by Emily Bishop
“What? You think your new nanny is hiding something?” Gil asks.
“I don’t think it. I know it.”
“Okay. You know, if she’s hiding something and I’m guessing you think it’s something bad, you can just ask the agency for a replacement.”
“No. I’m not going to do that. I don’t want to replace her.”
“I see. Then you’re asking because you want to keep her?”
I lean back in my chair and frown. “Just get me the information, Gil.”
“All right, all right.”
“Thanks.”
“You know, if you’re desperate, and you sound it, you can send me a DNA sample.”
A DNA sample?
“I’ve already lifted the thumbprint off the file in the agency’s database. That can get a hit in a lot of databases but a DNA sample can get more hits, especially when there’s crime involved.”
“I didn’t say there was crime involved,” I tell him.
“Well, you don’t know, do you? That’s why you want me to find out.”
Unfortunately, he’s right.
“I didn’t know you were into these things. What? Do you have a crime lab now?”
“No. But we did design the latest software for the country’s crime labs and, of course, we have some of the equipment. We could easily process the sample and get the data and then run that through a number of databases. All we need is the sample.”
I sigh, leaning over my desk. “Fine. Tell me how I’m supposed to get a sample.”
“Saliva,” Gil says. “You could get her to spit in a cup.”
I frown, unable to imagine that.
“Or you could prick her finger and get the blood.”
That seems even worse.
“Is there another way?”
“The easiest – get a strand of her hair. You can pluck one off her head or you can get one from her hair brush or a hair pin or from the drain of the sink or the shower – you get the picture.”
I do.
So, all I have to do is go to her room and search for a strand of hair in her bathroom, huh?
That shouldn’t be too hard.
***
Wrong. It is hard.
As soon as I step inside Sabrina’s bedroom, I feel like a criminal even though I’m playing the role of the detective. Yes, it’s my house, but this is her room. Everything about it speaks of her: the leftover red bedroom slipper on the bedside table that she now uses as a coaster, the new pink pair hanging from a hanger on the closet door so Zombie doesn’t easily run away with them to the folded sweater on the bed, the poetry books that she borrowed from the library on a chair, and the bottle of sanitizer in front of the mirror. The room even smells like her. In such a short time, she’s made this place her own just like she’s made room in David’s heart.
I find myself pausing to run my hand over the sheets of her bed as I imagine her sleeping on them and then I approach the vase containing the flowers I gave her this morning – roses that I had the gardener pick in order to put her in a good mood after that hell of a night she’d gone through. She seems to have arranged them and watered them and they look even more beautiful by her window than they did in the garden.
Looking around this room, I find no trace of the past she’s trying to hide, of the memories she’s trying to run away from. Should I snoop around since I’m here? No. That’s beneath me. I should just get that strand of hair and leave. The sooner I can send it for analysis, the sooner I can find out what Sabrina is hiding and the sooner I can help her.
I want to help her.
I go to the bathroom, searching. I see her hair brush but there are no strands of hair in it. The hair pins look clean, too, along with the drains. Even the shower tiles are pristine, not a single strand of hair sticking to them.
Now what?
I take a minute to look around, pushing aside the image of Sabrina undressing here, showering here.
Concentrate, Randall, damn it.
Finally, my eyes rest on the trash can. I look at it, seeing a clump of hair there.
Okay. I’ve never really rummaged through trash before but this is for a good cause. I pick up the clump, grabbing just two strands of hair from it – one as a back-up. As I do, I notice the box of hair dye at the bottom. So, copper isn’t her natural hair color?
It isn’t just that. I see a bottle of contact lens solution near the sink. Does that mean her eyes aren’t naturally the mysterious shade of black they appear?
Now I know she’s really hiding something. Though, of course, she could just be dyeing her hair for no reason like most women or wearing contacts because she has poor vision.
I thought you weren’t going to snoop around, Randall.
Right. I put the hairs in the tiny Ziploc bag I’ve brought with me, having a bit of trouble because my hands are too big and the opening is too small and the hairs don’t seem to want to be shoved inside. I hear the bedroom door open.
Fuck.
Quickly, I put the hairs inside my pocket.
At first, I think it’s Zombie. I hope it’s Zombie. But I hear the heavy, hurried footsteps and the sobs and I know it’s not.
Why is Sabrina sobbing? I thought she was in a better mood. And why does she seem in a hurry?
Suddenly, she barges into the bathroom, almost bumping into me since she has her head down.
