Page 19

I tried to take the sink apart, tried to move the toilet to see if I could crawl through any holes in the floor, and even tried to dismantle the bedside table in case I could find something to use. Nothing worked. Each time, I was left with aching hands, injured fingers, and a deeper sense of defeat in my chest.

My one small window is my only respite, and I curl up on the windowsill staring out at nothing. There's just water in all directions as far as I can see. Some mornings, a fog rolls across the water, making it look all mystical before a scorching sun rises and burns it away, leaving only the deep blue water of the sea.

It's a deeper blue than I've ever seen, and the sky is gorgeous and bright, with no clouds. I don't think I'm even in America anymore. On really sunny days, the horizon is clear enough that I can almost make out shadows and shapes in the far distance, but after five days of lonely silence, it's difficult to tell reality from my own imagination.

I'd cry if I hadn't already shed every tear possible in the first days here.

Right on time, the brass lock in the door clunks loudly with the key and the door swings open, revealing my silent, tall, thin man. His reflection shimmers and blurs in the glass as I stare out over the endless ocean and wait for the familiar clatter of the metal tray containing my meal.

It doesn't come.

Silence drags on until I finally lift my forehead away from the cool glass and glance at him. He stands in the doorway, hands absent any kind of tray and a blue towel over one arm.

"No food? Did you finally run out?"

The man's face remains expressionless. "The Master requests you wash and change before dining today."

"Excuse me?"

He steps aside in the doorway and extends one arm. "Follow me, please."

The urge to refuse rises, but I've been here six days, I think, and haven't washed once. A hot shower would be amazing. Reluctantly, I slide from the windowsill and slowly walk toward him.

"I'll be showering alone, right? Because if there's an audience, I'd rather stay here."

The thin man shakes his head just once. "It is a private shower."

If he weren't so creepy, the thick Italian accent he speaks with would almost be sexy. I keep my attention on him but cautiously follow him out of the room and into a small square landing made completely of stone. Spiral stairs lead down and around, beyond what I can see from here. On my first breath, the salt of the sea in the air floods my lungs. I hadn't realized how cut off I was in my room until stepping out and smelling a totally different world.

The thin man leads me down the spiral staircase for what feels like forever and eventually, greenery creeps up in flashes outside the narrow windows cut into the stairwell. There's very little space so I keep my elbows tucked into my sides until we reach the bottom. He continues walking and with no other option, I follow. The urge to run rises, but realistically, I have no idea where to go, and with how calm this man is, there's a strong chance I wouldn't make it far, anyway.

He leads me down a brightly lit hallway and opens a white door into a shower room. After handing me the towel, he ushers me inside and closes the door.

I'm alone again.

A walk-in shower hugs one corner and a large mirror covers the entire opposite wall. On the counter rests folded clothing that smells faintly of wind and flowers when I approach.

What the fuck is going on?

I'm kidnapped, held hostage, dragged onto a plane and then forced to spend almost a week in a room all by myself. Now I'm being given a shower and fresh clothes?

Something isn't right.

I remain in the middle of the room until I catch my own reflection and wince at the shadow of a woman staring back at me. Pale skin, panda eyes from old mascara that refused to wash off, greasy hair that shimmers slightly in the light, and older, yellow bruises dotting my cheekbone from blows.

The woman staring back at me doesn't look like me, but she is me. It's enough of a sight that I waste no time in stripping off the uniform I've been in since I was taken, turning on the shower, and stepping under the hot, powerful spray. The first blast is almost too much to handle and I wince, but within seconds, I'm used to the heat and the pressure is utterly amazing. Water pounds down against my aching shoulders and back, soothing stress points and tension that's built up ever since I was in the restaurant.

It's enough to make me lose track of time when I close my eyes and soak up the sensation.

Momentary peace settles in my chest and I place my hands against the black tiles to hold myself up. I'd almost be able to trick myself into thinking I'm back home, but the water pressure in my apartment is not this good. After washing myself with the visibly brand-new bottles of shampoo and lotus body wash, I finally step out of the shower and dry myself with the towel.

The provided dry clothes are underwear, alarmingly in my size, and a knee-length floral dress with straps that also fits me alarmingly well. It's as if they were picked out by someone who knows me, but who the hell would that be?

It's got to be the same mysterious he that Con mentioned, but no one gave me a name, no matter how often I asked.

Smoothing my hands down my dress, I soak up as much water from my hair as I can with the towel. The heat here is already starting to dry it and waves begin forming in the strands as knuckles rap on the door.

"Lunch is to be served," comes the thin man's voice.