His stare.
It’s crazy how much warning is wrapped in his fixation and beneath those glasses. They don’t even deter his cold focus. I flinch when he removes his hands from his pockets and stalks down toward the three of us, his footsteps fast.
The guards pause, their fingers digging into my biceps. In a flash, he grabs the neck of his guard on my right, and his fingers hook underneath the lapel of the tailored jacket, yanking it hard. He rips it off like it didn’t cost more than a few dollars from the thrift store.
I lean back as the fabric gives with a violent snap. The seams strain as the guard’s shoulders jerk back and he stumbles forward with the force of the congressman’s shove.
He bunches the jacket together in one fist, and eyeing me, he turns to jog up the step, pushing it into the butler’s chest. Glancing over his shoulder at me, he gestures in my direction before continuing into the house.
“I … uh. Miss, if you would.” The butler dusts off the jacket in his hands and flips it open, lifting it with both hands. He waits as the only guard left holding me ushers forward. He drapes the jacket over my shoulders, warmth settling across me, though I doubt that’s the reason I’ve been told to wear it.
The guards whisper to each other, and the butler’s kind smile—through pearly white teeth—finds me. “I’ll escort her from here.” He extends an elbow, which I take, fighting the urge to vomit up the meager contents of my empty stomach as he leads me into the house. It’s a mix of conjuring the worst and anticipating a different atmosphere than the four concrete walls I’ve been subjected to for the past week.
The house doesn’t disappoint, no matter how much I wish I didn’t notice. But it’s impossible to miss. What I’d assume to be dark, broody, and emotionless turns out to be the exact opposite.
It’s warm and coastal. The house opens into a long moonlit hallway, illuminated by vaulted ceilings with walls of windowsoffering a midnight view of the lake. I’m awestruck as I’m led along the bleached hardwood floors that make me wish I was wearing flip-flops, opposed to these heels from hell strapped to me like some invasive vine.
A narrow staircase curves up to a pitch-black second floor with only streams of moon and starlight to illuminate the mezzanine that disappears out of sight.
I hate that I want a tour. That between my dingy community college and run-down, neglected home, this is the most beautiful place I’ve ever stepped foot in, and I’ve only made it several feet into the house.
“You must be hungry. Congressman DuPont’s personal chef has prepared a meal for you. Are there any dietary restrictions we need to be made aware of?” He gestures ahead toward the right. “I’m Edmond, by the way.”
Edmond? A meal? Dietary restrictions? I was under the impression I was here for one thing, and one thing only. They’re going to feed me? Stuff me like some sort of fattening of the cow before slaughter. Could these people be any sicker?
“I’m—I’m confused,” I say, slowing the pace.
Edmond turns back toward me. “It will all be explained … Miss?”
“Thea. My name is Thea Harmon.” I want to hold my tongue. To keep my name out of this house. But I read once that if you share something personal with your captors, it may humanize you. I don’t know, maybe that’s not true, but what do I have to lose?
“Well, Miss Thea. If you would please follow me in here.” He doesn’t give me much of an option as he uses a gentle hand to usher me along. A quick check behind me shows both guards stationed inside, on either side of the now-closed door.
I stumble with Edmond’s pace as we pass an open concept living area, and I hate it smells so nice. The faint scent of linenand cedar. Heck, I wouldn’t be surprised if the congressmen demanded they bottle the lake breeze aroma. My nose inhales it all, greedy and finally relieved to have something other than bleach and chemical scents to smell.
I should be semi-appeased that the area we’re kept in isn’t gross. They clean the bathrooms regularly and replace the linens every other day. It could be a much worse terrible situation. Like some of the horror stories you read of women being kept in basements in their own filth and feces. I shudder, annoyed I have to be grateful for being kidnapped and used by the high-end variety. I rub my dandelion tattoo as I’m directed into a dining room of sorts. My mother would tell me to find the best in it all, but right now I just want to kick and scream.
I stop mid-step when we almost run into a massive table that spreads nearly the full length of the room. The dark wood looks freshly cut from a towering tree. Gosh. The amount of people that must fit here …
I’m not sure why, but the thought saddens me. The idea of filling this house—meant to be an escape tucked away—with people feels wrong somehow, like letting people in would break the spell.
Obviously, that notion is ridiculous. He’s a congressman, and likely hosts massive parties and events here all the time as part of his job. Then there’sthis. This disgusting other life where he bids on women to use them. I’m sure he’s brought many of ushere. So, something already broke the spell of peace. I can still see the girls from last week. Faces painted pretty over bruises and swelling. Wrists ringed in yellow marks the prep team couldn’t quite cover up.
There’s no peace here.
A boring, empty glass sits in the center of the table, and I stare at it as Edmond leaves me in the doorway to pull out a chair at the table. Surely that’s not the centerpiece. Such a beautifultable accented by a vase of air? My mother would have that overflowing with charming wildflowers she collected from the side of the road.
“Miss,” Edmond says, standing behind the matching chair. His hand rests on the backrest, and he waits in silence, gaze piercing.
My first thought is to tell him no. That I don’t want to sit. I don’t want to be here at all. To beg him to let me go.
But I’m unsure any of that would work.
My eyes dart around the vacant walls, toward the window that looks over the dimly lit driveway, then back to the seat that awaits me. I drift forward and sit, allowing Edmond to push me up to the live edge. My brows furrow at a piece of paper turned upside down in front of me. It’s standard printer paper, blank at a glance but full of words on the other side if I squint hard enough.
What is this? My heart races as my adrenaline skyrockets. It’s only now that I realize I didn’t keep up with where the congressman went.
Oh gosh. What’s going to happen to me? My imagination has never lacked in this department. My mind runs the gamut of terrible possibilities in a horrifying sequence that has me twitching in seconds.
