Mansions

by Whitney Bianca

  “I'll need resources. To relocate,” she says, then turned away again, back to the mirror.

  “Of course,” I agree, reaching for my phone in my suit pocket. Thirty minutes later, fifty thousand had been transferred to her account and I'm back on my way uptown. I light a cigarette to calm my nerves as we get further and further away from Tribeca. I can't juggle three women anymore. I only have one cock and limited time. Besides, if I'm honest with myself, I only want to fuck Adrienne anyway.

  For now.

  At one time, I felt something similar for Cora. When I first met her, I had to have her. But it wasn't ever like it is with Adrienne. My need for her is so strong. So unwieldy.

  What is it about this particular woman?

  I have no answers. Just undeniable wants and desires.

  I'm still looking for a safe-house in Brooklyn for her. I considered moving her to the loft out of convenience, since it'll soon be empty, but it's not secure. Selene knows where it is, for one. She's a nosy when she wants to be, my wife. There's work to be done to find somewhere for Adrienne that will truly be safe. Until I find a suitable place, I have no choice but to keep commuting upstate to see her. One night every few weeks isn't enough with her, but it's all I've been able to manage. Now I'll have more free time. I'm neglecting my work, but there's nothing to be done about it. I've been distracted. I've been putting my plan into play and I've been taking her for granted. I'm irritated and on edge, but there's an end in sight. I just have to hold it together for a little while longer.

  Soon, my life will be smooth and easy again.

  My marriage with Selene will be preserved and I'll still get to keep my secret dirty life with Adrienne. I'll continue to be a cheating bastard like my father before me and his father before him. I'll live multiple lives and keep secrets like my life depends on it. I'll be selfish and think only of my personal needs and wants. It's the one family tradition I'll uphold.

  I am an Armstrong, after all. Through and through.

  Back in my office, I attend a round of meetings with a spring in my step. I'm more alert than I've been in weeks. With every passing minute, I feel better and better about letting Cora go. I feel sharper already, like I can focus again. I feel like a load has been lifted off my back. My albatross is still around my neck, but I can carry that weight. It isn't until mid-afternoon when I finally allow myself a moment for Adrienne. I lean back in my chair and unlock my iPad, intent on checking up on her in her room. Beside me, my phone vibrates on the desk. Eventually it stops but then it starts back up again. I frown and reach for the phone as a strange, bad feeling washes over me. Sure enough, it's not Cora or Selene on the caller ID. It's the line from the house upstate.

  “She is gone Mr. Armstrong,” the nurse's heavy voice crackles in my ear. “When we check her bed, she is not there.” I breathe in and out slowly from my nose before I say something I will regret. I know Adrienne can't be gone; there's nowhere for her to go. She must be somewhere in the house. They just haven't found her yet.

  “She couldn't have gone far,” I say, gritting my teeth to keep from screaming. “Check every inch of the house.” I should've made more time for her. I should've paid more attention. I shouldn't have let her roam around the top floor. The second I saw her leave her room the first time, I should've had her chained to the bed. I was too soft. Seeing her moving around with more confidence and seeing her features come alive again with purpose and curiosity made me feel things. It made me want to see her happy instead of compliant. It made me foolish.

  It was a mistake.

  “We look everywhere,” the nurse says and I can hear the fear in her voice. I don't know if she's scared of me or scared for Adrienne.

  “Find her,” I say, standing so abruptly that my chair slides back and slams into the credenza behind my desk. The rest of the days meetings and business are instantly forgotten. “I'm on my way.”

  *****

  The air is crisp when I step out of the car at Lockwood. The dried leaves crackle under my shoes. The iron gate closes heavily behind me and I know there's no way that she's left the estate. I tell myself that she's in the house, because I don't want to imagine her outside in this weather. She's too weak to climb the walls around the property, even if she could. I know she used to be an expert at climbing trees but she can't do that anymore, either. I have acres of property, but I'm sure they've already checked the pool house and the tennis courts. The gardens are vast. I'll have my people scour every square inch. I'll have them look under every bush and around every outcropping. The night will be cold and this little game she's playing could end up being a lot more serious than she probably intended.

