by Karin, Anya
"Ask anything. I will do my best to answer you if I can."
"Well can I, uh, go? I mean I'm not tied up anymore, so can I leave whenever I want?"
"No."
"Not the house, or the grounds, I mean, can I just go have a look around? This place looks huge and old and neat."
A smile crept across the old man's lips, which somehow made him look more grim than happy. "No," he said. "I have my orders."
The door closed, and grunted as he slid the deadbolt into place.
She paced back and forth in front of the table-tray for a moment. Her stomach made an irritated grumbling sound and Lys bent down, grabbed her biscuit and built herself a sandwich. When she bit down, flavor erupted in her mouth. The egg, perfectly seasoned, the bacon's salty crunch. But struck the most was the incredibly light and flaky biscuit that seemed to melt in her mouth.
"Good God," she groaned, mouth still full, and took another bite.
Not thirty seconds later, she'd destroyed the biscuit, and a minute after that, devoured the rest of her breakfast and gulped down the juice.
Resuming her pacing, but extending the range to the whole room, she ran her hand along one of the walls that was textured with large, raised squares that she hadn't noticed the night before in her terror.
"Well," she said, pulling the blanket off the bed and around her shoulders, "if he won't let me out, I guess I'll have to figure out a different way to go about things."
Sticking her head out the window, she looked for a foothold but found only sheer walls, and a concrete walkway surrounding the house, separating it from the manicured gardens. She was, as best she could guess, fifty or sixty feet off the ground. The smell from outside – roses, of course – filled her nose when she took a deep, slow breath.
Down and to the left, easily within foot-reaching distance, Alyssa noticed a thin platform that ran the length of the manor, where a small, warbling group of pigeons were gathered.
"This is a really, really bad idea, Lys. You're two, really big, stories up. If you fall, there's no living through that. Or, well, you'll break a leg at least."
Even as she talked to herself, one of her feet slid through the open window, toes stretching for the foothold.
"Don't try this. You're an idiot," she said. The second foot was out. She turned around with a death grip on the window sill. "You're an idiot with a couple of inches to drop if she wants to go on the grand tour. What the hell are you doing?"
Straining to hold herself up with the stone windowsill under her arms, Lys pushed off it and slid a tiny bit further down the wall until she felt her toes brush something that seemed a whole lot thinner than it did when she looked at it and hatched her plan. She turned her feet a little so the tips of all five toes were supported, and she flattened herself against the outside wall.
"Okay. Alright. Ten feet that way. Just ten feet there's a landing. Maybe another room, maybe a roof entrance, who knows. Whatever it is, you better make it ten feet or you'll be a greasy stain."
Inch by inch, she willed herself onward. She had counted to eighty-six by the time she made it halfway.
At ninety-two, her big toe slipped, and she eked out a little screaming grunt, but managed to right her balance somehow and pressed herself forward again. Ten counts later, she took another step.
Toes clinging to the ledge, Alyssa made up her mind to keep moving. She counted one fifteen.
On one sixteen, her big toe brushed against a crack on the stone, and she didn't think about it. "Keep going," she told herself. "Don't look anywhere. Keep going. Not far. Another foot. Step, Lys, step."
The next step felt good, and the next one better still. She was moving inches by then, sometimes less than that. Her toe brushed another, wider crack, but she still had a good grip.
One thirty-four.
"Three more steps. Just three steps."
Another crack, big enough to be careful about, caught her attention when her toe slipped. A trickle of mortar, or of powdered concrete, bounced off the side of the house with a gentle report, and a breeze blew past Lys, kicking her hair up.
"Two more steps."
Her count reached one fifty.
"Come on Alyssa, you're almost there. Swallow. Breathe." She reminded herself. If not for it pounding in her ears, she'd probably need reminders for her heart to beat. "Breathe."
As she stepped forward, her back foot came to rest exactly where the other had. Her big toe brushed the crack, but that time, instead of powder slipping gently down the side of the building, a chunk of mortar fell, then a piece of the foothold, then the whole bit around her back foot collapsed.
