“I’m sorry, I’m being so…weird,” he adds. “You’re right. That guy did get to me. His suit. His cuff links. His whole attitude and demeanor. He’s just this walking reminder of a life that I want, but will never have.”
Jamie’s honesty is disarming. I’ve never had a guy talk to me like that. Let alone, on a second date. Quite honestly, I have never met one who was capable of that degree of introspection.
“Let’s just get out of here,” I say quietly. His face falls.
“I’m not cutting our date short. I just don’t want to be in this room anymore.”
I squeeze his hand and wrap my fingers tightly around his and his eyes light up again.
“Okay,” he agrees after a moment. “But let’s have another drink first.”
I hesitate.
“It’s on the house. Please? The bartenders make mean cocktails.”
I want to resist. I do. But I cave.
Following him back to the bar, I let out a sigh of relief. Perhaps we can salvage this date after all. The truth is that I don’t know the first thing about him. I have no idea how to read his reactions or his triggers.
“What can I get you, miss?” the bartender asks.
“A mojito please.”
Jamie raises his eyebrows in surprise.
“Decided to pass on the vodka this time,” I say.
“So, you think rum will be a better choice?”
I shrug.
“It’s a summer drink. An island drink. Refreshing. Minty.”
“Hey, there’s no need to explain. I love a good mojito,” Jamie says. His hand settles at the small of my back. When I take a sip, I feel all the tension from the evening starting to dissipate.
We find a small secluded table in the far corner of the room.
“So, why did you invite me here?” I ask. He glares at me.
“No, I didn’t mean it that way,” I clarify. “I was just wondering why you were going to this event in the first place?”
“I thought it would be a nice place for a date. My professor had two tickets he couldn’t use so he gave them to me.”
I nod. We sit together for a while. We talk about everything and anything. His classes. My job. His writing. My desire to write. People mill all around us, laughing, tossing their hair, shaking hands. But here at our table, engulfed by darkness, we are slightly apart from the party taking place all around us.
As much as I want this moment to go on, all the alcohol that I have consumed catches up with me. I excuse myself and head to the bathroom. After completing my business, I emerge to find Easton standing outside.
“You need to leave,” he says, looking up from his phone.
“What?”
He repeats himself, getting closer to me. I can feel his breath on my lips. I try to move away from him, but when I take a step backward, my shoulders collide with the wall.
“You’re not safe.”
“What are you talking about?” I slither against the wall to get away from him.
“Something bad is going to happen.”
“You’re crazy,” I say, walking away from him.
“You have to believe me.”
“I don’t have to do anything,” I say, turning around. “And who do you think you are, anyway?”
“I’m trying to protect you.”
“From what, exactly?”
“Your date,” Easton says.
Everly
When he tries to protect me…
His words crash into me like waves into a cliff. A pang of anger rushes up to the surface of my skin. Who does he think he is? I stare at him in disbelief. Why is he trying to ruin this for me?
“My date is a nice guy. That’s more than what I can say about you,” I insist.
He’s just trying to scare me, I say to myself. Get a rise out of me. Just ignore him. I should bite my tongue and get out of here, but my mouth gets the better of me.
“What the hell is your problem with Jamie, anyway? You just met him,” I say.
Easton hesitates. “I can’t tell you. But he’s one of them.”
“Who?”
“He’s going to hurt you.”
I shake my head. “You’re just fucking with me,” I say, walking away. But Easton grabs my hand.
“Don’t go back in there,” he hisses.
“Let me go!” I snap. “Or I’ll scream.”
If he’s just trying to freak me out, it’s working. I pause for a second before walking through the ornately-carved double doors. But can you blame me? There’s a lunatic standing here scaring the shit out of me. But what if he’s actually trying to protect me from something?
“Why are you doing this? Do you get some sort of high from this?”
“No, not at all,” Easton says.
His demeanor changes. The stark expression on his face softens. He blinks and his eyes get less intense.
“I don’t want to frighten you,” he says. “I just don’t know how much time you have. I can’t tell you much. I just need you to run. Run home, get inside, and lock the doors and do not open them for anyone.”
I shake my head. I don’t believe him. Is he taking me for a fool? Or am I making the biggest mistake of my life?
“Everly, please,” Easton pleads. “Please believe me.”
“But my purse is in there.”
“It doesn’t matter.”
“No, I need it to get home. How am I going to pay for a cab?”
“I’ll give you money,” Easton says, reaching for his wallet.
“Hey there!” someone says, putting his hand around my waist. It’s Jamie. I already know him by his touch.
“You again.” Jamie glares at Easton. Then he turns to me and gives me my purse. “Let’s get out of here.”
I take my purse and we head toward the exit.
When I turn around to look back at Easton, I see him mouth something to me.
What? I mouth back.
“Run! Run!” he whispers.
“What the hell is that guy’s problem?” Jamie asks when we get outside.