  Unless this is another attempt to try and sever my hold on her.

  The thought makes my chest tighten and I loosen the tie around my neck as I make my way into the house. She's not truly trying to kill herself. She's too stubborn to die. At least that's what I tell myself in a futile attempt to keep calm. The head nurse stands at the top of the stairs when I enter the foyer. Her face is red and splotchy and I know she fears me. I narrow my eyes at her and she purses her lips. I don't even have to say anything. Both of us know she's the one to blame for this. She should be scared. If anything happens to Adrienne, I'll be looking for her next.

  Bryan clears his throat behind me and I turn my head in his direction. “It seems she slipped out through the sunroom,” he says. “The landscaper thinks she might be in the gardens.”

  “Why isn't he looking then?” I ask.

  “He says he looked,” Bryan replies.

  “Looked, as in past-tense.” I shake my head in frustration. “I want everyone actively looking until she's found.”

  “Yes, sir,” Bryan says quietly. I hear him walk away as quietly as he came, off to make sure that the skeleton staff I keep are making themselves useful. I don't give a shit about any of their other tasks. A timely dinner isn't important. Trimming hedges isn't important. The only thing that is important is Adrienne. And she's a master at hiding.

  I walk through the dining room and into the sunroom, checking along the floor for any signs of her. In the sunroom, I can see immediately that things are out of place. An ottoman is an inch out of place. There's a light scrape on the imported Mexican tile. The French doors have been pulled shut, but I can see the marks in the brass lock on the left door. I go over to the door and crouch in front of it. I run my finger over the gouges in the metal.

  She picked the lock, of course.

  “Cunning little cunt,” I whisper as a flare of something close to pride and definitely tinged with arousal flares up in me. My Adrienne is smart and sneaky. She refuses to break or fall apart, despite everything. Even when I hurt her and try to break her, she fights it. Even when I lock her up, she refuses to stay under my thumb. It's infuriating and worrisome, but it's also a challenge. I want to pull her closer and closer every time she resists me. But this game we're playing is getting more and more dangerous. And more tedious.

  I stand and open the door. I stare out at the gardens in front of me, the hedge maze and my grandmother's beloved apple orchard in the distance. The crisp air smells fresh but the clouds are gray and milky. We don't have much longer before night falls. I can hear the voices calling her name. They echo on the wind. She won't answer them, of course. It doesn't matter how cold she gets, how dirty or hungry or thirsty, she won't answer them. She'd rather die in the dirt than end this silly little rebellion.

  But I'll still win.

  As the sky darkens to black, the rain starts to fall. It begins with a light drizzle and turns into fat drops that slap roof and the ground. We ride around the property on the gardener's golf cart until we're soaked through to the bone. We check the orchards and the tennis courts and the English garden. The nurses check the house. They look in every closet, under every bed. I know now, deep in my soul, that she's not in the house, but they check anyway. As the hours pass, my eye keeps getting drawn back to the hedge maze. Planted by my great-grandfather and
planned by the same architect who worked on gardens at Kensington Palace, it's one of the prides of Lockwood. It's a place I spent numerous hours in my youth, playing with my toy soldiers and trying to best myself in chess game after chess game. I've made sure to maintain it, year after year, because it's as much a part of the landscape as the Hudson River.

  It's the only place left to check.

  “Mr. Armstrong, we should wait until morning,” the gardener says. I can barely hear him over the rain, but it doesn't matter what he's saying anyway. No one is going to stop me from finding her tonight. At best, she'll simply be cold and tired and hungry when I do. At worst, I don't want to think of what could happen to her alone and soaked in the darkness. I wonder if she's scared. I wonder what she's thinking in general. I wonder if she's regretting this little adventure.

  I doubt it.

  “I know this maze like the back of my hand,” I say to Gonzalo. “I can find her.”

  “I looked already, Mr. Armstrong. I told you,” he says, but I hear the uncertainty in his voice.