Grasping at the wall, trying to get her fingers dug in between the bricks enough to support herself when she lost her balance, she scrabbled against the smooth brick.
One fifty-six.
She kicked her foot, closed her fingers.
No brick that time. No platform.
Just air.
Chapter Sixteen
"Drink this," a gentle voice said when her eyes opened. "Here."
Alyssa's entire body stung. The sore place on her ribs was surrounded by other sore places. She tried to look up, but even her neck ached. Slow, awful throbbing pumped through her entire body every time her heart beat, which was mercifully slow.
A hand under her head cradled her. She opened her lips and a salty, herb-laden broth slid over her tongue. When it hit her throat, she sputtered for a second before being able to swallow down the liquid and gulp again. Whatever it was, she liked it, and besides, she was so hungry that her stomach ached right along with the rest of her. Craning her neck painfully, she slurped at the bowl, trying to drink as quickly as she could.
The first wave of groggy unreality hit her as soon as the liquid went down her throat.
"Can you lift your arms?"
Lys moved them. Her shoulders burned with such terrible pain she almost stopped, but the soup tasted so good that the agony was justified.
"Very good." She turned her eyes while still drinking the broth. Gadsen was holding her head and smoothing her hair with the back of his hand. "Good thing I was right about your health. You're a tough little thing, aren't you?"
"Mmhm," Lys grunted, as the last of the soup drained down her throat. The warmth of the stuff radiated out from her center as Gadsen relaxed her head and laid it on the pillow. Just that was enough to send a shock down her neck. "What...what happened?"
"How much do you remember?"
She started to shake her head, but her neck flared with such horrible pain that she froze. Gadsen had got the message though.
"Nothing? Do you remember going out the window like a fool? A brave one, I suppose, but nonetheless a fool."
"I...sorry."
"It's understandable. I told him this would happen, but Mr. Webb insisted on keeping you in here. He couldn't stand the thought of your leaving. Not when he was so close."
"Mmm." Lys rolled her head from one side to the other. The soreness in her neck seemed to be just that – soreness – and nothing more serious. Even then, it began to loosen a little. "Close to what?"
"I'll let him tell you. You were on the right track earlier though, he's waiting outside. Don't tell him I said this, but the poor man's been pacing up and down this hall since you bounced off the awning. I've not seen him act like this since his father died."
Out of view, the door creaked on its ancient hinges, letting out cry not unlike the one Lys made every time she moved a new body part.
"Is she awake?" The voice was soft and strangely comforting to Alyssa. As soon as she heard him, she let her head sink back into the pillow, and until she did so, hadn't realized just how tightly she clenched her neck.
"Yes, sir. She's fine. Terribly bruised, but fine. Nothing's broken, her vision is tracking well. And most importantly, she's-"
"No Gadsen, there's nothing more important than that." Preston Webb snapped over his butler.
"Yes sir, of course, I only meant that-"
> "I'll hear no more of it. There are things more important than this family's well-being."
Gadsen chose not to respond. Lys searched his face for a clue, but found nothing. Just a blank stare, those sleepy, slightly watery eyes fixated on hers. His chest rose with a deep breath. He exhaled without making a sound.
"As you say, sir."
Preston stepped in, but the very instant that Lys turned her head to look he spun on his heel and darted backward toward the door.
"I'll see her now, Gadsen. Please prepare her. I – I'm sorry, Alyssa. This is how it has to be."
"It's okay," she whispered, then swallowed hard. "We've all got things that make us who we are. Don't worry about yours. Okay?"
Closing her eyes, she almost started when the familiar black velvet brushed her face and enclosed her in darkness. When she opened them again, her eyelashes rasped against the soft cloth, and the world was black.
The mattress creaked and Gadsen stood.
Footsteps crossed the room, soft leather on hardwood.