“Whoa!” She steps back, hastily drying her eyes. “I almost bumped into you there.”
“Yeah.” I nod. “It was almost déjà vu.”
She looks around. “Um… What are you doing here?”
That is the question, isn’t it?
“Um…”
Quick, Randall, think of something.
“I was trying to find out what kind of lipstick you wanted,” I say. “Tess’ orders.”
Good job.
“Oh. She just asked me that earlier, though.”
Oops.
“Well, we said we’d both ask.”
“You could have asked me.”
“Yes, but I couldn’t find you.” I lean on the sink. “Where were you?”
She hesitates. “In the library with Carol. She did a routine check on me.”
“Oh. I didn’t know she would do that. What did she say? Anything bad?”
She looks at me in surprise. “No. She… Everything’s fine.”
And yet, something tells me it isn’t.
“Then why were you crying?” I ask her.
“Oh. I wasn’t crying. I just had dust in my eye.”
Cliché.
“You mean in your contacts?”
Sabrina pauses, looking worried.
“I didn’t know you wore contacts.”
And I didn’t know you liked snooping around in women’s bathrooms,” she says, annoyed. “I can’t see that well.”
“I–”
I think of making an excuse but I don’t. In the end, there’s no excuse for my behavior.
“I think I’ll go now.”
“Yup.”
I walk past her, heading to the door. As I do, I pass by her closet, seeing her open suitcase at the bottom of it. I’m tempted to glance inside, but I don’t, simply leaving.
I’ve already made her angry. I should just leave the detective work to the detectives or to computer geniuses like Gil and his people.
It may not be my forte, but I have to be patient.
***
“Give me that.” David grabs the piece of paper from my hand, losing his patience.
It’s already past his bedtime, but I decided to check on him while he’s sleeping, which I sometimes do. Only this time, he woke up as soon as I started going through the stuff on his desk.
“Has anyone taught you not to get other people’s stuff?” David pouts.
“All right, all right.” I lift my hands. “Calm down. I was just looking.”
He still glares at me before shoving the piece of paper in the drawer of his bedside table.
“
What’s that anyway? Something you wrote at school?”
“No.”
“Then what is it?”
He doesn’t answer.
“What? It’s some sort of secret? A letter from a girl at school that you like?”
He glares all the more, his small eyebrows bunching up as he sits against his pillow. “It’s from Sabrina.”
“From Sabrina?” My eyes grow wide.
“Yeah. She said it’s her favorite poem, and she wanted me to always remember it, especially when I feel sad.”
I sit on his bed. “I see.”
I wish I had seen it a little longer.
“The two of you seem to be getting along, don’t you?”
“She’s nice, but she still has to beat me at a video game before she becomes my friend.”
I nod. “I know.”
“I don’t think she can beat me, though.”
“What makes you say that?”
“Well, when we were talking about it, she seemed sad.”
She was sad this morning, too.
“What did she tell you exactly?” I ask David curiously.
“She said maybe we can’t play soon but she promised we’d play a video game together someday.”
“She said that?”
“Yup. And she said even if she didn’t become my friend, she was happy to meet me.”
I touch my chin. Strange. That’s unlike her. She was excited to play with David just yesterday and she was determined to beat him. Well, at least, she was determined to try. What happened? Why does it sound like she’s giving up?
Once again, my intuition is shouting that something is wrong and that something is about to go even more wrong.
I have to get to the bottom of this.
Safe Haven
Sabrina
I check the bottom drawer of the cabinet for the last time, looking all the way to the end to make sure it’s empty.
It is. I haven’t left anything behind. All of my things are already in my suitcase. Now all that’s left to do is to leave.
Leave.
Strange. I was the one who made the decision to leave, thinking it’s best. But now that the time has come, I’m reluctant. Afraid.
I don’t want to go.
Looking around the now empty room, my heart sinks.
I remember when I first entered this room. I felt full of hope. I remember the first night I slept on this bed. It was so soft I fell asleep almost at once in spite of all my worries. Even after I knew Zombie could open the door, I felt safe here. I may only have stayed a few days but, for those few days, this room was mine.
I remember seeing Randall in the bathroom earlier. What was he doing here? I don’t believe that lipstick reason for a second and yet, I also can’t bring myself to believe that he’s snooping around. He’s been asking questions about my past lately, yes, but he wouldn’t go so far as to snoop around.
Would he?
It doesn’t matter. He’ll never know my secret. Tonight, I’ll leave. Tomorrow, I’ll be a memory.