It would be a lie to say that the experience did not shake me up. Jamie tries to take my hand, but I push him away. I wrap my arms around myself and try to decide what to do. It’s not every day that some stranger comes up to you and says the things that Easton had said to me. So, the question is, why would he do that? Who is he? And why would he go out of his way to convince me that I’m in danger if, in fact, I’m not?
The truth is that I don’t actually know anything about Jamie. Maybe he is someone dangerous. Maybe I should stay away from him. But should I believe some stranger I just met over this guy who, by all accounts, is totally normal?
I know Easton even less than I know Jamie. Can I believe him?
“So, do you want to come over to my place?” Jamie asks.
I shrug. “Actually, I don’t feel very good. I think I’m going to go home.”
“What did Easton say to you?” Jamie demands. His eyes turn into little beads, sending shivers down my spine.
“Nothing,” I mumble.
“I don’t believe that.”
The little hairs on the back of my neck tell me to get away from him. But how? I have to appease him first. Make him believe me.
“Don’t get upset,” I say as sweetly as I can.
“So, why won’t you tell me what he said to you?”
I shrug. My mind goes blank. I need an answer.
“He was just coming on to me. That’s it,” I say, taking Jamie’s arm. I don’t want to touch him, but I force myself to. I want to make nice so he doesn’t follow me home.
“Okay, I’ll give you a ride.”
A taxi pulls up to the curb to wait for guests who might need one. I see my opportunity.
“Actually, I’m just going to take a cab,” I say and open the door and climb in. He tries to get in with me, but I stop him.
“Listen, I had a great time, but I really just want to go home,” I say. “I’m really tir
ed. Besides, your car is here.”
“What the hell did that guy say to you?” Jamie asks. “You can’t believe him. He’s got it out for me.”
That’s the first thing that I’ve heard that actually starts to put the pieces of what happened tonight together. I put my index finger up to the cab driver to give me a second.
“Why?” I ask.
“Because…he knows me. I didn’t want to tell you this since I just met you. But I slept with his girlfriend. So, now he’s out there sabotaging my life.”
I glance up at Jamie, evaluating his facial expression. His eyebrows are raised. His eyes are wide open. He’s either a very good liar or he’s telling the truth.
“Okay,” I say, still undecided.
“Everly, you have to believe me.”
“I do,” I say. “But I’m still tired and I’d like to go home. I’ll call you tomorrow.”
I close the door to the cab. I have no idea if I will in fact call him tomorrow, but that’s not something that I have any intention of deciding tonight. I give the driver my address and lean back in the seat.
Suddenly, I start to feel sick to my stomach. My head starts to spin. I only had two drinks. It can’t be from the alcohol, can it? I roll down the window to get some air, but it doesn’t help. A moment later, everything turns to black.
Everly
When I wake up…
When I open my eyes, I’m confronted with the worst headache of my life.
A migraine? Perhaps.
I’ve never had one before. But my head is pounding so hard, I can barely open my eyes. I put my hand up to shield myself from the light streaming through the window.
Through my fingers, I look around the room. Vertical blinds. Beige walls. White wall-to-wall carpet. A large dresser with a mirror on the opposite side of the room. Two framed pictures of tulips in black and white hanging on the wall.
My eyes adjust a bit, but the headache doesn’t subside. I get off the large king-size bed and walk around the room. The carpet feels nice under my bare feet. I open the dresser. It’s filled with clothes. Each garment is folded nicely and put away. There are two doors leading from the room. One is open and I take a step past it. It leads to a large walk-in closet, a spacious bathtub, and a walk-in shower. On the opposite end of the bathroom are Jack and Jill sinks. I glance at myself in the mirror.
Wow. What a mess.
I’m wearing the same clothes I wore that night. My prized cocktail dress is wrinkled. There’s a large tear down its side. My hair has crusty old hair spray in it, which makes it stick out in all directions. My makeup is smeared, giving me the eyes of a raccoon.
After washing my face, I open the drawers under the vanity. It’s stocked with everything I could ever need. All the basics are there and then some.
Toilet paper.
Makeup remover.
Shampoo.
Conditioner.
Body wash.
Face moisturizer. Body moisturizer. Hand moisturizer.
Ear cleaners.
A $200 hair dryer.
$150 hair straightener.
Dry shampoo.
Body spray.
Five different kinds of deodorant.
And a large case full of enough makeup to make any Sephora-addict jealous.
“What is this place?” I whisper.
Between the bedroom and the bathroom, there’s a walk-in closet about the size of my bedroom back home. Elegant wooden hangers house dresses, blouses, pants, and jeans. All in my size. Underneath the hanging clothes, I see an array of shoes for all occasions.
Flats.
High heels.
Boots.
Flip-flops.
Again, all are in my size and most are according to my taste.
Where the hell am I?
I run out of the closet and toward the other door. This is the way out. I need to leave this room if I want any answers.
I grab the doorknob. But it doesn’t turn. Not one bit.
It’s locked.
I knock on the door. Then I pound. Why the hell is it locked?
