AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“It’s not my intention to starve you,” he muttered. “I’ll bring your lunch at one.”
“Can Luna stay until then?”
“No.”
“Please?”
“I said no. Luna, come.” The dog gave Iris’s knuckles a regretful lick and turned toward her owner. She walked, with almost defiant slowness, toward where he stood waiting at the door and gave a last little whine before vacating the room.
He turned to follow the dog, dragging the door shut behind him in the same movement.
“No, wait,” she called, remembering something. She was shocked when he actually paused, not looking at her, merely waiting. “Can I have the Wi-Fi password? I need to stay in contact with my family, or they’ll worry.”
He didn’t reply. Didn’t acknowledge her request in any way at all. Instead, he shut the door with a quiet click and, a few long moments later, locked it.
Iris moaned. A quiet, despairing sound. Her entire body collapsed in on itself as the oppressive weight of the walls and ceilings closed in on her. She focused on her breathing, hoping it would tamp down the dread burgeoning in her chest.
When the panic didn’t subside fast enough this time, she rushed to a window and slid it up until she was able to lean her upper body all the way out. She didn’t care about the rain—from which the eaves provided some protection—or cold, instead she focused on the ground beneath the window. She could leave if she needed to, she could climb out of this window and be free. It wasn’t so bad. She had options. She was fine.
It helped and as the panic subsided, she realized she was damp and actually shivering from the icy cold. She retreated inside, and—despite the plummeting temperature in the room—left the window partly open.
Chapter Four
Once she’d managed to get her panic attack under control, Iris tucked into the rapidly cooling breakfast. It wasn’t anything fancy, two grilled cheese sandwiches and coffee. Nonetheless, she was grateful for such basic human courtesy from her jailer and scarfed down the meal like the starving woman she was.
She downed a couple of pills after the meal and—once she felt a little more in control—shut the window because it was freezing. She took solace in the fact that she could open it at any time. And that thought helped.
For now.
After that she wandered from bathroom to bedroom to living room to kitchen in an endless loop. She occasionally paused at the windows to glare out at the rain, willing it to stop. She knew she could climb out of one of the windows and make her way into the main part of the house, but she could pretty much predict TDH’s reaction to any such move from her, and she didn’t want to find herself out on her arse, trying to navigate her way—on foot—back to town in this relentless downpour.
She finally stopped her restless pacing because it didn’t help—instead it heightened her anxiety and she had to remain calm. She collapsed onto the sofa and picked up the TV remote to flip through some channels, pausing every so often when something caught her interest. Eventually she stopped at what appeared to be a soap opera. They weren’t speaking English—Iris couldn’t quite place the language, it had a vaguely Germanic sound to it, so it was probably Afrikaans—but there were subtitles. Ooh, it looked like someone’s baby had been kidnapped.
Iris grabbed up a scatter cushion and hugged it to her chest as she watched the drama unfold. It was a fascinating insight into South African society… well, the interaction between characters was fascinating. She imagined that babies being kidnapped by jealous ex-lovers likely wasn’t a common occurrence in everyday life here. It was fun to try and differentiate between the languages spoken. Iris had a good ear for languages and, so far, had picked up at least three separate dialects.
One twenty-five-minute installment flowed into the next, and before she knew it, Iris had watched five episodes. She was disappointed to realize that there were no other episodes forthcoming and assumed it was an omnibus of the week’s quota.
It was a diverting way to spend a couple of hours, and had—mostly—kept her mind off the locked door. But now she was back to her dismal reality.
She switched off the TV and sighed, restlessness and boredom and prickling anxiety immediately setting in. She considered taking more pills, but tamped down the urge. She’d wait until after dinner. She was going to have to battle her way through this.
Iris wasn’t used to having nothing to do—she lived an active life. Back home, when she wasn’t occupied with her many freelance editing projects, she was helping her parents, or volunteering at various animal shelters. She rarely found herself at loose ends.
How she wished she had an editing project to sink her teeth into right now. But she’d finished up all her jobs after landing this dream assignment and had temporarily closed up shop to come here.
She’d hoped this would lead to bigger, better things. A career in entertainment journalism, maybe. She laughed bitterly at her naivete. All she’d be getting from this nightmare was a criminal record.
She buried her face in her hands, ready to give in to the ever-lurking tears, when she heard light scratching and sniffing at the door. Her head jerked up and she darted to the door to peek through the keyhole. All she could see was Luna’s big, shiny black nose, and she smiled.
“Hey girl,” she whispered, so thankful to have the dog there. “Thank you for visiting me. It makes me feel less lonely. I wish TDH would let you in to stay with me for a while.” The last emerged on a wistful note and she sighed. She slid down the wall and sat flat on her bum, next to the door. She was reassured to hear Luna still snuffling at the keyhole, and continued talking to the dog.
“I wonder what my mum and dad are doing right now? Probably run off their feet at the Bhandari wedding. They’ll be catering for a thousand guests. Gosh, my parents were so excited to land that contract. But you can be damned sure Robbie will be bitching about working today, especially at an event that size. He’ll moan even more than usual because I’m not there to help.”
She smiled fondly—missing her family so much it ached—and picked at the cuticle on her thumb.
“He’s ten years younger than me, you see. Only sixteen. He resents having to spend his weekends and spare time waiting tables at our parents’ catering events. He wants to be like the rest of his mates. We don’t have much in common, but that’s one teenage resentment we share. I was the same. I was such an arsehole about it too. Even more so than Robbie.”
She thought back to all the times she’d flared up at her parents about having to work on Fridays and Saturdays. She’d been such a bitch. And deliberately hurtful.
