, Dr. Don’s hand clap keeping the beat as we all moved together. The aerobic exercise was supposed to be good for our phlegm-filled lungs. “Lovely Josie,” he always said to me, his voice treacly. “Everything will be fine, my sweet. Drink and rest.”
But no—that’s not Dr. Don. My eyes snap open.
Niles is perched on the edge of my bed, his face unnervingly close, a mug cradled in his hands. He’s staring at me, too calm. As if he’s got everything under control.
I grew frightened of Dr. Don’s special drink. It always made me sleep heavily and left me with a metallic taste in my mouth. I test my tongue over my gums. Yes, same taste. Same heaviness in my limbs. I’ve been through this before.
I’ve been drugged.
The realization settles my brain into a surprising relief; it lets the scattered pieces slowly start to fall back into place.
“Here you go. Another sip,” says Niles, offering the mug. “You’ve had quite a shock. But you’re safe with me now.”
My heart is racing, pounding so hard I swear he can hear it. I want to scream in Niles’s pasty face, tell him I know what’s happening. I know I’ve been drugged, and I am not safe. His CIA “credentials” are just as fake as the concern plastered across his starched face. It’s all part of the same twisted pantomime. Just like Dr. Don, he’s hiding behind a mask, spinning lies and false comforts for his own sociopathic pleasure.
I knew Axe, my Axe, wasn’t the enemy here. Again, the truth was right in front of me; I was just looking the wrong way.
There’s got to be an explanation for the shackled man. I just haven’t figured it out yet. Maybe I’ve been jumping to conclusions, or maybe there’s something bigger at play. Something I can’t see. But I’m not giving up. I refuse to believe that Axe would just suddenly turn into some kind of monster.
Not after everything we’ve been through. Not after everything he’s done for me.
When Niles gently presses the mug toward my lips, I pretend to sip, trying to keep my breathing steady despite my fear.
Because I need to play along.
If Dr. Don taught me anything, it was how to survive.
“After you’ve slept,” he says smoothly, “we’ll have a little bite together. I’ve whipped up some tatties and eggs for breakfast. You must have a lot of questions.”
“Sounds good,” I say meekly. Tatties? Is Niles Scottish, too? Also, it’s time for breakfast? Shit, I must have been out for hours. “No snail tartare,” I add with a weak little smile, keeping it all so sweet, my JosieFightsOn persona clicked into play.
“You minx.” Niles chuckles. I hold the smile on my face as I close my eyes, pretend to snuggle down in the bed until Niles rises, and suppress a horrible shiver as he runs his finger slowly down the side of my face. When he leaves the room, the doorlocks gently behind him. I know that sound, too. I am a prisoner here. I’ve been a prisoner my whole damn life.
No doubt they’ve got cameras in this room. But I’m used to being watched—years of doctors and caretakers taught me how to blend in under their unsmiling scrutiny. I let my body go limp, keeping up the pretense of sleep. My breathing slows, deepens, while my mind clears and becomes sharp. I can’t let on that I know I’m trapped.
Bit by bit, I let my limbs shift around. I keep each move small, making sure I don’t give away what I’m really up to. I play it off like I’m just a restless, drugged-out Josie, tossing and turning, trying to get comfy. When, in fact, I’m scouring the room, my eyes sweeping every nook for where they might’ve hidden a camera.
And then I spot it. Right inside the eye socket of a carved bust perched on the heavy oak wardrobe.Oh, you clever fuckers.I keep my face slack, pretending I haven’t noticed a damn thing. Instead, I let out a big, exaggerated yawn and stretch as I slide out of bed, making my movements slow and groggy, like I’m still very much under the influence of whatever they dosed me with. Who isthey? Niles? Niles and Veronica? An entire security team?
Nothing to see here.
I sway toward the bathroom and absently grab my silk scarf, which is hanging over the chair with my dress, and in one sleepy motion, I toss it over my shoulder. It flutters just right, landing over the bust’s head and covering that creepy little camera eye.Perfect.
There might be other cameras in the room, but I can’t risk waiting any longer to look for my escape. I know I’ve only got a small window—maybe five minutes tops—before they grow suspicious that I’m doing anything other than using the bathroom.
I check the door. Locked. My bag is nowhere to be found. I scan for any other devices, but nothing. Then I tug at the curtains and am greeted with…an unending carpet of green against a gray sky.
Bright, glossy fields stretch out as far as I can see.
Great. Where the hell am I? I could be literally anywhere on the planet. I have no idea how long I was on that damn plane.
My mind racing, I go back to the bathroom and stare at the toilet. It’s old-fashioned, the kind with a wooden handle and a metal chain. The tile floor is cold, and the air smells musty. I’m not somewhere particularly warm or dry.
I’m just a girl, standing inside of the bathroom, asking for a way to get the fuck outta here.
Almost as an afterthought, I open the old medicine cabinet, and there it is. Tucked behind a few old bottles of aspirin are bandages, a bottle of bright red nail polish…and a bobby pin. Bingo.