And then she smelled a vague hint of rose as Preston sat.
"She's asleep again. Seems to fade in and out a lot quicker than is healthy. Did you have something to do with that? No, of course not," Preston said, backing out into the hall. "Seems okay though."
"As expected. She took quite a fall, sir." Gadsen rubbed the small wattle underneath his chin, pinching it between two fingers. "She's lucky to be alive."
"Is she?"
Gadsen grumbled.
"I don't know about this. I don't know if this is right or what, Gadsen. Looking at her lie there with her head in my arms, I feel like a horrible, horrible villain. She didn't ask for this."
"She stole from you, sir."
"No she didn't. She picked some mushrooms. She's a woman with a nice smile who gave up college to go home and help her lonely dad take care of a couple kids. But here I am, being pushed into something I don't want to do. This isn't normal and I'm starting to feel awful for it."
"She likes you. She doesn't recoil when you touch her, she doesn't weep or protest."
"She's a prisoner, Gadsen. And it's my fault. By way of a misunderstanding, sure, but it's my fault that she's stuck here and can't go home to her family. I've got to let her go. If she really wants any part of me, she'll come back. I can't do this to her. I can't do this to myself."
"You mustn't, sir. Not yet. You know the stakes. This business, your father's whole life. Your whole life. Not to mention your mother. Everything they fought for and built. It all depends on you managing to have someone to take the reins when..."
"Why don't you just say it? When what, Gadsen? When I die? When whatever it is that killed my mother, and gave me these scars does the same thing to me? Is that what you're getting at?"
"There's no need to be morose, sir."
"Morose? What are you? A golem? My whole life is morose. And it's making me into someone I'm not. This whole thing is turning me into a monster."
"Sir?"
"Don't play stupid, Gadsen. You can give me all the platitudes you want, but the reality is, I was born under a bad sign. I killed my mother Gadsen, do you have any idea how it feels to kill your own mother?"
"Sir, that wasn't your fault. She wasn't well. You can't blame yourself for that."
"And why not? My father always did." He ran his hand backwards through his hair, grimaced at the thought of his dad. Gritting his teeth, his cheeks burned red. His scar turned white.
For a long, trembling moment, Gadsen said nothing. "He was troubled, is all. He didn't mean to blame you. Your father was a good man in his way. Think of all the help he gave to people who needed it."
"And at what cost?" Preston shot back. "At what cost, Gadsen? A trail of bodies and blood that runs through three countries, or wars that he may as well have started for all the profit he made?"
"Sir, he had no control over that."
"Oh, you're right, of course. He didn't start any of that. No, no, no, he didn't start them. He just helped keep them running. Is that it?"
Behind them, so loud it was clear through the thick, oak door Alyssa coughed and then groaned from deep in her chest. It caught Preston off guard and he bit his lip.
"What you're saying sir is going against everything that you know is true. Your father did the best he could for those people. There was nothing else..."
"He could have stopped before he started. He could have done anything besides paying huge amounts of money to starving people in Monterrey, in Texas and Oklahoma from burning wells that belonged to competitors. He could have stopped short of becoming an absentee diamond mine owner. Any of that, he could have done, Gadsen. And now, his sins have become mine. Don't you understand this?"
The butler cleared his throat.
"What about her, Gadsen, what about that innocent girl? Or does that not matter? It doesn't, nothing matters except the business, right?"
"Think about what you've said, sir. That's all I ask. Think about these things you're saying."
"I should have said them a long time ago, before this poor girl was caught up in the mix." He put one hand on the wall and braced himself, and hung his head.
"Mr. Webb, I'm sorry, but I thought you liked her. I thought that everything was going along with the plan. You've surprised me with all this panic." Gadsen reached out and put a hand on Preston's shoulder that was immediately slapped away.
"Don't think I don't know what you're doing. I know your game, Gadsen. As long as the company's solvent, you have a job. I'm not a fool, no matter how much you might wish I was."