  “Did you check the entire maze? Did you look in every corner and every dead end?” He looks away from me and I know he didn't.

  “It's too big,” he says, shaking his head. “It will take hours.” The maze is daunting, especially in the dark. It takes an hour to get through if you know the path. I know the path of course, but to check the whole thing, it will indeed take hours on foot, less in the cart. “Take me to the entrance,” I order. He hesitates but he knows that to deny me will have worse consequences than if he doesn't. He turns the wheel and we head in the direction of the looming, dark maze. I stare at it and, in my heart, I know she's in there. I know she's hiding from me in the one place she knew I would be able to find her. She knows I'm just as stubborn as she is. She knows I won't stop until I find her.

  Neither of us will stop. I hope that's what she's counting on.

  *****

  It's cold and generally miserable, but I've been through worse.

  At least that's what I tell myself since I'm shivering so hard that it actually hurts. My bones ache. My skin is scratched and scraped. My bandages are soaked through and dirty, just like my clothes. I'm lost in the maze, but I wasn't really trying to find my way out anyway. I don't really know what I was thinking, actually. My first instinct when I got out of the mansion was to find a place to explore. I knew they would be looking for me and the maze was alluring. I didn't really have a plan when I left. I just wanted to be free. And now I am.

  It took me a long time to reach the center of the maze, I don't know how long. Probably all afternoon. The sun made its way across the sky and disappeared under thick, gray clouds while I pulled myself through the trimmed grass and pebbles along the path. The maze is a thing of beauty; the hedges are emerald green and well-pruned. There's marble statues in some of the hidden corners, perfect replicas of ancient statues of Greek gods. Or maybe they're not replicas, I can't be sure. Either way, they're wonderful and they kept me company all afternoon. The time flew by and I don't remember the last time I was that happy. All in all, it was a fun afternoon, full of exhilaration and excitement. What I consider exciting these days is different from in the past, but the feeling is still the same. Unfortunately, all good things must come to an end.

  With the last ounce of my strength, I pull myself into a cozy corner occupied by an armless statue. It's a woman with rounded hips and small breasts and an a bow slung over her shoulder. She seems like good enough roommate. I put my back against the base of the statue and try to relax. It's almost impossible with the amount of shivering I'm doing, but I try anyway. I'm so tired that I think I could sleep through anything. As soon as I stop moving, the adrenaline fades and a heavy exhaustion presses me down. The rain beats down on me but after awhile, I stop noticing it. As more time passes, the more calming it is. I don't move to swipe it off my face, I just let the water cascade down. Eventually, it'll stop. The ground is softened by the rain at least. I've slept in tents on hard ground and concrete. I've slept on wooden church pews and thin cots. This isn't the worst I've ever had it, I remind myself. Staying in Dorian's house, under his rules, has made me soft. Now, I'm used to soft beds and hot baths and three meals a day, but it was never like that for me, before.

  Once, after my mother died, I fell asleep in the old willow tree outside of our house. I climbed up into the leaves and fell asleep on one of the highest branches. It was only after I grew up a bit and looked back on the situation that I realized how dangerous and stupid it'd been. When I was younger, I would've probably told myself that I had a guardian angel on my side or that God was looking out for me. But now I know it was just blind, stupid luck. It didn't have anything to do with being blessed or favored by God. I could've just as easily fallen and broken my neck.

  I could've just as easily died in Istanbul, as well. Yet, here I am. Wherever this is.

  My fingers are starting to go numb so I tuck them under my sweater and lean my head against the smooth marble. I doze off for awhile, I'm not sure how long. I couldn't stay awake if I tried. My eyes are too heavy. I can ignore the cold and the hunger, for now. Eventually I'll have to worry about it, but not now. Now, I just want to sleep.