My breath quickens. My chest seizes up. How did I get myself locked away here?
I run over to the window and open the blinds.
Bright green foliage welcomes me from the other side. Lush ferns. Tall palm trees. Elegant pine trees. The sky is the color of the ocean. A few clouds are gathering somewhere in the distance.
Where is this? I press my face against the window for a better look. Then I try to open it.
It looks like a normal window, the kind that slides up, but after a closer examination, I see that it’s far from it.
It’s all a facade.
The knob at the top is nothing but a decoration. The window itself is made of thick impenetrable plexiglass.
I pound on the door again and yell for help. But it’s so thick, my cries just reverberate back into the room.
I start to feel sick to my stomach. Claustrophobia is setting in. I need to get out of here. On the other end of the room, there’s a small writing table and a chair. Without giving it any more thought, I grab the chair and throw it against the window. But instead of shattering it, it just bounces back at me, hitting me in the shoulder.
“Oh my God!” I fall to the floor and whimper.
What is this place? I ask myself over and over again. As my anger mixes with pity and sorrow, tears start to rush down my face.
I have no sense of time here. There’s no clock and there’s no electronics. My only inkling of the fact that time passes at all is that my tears dry and my stomach starts to rumble. I quench some of my hunger with water from the sink. It soothes my dry mouth and clears my head for a moment. Sitting on the edge of the bed, I search my mind for answers.
The last thing I remember is saying goodbye to Jamie. I told him that I wanted to go home and I got into a cab. By myself. Right? Isn’t that what happened?
Yes, I decide. I remember that firmly. Then what happened in the cab? Oh, yes, of course, I started to feel sick. Nauseated. And then…nothing. That’s all. Then I woke up here.
So, does this mean that Easton was right? Is this what he was trying to warn me about?
If so, then why didn’t he just come out and tell me? Why did he have to be so cryptic about everything?
Or what if Easton was the perpetrator? What if this was nothing but a ruse to get me away from Jamie?
Hot tears continue to stream down my face. I don’t know what else to do but to climb into bed and under the covers. I do the only thing I can. Shut out the world in hopes of shutting off my mind.
“Wake up! Wake up!” A loud voice and louder knock startles me from my deep sleep.
Dazed, I stumble as I get out of bed and run toward the door. “Help! Help me!” I pound on the door.
“Get back,” the woman’s voice instructs. “Sit on the edge of the bed.”
Who is she to tell me what to do?
“I am,” I lie.
“I can see you, you stupid girl. Now, do as I say.”
See me! My heart sinks. I look around the room for cameras.
“You won’t see them,” she says. “But they’re everywhere. Trust me.”
I walk over to the bed and sit down.
A loud unlocking sound startles me. A moment later, the door with an old-fashioned knob, which I tried to open by turning, slides all the way to one side. As it disappears into the wall, I see that it’s about ten inches thick. No wonder I couldn’t open it and my yells for help just echoed around the room.
“Welcome to York.”
Part III
Welcome to York
Everly
A warning…
The woman standing before me is in her late thirties or early forties with short dark hair and flawless makeup. She is dressed in a tight cocktail dress and four-inch high-heel boots.
“What’s going on here?” I demand to know and rise to my feet. But the woman shows me a small object, which looks like a pen, and pres
ses one end of it.
“Please sit,” she says quietly. “I will explain everything, but if you do not sit, I will be forced to use this on you.”
She presses on one end and the other end lights up.
“Do not be deceived by the size of this taser. It is very small, but very painful.”
I sit back down.
“Now, that’s a good girl,” she says. “Now, let me introduce myself. I’m M.”
“Em? Like Emma?”
“No, M like the letter. All the guards go by letters of the alphabet. And all the prisoners…contestants…go by numbers.”
She misspoke. Prisoners? Contestants? What does that mean?
“I’m a prisoner?”
“You are a contestant. It’s a privilege to be invited to participate in this event.”
“Yes, I can see that by the lock on the door. And the plexiglass window. I’m honored.”
“Don’t be sassy,” M says. “It’s not becoming and it won’t get you far in this competition.”
I inhale deeply. And wait.
M reaches back for a cart. It has been there this whole time, but I somehow missed it.
“I brought you food,” she says. She pushes the cart inside my room.
“I’m not hungry,” I lie.
“Yes, you are.”
I shake my head.
“If you want to do something to pass the time, there are DVDs and books in the lower drawers of the dresser. You’ll find a fully-loaded Kindle there with a big variety of books as well as paperbacks. The TV with the DVD player is here.” She pushes a button somewhere on the dresser and a big flat-screen television comes out of the wall. “If you want something specific to read or watch, let me know. I will be back in a few hours to get the tray. We can put an order in for you.”
I shake my head. “What is going on? Why am I here?”
“If you want to write or draw something, there are pens, pencils, and paper in the desk. Again, if you want any special supplies like oil paint, water color supplies, or an easel, just let me know.”
House of York, #1 Page 4