The butler's face didn't change.
"I know what's best for this family. Damn your sudden attack of sentimentality or morals or whatever it is. I'll do whatever I need to do to keep this company from sinking, no matter how hard you wish to try me."
"Are you threatening me? Is that supposed to be some kind of thinly-veiled attempt at intimidation?" Preston's lips pulled tight and he shoved himself off the wall.
"No." Gadsen sneered. "No veil at all. Don't endanger this company, or I'll pull the rug straight out from under you. Every secret your father had will be turned around and you'll have nothing to catch you. Understood?"
As the butler walked away, satisfied with himself, Preston leaned heavily against the door to Alyssa's room and heaved a sigh.
"Is everything okay?"
"You heard all that?" He said to the woman who had just spied on him for the second time in as many days. He couldn't help but smile, no matter how badly it hurt.
"Sorry," she said, after a long pause. "I thought you were talking about me."
"Everything?"
"Yes. Listen, I don't know what most of that was about, but please don't think I'm angry at you or anything. I understand why you're doing this."
He held his head in his hand, fingers prodding his temples.
"You do? How can you? I've got you locked in a room. When's the last time someone hit on you by locking you in their closet?"
"Alright, fair enough," Alyssa said after a pause.
"Please," he said. His voice was weak, but had that same soft insistence from before.
"Well, okay. I think it has more to do with me than it does with mushrooms, or your family. And I think it also has a lot to do with whatever the reason for me having to wear a blindfold is. I want you to know that whatever it is, I don't care. You couldn't be ugly."
"What are you talking about? You've got no idea."
"I know what your voice is like. And I know how it felt for you to touch me. I've never felt like that before, not ever. And then just now I listened to you and Gadsen. I don't know you, not really, but no matter what scars you've got, you're not an ugly person. It doesn't matter what he tells you."
There was a rustling outside the door, and then a deep, baleful, rattled sigh.
"Preston? Are you there?"
Footsteps.
"Preston! Come back! I'm sorry! I didn't mean to say whatever it was that upset you. Ple
ase!"
She put her hand on the door and imagined that it was warm where she touched from his hand on the other side.
Slowly breathing, in and out, Alyssa sat in front of her window and watched the sun rise to full noon. The south-facing glass was left open after her earlier escape attempt, and the oddly reflective curtains billowed every so often with a breeze.
I guess I learned that lesson.
As midday turned to afternoon turned to evening, clouds built on the horizon and the breeze came harder and faster. Soon, the on-and-off puffing of the curtains was replaced with a steady wind blowing through the room that filled her nose with the scent of rain almost immediately before the first drops plopped heavy on the opened glass. An even, calming rhythm and a soft howl of wind lulled her into a state of relaxation that, despite the pain burning in her sides, her back and her shoulders, was very welcome.
"Ugh," she grunted into the empty room, "what's next? It's gotta be something."
She thought back to the first time she felt Preston Webb's slow, patient fingers on her flesh. The way her skin prickled at his touch, and how her heart burned for him, even though she couldn't figure out why. Then her thoughts drifted even further, back to the men who plucked her out of the woods, and how she ended up here, in this room, tied down and blindfolded.
Terror. You should be in utter horror right now, Alyssa. There's no reason for you to be anything but panicked.
"You've had one Hell of a trip, Lys." The girl with the bruised, sore, pained body heaved a sigh so deep that it made her ribs hurt. "But there's no time for moping now, either. You've got to figure out a way to get yourself out of here. Or at least a way to get to Preston."
Before she could finish the thought, Lys's mind drifted off somewhere else, like it always did when she was tired and there was rain. "I wonder if Lori and Jake made it to school today. And what did that butler mean when he said they were taken care of?" Even though Gadsen said they were, she wondered.
Her eyes fell closed.
The rain, pattering slowly and patiently on the window sill, began to cover the dark wood on the floor with splashed-off mist that evaporated as soon as another gust drifted through the room.