Darrel points out the plastic bottle on the floor by his bed. “Can you empty that bottle, rinse it well, and bring me some tap water to drink?”
The request is so unexpected that I don’t answer at once.
“Please,” he begs.
As I grab the bottle, the penny finally drops.He’s thirsty!My parents don’t give him enough to drink!
“Your parents?”
Shit! Shit, shit, shit!I did it again. I spoke a thought aloud without realizing it. That damned quirk will be the end of me.
“This is my parents’ house,” I say, feeling vaguely guilty.
His eyebrows bunching, he says, “I’m parched, Stella.”
I dart to the cubicle. It has a sink, like he said, but also a toilet bowl, both made of heavy-duty stainless steel and securely bolted down.
What the Hell is this?
Returning with the bottle, I set it on the floor and adjust Darrel’s pillow so that his head is propped up. After that, I bring the bottle to his mouth. He drinks thirstily and then lies back, closing his eyes for a moment.
“God, that felt good!” he says, opening his bright blue eyes.
I nearly drown in them.
“Are my parents…” I gulp a breath of air and blurt, “Are my parents helping you? Are they giving you shelter and protection, or are they… er…”
The idea that they’re holding him hostage is laughable.
“Your parents rescued me some time ago,” he says. “Maybe two weeks, maybe three. What’s today’s date?”
“February 15.”
“Aha. Three weeks, then. They gave me first aid, antibiotics, painkillers. They cleaned my wounds. Your mother bandaged me like a pro.”
“She’s a dentist, so she’s had some medical training.”
Oops! Did I say too much?
“I thought she must be some kind of medic.” He studies my face. “You do look like her, but a lot prettier.”
Was that a compliment? Should I say thank you?
“The bad news is,” he adds, “your parents made me their prisoner.”
“You mean, you’re not on the run? Not hiding? You don’t want to be here?”
“No, I don’t.”
This is too wild.
Why would my parents keep him in our house against his will? It’s Mom and Dad we’re talking about. A dentist who now runs her own clinic and an entrepreneur who’s in his second term as mayor of our village, Vosier-en-Haut. Iknowthem. They are hardworking, honest, caring people. Not a pair of lowlifes!
“You’re lying,” I say. “I don’t know why, but you aren’t telling me the truth. There must be another explanation.”
“There isn’t.”
An idea hits me.
