Total pages in book: 80
Estimated words: 78295 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 391(@200wpm)___ 313(@250wpm)___ 261(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 78295 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 391(@200wpm)___ 313(@250wpm)___ 261(@300wpm)
The place is enormous. At least two wings, furnished with modern, expensive paintings and decorations, and entirely empty. There’s nobody else, not a guard, not a maid, nobody. I poke my head into a sitting room, a pool room, a media room, a smoking room, a drinking room; so many rooms I start to lose track. Finally, I find the kitchen in the back of the house, and nearly let out a shriek.
An older woman’s in there, kneading dough. “Oh, hello,” she says. “You must be Heloise.”
I stare at her, my heart racing. She’s shorter than me, stout, round, gray hair, wrinkled face, wearing a white shirt and simple jeans, her sleeves rolled to her elbows. She slaps the dough, turns it, kneads it, and eventually shapes it into a bread pan.
“Um, hi,” I say. “Hellie.”
“Hellie,” she repeats. “Very pretty. I’m Marina, Erick’s housekeeper and cook. There’s also a cleaning staff but they only come once per week, though maybe they’ll come more now that you’re here.” She laughs to herself, a pleasant sound, and pops the loaf into the oven. “Are you hungry? I can make you whatever you like.”
“No, sorry, I didn’t realize there was anyone else here.” I laugh awkwardly, shuffling from foot to foot. Can I ask this woman for help? Does she know who I am and what I’m doing here? “Do you know how I can get out of here?”
She gives me a sympathetic shake of her head. “Sorry, dear, you know that’s not possible. Erick gave me strict rules to follow regarding you. Now, how about some coffee? Maybe eggs? I can make an omelet if you like.”
“No, thank you.” I turn away, my stomach feeling sick. This woman is aware that I’m a prisoner here, and yet she seems completely okay with it. She seems kind, like a gentle grandmother, but anyone who works for a guy like Erick must be cold-blooded. “I think I’ll keep looking around.”
“Feel free, dear,” she says. “I’ll be here. Come find me if you need anything.”
I leave the kitchen as the smell of baking bread starts to fill the room. I’m shaking, my stomach a knotted mess, my heart racing. What sort of bizarre upside-down world am I in right now? Can it really be completely fine that I’m being held against my will? Anger fills me all over again, anger at Erick for stealing me away, anger at my father, anger at my situation. I want to scream, but what will that get me?
Instead, I find a back door.
It leads to a patio. A beautiful stone patio overlooking a gorgeous swimming pool. There are a few plants, mostly low desert shrubs, immaculately landscaped. I crunch down on gravel and stare out past the fence. There’s desert straight back, rolling hills, red rocks, and nothing else.
An insane idea occurs to me.
There has to be a way in and out of this place. If I run now, find the road, and keep going—
I hurry to the fence, find a gate, and step through.
Nobody stops me.
I’m feeling sick. My hands tremble. Is this still from the drugs he gave me? No, these are just nerves. I hurry forward, over the rocky, dry terrain, and toward the hills. I stomp over scrubby brush, skirt around small cacti, and begin my ascent toward high ground.
It takes a couple hours. I’m drenched in sweat as I keep going and the house gets smaller behind me. I have to stop and catch my breath a few times, but eventually I reach the top, cresting out onto a flat peak.
More desert spreads all around me, desert for miles and miles in all directions.
I stare in shock. Awe overtakes me. There’s a path that leads down to the house, now toy-sized in the distance, but even that snakes away for miles and miles, before disappearing around a bend.
We’re secluded. Completely and utterly secluded. It must be an hour or more by car just to reach the next road.
If I tried to escape, I’d die.
My god, no wonder there are no guards.
Finally, I let that scream break from my chest.
I scream and scream, tears in my eyes.
The house isn’t my jail cell. The house is keeping me alive.
The desert’s my real prison.
It takes a little while before I can calm down. I wipe away my fear, staring out into the distance, willing myself to find some landmark.
There’s nothing. Only more rocks.
Eventually, I head back to the house. I’m exhausted to my core when I stumble into the kitchen and collapse at the table. The bread’s sitting on the counter, cooling off. It smells incredible.
“Coffee?” Marina offers. She places a large glass of water by my elbow. I drink it down greedily. “How about something to eat?”
“Pancakes,” I say, shoulders slumped. “Please. And I’ll take some coffee too.”