  The rain slacks off and becomes a light mist, coating me with a layer of glistening drops of dew. It catches on my eyelashes and my hair. I stop shivering at some point; I've gotten used to the cold. It gets quiet and calm in the maze and I actually feel safe. I wouldn't mind staying here forever, I think. I don't miss anything about the fancy jail cell Dorian's been keeping me in. I don't need the lush sheets or the soft mattress. I don't need the expensive clothes. I don't need the rich food, prepared by a chef especially for me. I don't need any of it. I only need myself and oxygen. And nature. I would love a camera as well, but beggars can't be choosers.

  I don't know how long I was there on the ground before I saw the faint yellowish light. I can hear a voice, too, but it's so faint it could've been a ghost or the wind. My eyes are being stubborn and don't want to open any wider, so I close them again. I'm too exhausted to move. I don't realize that he's found me until I feel warm hands on my face. I can hear him say my name, but his voice sounds muffled, like he's calling me through a glass window. I lean into him without thinking. He's wet too, but he's still warm. Warmer than I am. He smells good, too. Like rain and evergreen and sandalwood and leather and him.

  “Why did you do this?” he says, his voice close to my ear. He sounds angry. “What's the matter with you?”

  “Be quiet,” I say, but I don't know if I actually say it. Maybe I just think it. “I'm trying to sleep.” He presses his forehead to mine and slides his hands into my hair. He holds me close for a second and I enjoy it more than I should. Even though he's terrible and I hate him, I always like being pressed against him. He slides his arms around me roughly and picks me up. I don't fight him. There's no point. Besides, I don't have any strength left. My adventure is over and I know he's going to make my life hell for it, but with his big warm arms around me, I can't bring myself to care.

  He wins again.

  *****

  The orange sun breaks the horizon outside her window and, as the sky turns pink and purple like a ripe bruise, I try to contain everything that's fighting inside of me.

  I could strangle her, but I fold my hands on my lap instead. She's safe now, bundled under the duvet and three quilts. Her dark hair stains the pillow, but everything else other than her face is hidden under the bedding. Her face is smooth and clean. Her cuts have been tended to and she's been bathed. She looks comfortable. Calm. I keep a safe distance, watching her from the chair across the room.

  After a long shower, I finally feel warm again. I'm naked underneath my thick cashmere robe, but I'm slowly warming from my bones outward. A fire crackles in the usually dark fireplace and I stare into the flames, my mind racing. I haven't slept and I can't stop the thoughts from coming. I can stop thinking about how she was barely conscious when I found her in the maze. I can't
deny that it scared me. It scared me more than I can handle. As I carried her out, holding her smaller body against mine, I told myself that it would never happen again. If I have to tie her to the bed and keep her doped up in order to prevent her from trying to escape again, I will.

  I still don't know why she did it. She risked her life for such a foolish thing, like it meant nothing. Even if she doesn't value herself and her body, I do. It means more to me than I thought possible. I want her, I've always wanted her, but I never thought it would be like this. I never thought every waking moment would be taken up with thoughts of her. Thoughts of her needs and how to take care of her. Thoughts of how to make her mine. Thoughts of how to keep her. Thoughts of fucking her – in every position and in every way and in every place imaginable. I think of taking her to the chateau I keep in Paris or renting a yacht on the Mediterranean and sailing with her for months. I know it's idiotic to think of such things, but I can't help it.

  Adrienne has put some kind of spell on me. I can't break it. The biggest problem is, I'm not sure that I want to break it. I've fucked up my schedule for the week and probably raised red flags with Selene, but I would do it all again. I would rush up to Lockwood a million times if she needed me. I would drop everything and come for her if she asked me to. I'm trying to be strong and control myself, but it's getting increasingly difficult with every passing day. Especially with how she keeps testing me.

  She loves to test me.

  She opens her eyes. Her eyelids are heavy with fatigue. She moans lightly and I'm on my feet immediately. I cross the room and go to her because, even though I'm furious with her, I still want to be by her side.

  “How do you feel?” I whisper, dragging my knuckles gently across her soft cheek. She takes a deep, hollow breath and blinks, focusing her gaze on me. A shiver runs down my back as our eyes meet. “Are you warm enough?” She nods slowly, like she's still asleep. Then she surprises me.