What is he doing?Is he just watching me babble like an airhead?
I wish I could see. My blindfold is still securely in place, though, not even a smidge of light is getting through. The room could be cast in utter darkness, and I wouldn’t know. I have a feeling, however, that the lights are on.
I clear my throat. It feels dry and a bit raw all of a sudden.
A tiny noise.
Like the scrape of fabric against another surface. A subtle movement of air. I’m struck still. Every muscle in me is paralyzed. All but my eyes. If I could open them under the blindfold, they’d be flaring wide right now.
Pop.
I tense.What was that?Sounded like a bottle of wine being uncorked. In the next second, I hear the telltale sound of liquid being poured.
That ocean breeze scent gets stronger, and then I feel something cold and hard touch the back of my hand. The one that is presently squeezing my knee.
My stomach is doing somersaults as I twist my hand, turning it palm up. The base of a stemmed glass lands in my grasp. As soon as my fingers curl around to secure it, that fresh whisp of briny fragrance fades away.
Slowly, I bring the glass upward, letting my lips settle on the rim. Under the circumstances—blindfolded, trapped in a room with a stranger—drinking anything I’m offered would be stupid. Beyond stupid. But then again, wearein a private room. Alone. He doesn’t need to drug me to hurt me. He could do practically anything to me. Who would stop him?
I take a small sip. It’s wine. Dry and rather bitter. I swallow another gulp and can’t help but cringe.
“Thank you. I just… I don’t really like wine,” I mumble as I carefully lean over to set the glass by my feet on the floor.
My guest remains silent. Absently, I try looking around the room even though the blindfold prevents me from seeing anything. But my body is functioning on autopilot. My mind is blank. What should I do now? Continue yammering about what I watch?
“I also saw— Oh, what was it called? Ugh! I don’t remember. It was a fantasy series based on a book. There were only two seasons, but I really liked it. It got canceled. Actually, I saw the announcement just yesterday. The show, well, it was about a group of…”
I talk. I talk for hours. Hours without an end in sight. Saying…nothing. Just incoherent, useless things. But I keep saying them nevertheless. Movies. TV shows. Books. Whatever comes to mind. I even tell him about my almost-spat with the librarian at our neighborhood branch. About how we argued over the merits of the new crime thriller by my favorite author that’s releasing next month. And how devastated I am that the waitlist to borrow it is a mile long, so it’ll be forever before I get to read it.
“I just hope there are no mentions of bugs.” I shudder. “The previous book had a scene where spiders were crawling over the dead body, and I had to skip it. Bugs freak me out. Also, the first book in the series included cockroaches and…”
My voice is the only thing that resonates through the room. No more rustling of clothes. No clinks or clanks. Nothing from my guest or from the direction of where he’s sitting. Just silence.
As I’m recounting the plot of another murder-mystery I read forever and a half ago, a loud knock sounds against the door. It erupts somewhere behind me. At the entrance that I must have used when Maggie brought me in. My pulse jumps into the stratosphere.
Another moment of silence passes, then the slight swish of rustling clothes. Then, steps. Slow. Heavy. Retreating further and further away. In the opposite direction of the knock. The floors must not be carpeted everywhere, so my silent guest’s footfalls are easy to hear.
What can they tell me?
His stride is long. Not hurried. I think my guest might be tall. Confident. Calm. There’s no sense of nervousness in the way he walks.
A door opens, but not the one behind me. Instead, it’s somewhere ahead, in the direction my guest went. In the direction I’m straining to see, yet I’m still blinded. There must be two sets of doors in the room.
For a moment, nothing happens. Stillness descends once again.
He’s watching me.Standing right there on the threshold. I don’t know how I know. I simply do.
Then, a soft snick, and the door shuts.
And this time, it’s only me in the silence. In the dark.
The ocean breeze is gone.
“All good here?” Maggie’s cheerful voice startles me. “You can remove the blindfold now.”
My fingers shake ever so slightly, so it takes me a few tries to untie the silk knot. Once I finally pull the blindfold off, I squintat the onslaught of sudden light. Blinking rapidly, I eagerly take in the room around me.
The space is elegant, but it doesn’t come across as if it’s trying too hard. Instead of looking staged, it feels comfortable, lived in. Along the light-gray walls, there are many bookshelves, filled with actual books, not the fake cases that only provide the illusion. Some hardcovers, a few paperbacks, some pushed in, others lying down. Heavy drapes obscure the window and the view beyond. They’re velvet, the color of rich burgundy wine. In the middle of the room, two facing couches with a mahogany coffee table between them. The soft upholstery matches the drapes. A floor lamp near the sofa, another in the corner, and a table lamp near a dry bar illuminate the room. Now that my eyes have adjusted, I realize their glow is actually dimmed, creating a cozy atmosphere.