It’s a pity. Who knows what might have been if I stayed here? Who knows long I would have been able to resist him? We could have been happy.
Could have been. I guess I’ll just have to spend the rest of my life wondering.
Taking the goodbye note I’ve written on the bedside table, I fold it and place it under the vase of roses, the roses that Randall gave me just this morning. Come to think of it, he’s the first man who’s ever given me flowers.
And he may be the last.
I pause to sniff one rose then on impulse, decide to take it with me. At least, I’ll have something to remember Randall and this mansion by, something to let me know that this all wasn’t a dream.
Putting the rose inside my suitcase, I turn off the lights, give one last look at the room and leave it. I walk slowly, careful not to wake anyone up.
After a few minutes, I hear scurrying and I look behind me.
Zombie.
I guess I couldn’t have fooled him.
I put a finger to my lips then petted his head.
“You take care of David now, okay? Go back to him and never leave his side.”
For the first time, he obeys me, returning to David’s bedroom without making a sound.
“Good boy.”
I have to say I’ll miss him, too.
I keep going, carrying my suitcase down the stairs. As I do, I can’t help but think that I’m sneaking out again. It seems like I’ve been doing that a lot lately.
Once again, I’m trying to escape from a mansion, only this time, I’m escaping from good people, trying to keep them out of danger instead of escaping from people who want to do me harm. It feels better. Thinking about it that way makes my heart feel a little lighter, my feet move a little faster.
Hopefully I won’t get caught.
“Where do you think you’re going, Sabrina?” The question stops me in my tracks, the deep, familiar voice piercing the deathly silence of the mansion and bouncing off the walls.
Shit. It seems I’m not so lucky this time.
Slowly, I put my suitcase down and turn to face Randall, who is sitting in one of the chairs in the living room, one leg crossed over the other.
He looks like he’s been waiting for me.
How did he know I was leaving? Did he leave a camera in my room earlier? Was he snooping around after all?
“I thought you were in bed,” I tell him, trying to keep myself composed.
Relax, Sabrina. He’s not Vince. He’s not going to hurt you.
Right. I may have been found out but I can still leave. I just have to talk my way out of this.
“I couldn’t sleep,” Randall says. “I was worried about you.”
“There’s no need to worry about me.”
“You say that yet here you are, obviously running away.” He stands up and approaches me. “I have to say I’m dying to know why.”
“I’m just going to meet Carol, that’s all,” I tell him, fumbling.
“With your suitcase in tow?” He glances at it.
“I borrowed this suitcase from her so I’m returning it. She’ll give me a new one.”
“It’s packed with all your things, though, isn’t it?”
He reaches for its handle, but I step back.
“Carol thinks I’m not the best nanny for you, after all,” I tell him. “So, I’m leaving.”
“You’re leaving?”
“Carol will explain everything in the morning.”
“No.” Randall steps forward. “I think I deserve an explanation from you.”
I step back. I have to say he can be intimidating when he wants to be. If he tries to stop me physically, I have no chance.
“Sabrina?”
“It’s a mistake. I’m not supposed to be here. I was not the one she was supposed to send.”
“Carol doesn’t strike me as the kind of woman to make such a big mistake.”
“I deceived her. I’m not who she thinks I am. It’s all my fault, not hers.”
“Then who are you?”
“A nobody.” I grip the handle of my suitcase. “You can just forget all about me.”
“Do you really think I can just forget all about you? That David can just forget about you?”
His words make me feel a pang of guilt but I fight it, reminding myself that I’m doing this for them. It’s for their own good.
I turn around. “I have to go.”
Randall grabs my hand. “I’m not letting you leave until you tell me what’s going on, everything that’s going on.”
I look at him, his expression serious, unflinching, his grip firm.
I have no choice but to tell him the truth. Hopefully he’ll understand why I’m leaving, agree it’s for the best, and let me leave– even if it’s with a heavy heart.
I take a deep breath. “You asked me why I decided to be a nanny. I didn’t. It wasn’t my decision. It wasn’t my choice. I had no choice.”
&nb
sp; He lets go of my hand, his arms falling to his sides. “I’m listening.”
“Two years ago, I dropped out of college. I was studying biology because I was going to be a veterinarian. That was what my aunt and uncle, the people who took me in, wanted me to be so I could help them. They had a farm so I could take care of the livestock.”
“I understand.”
“I didn’t like it, though. I could follow the lessons. I was smart enough. But I just couldn’t bring myself to like it. I tried to. For a year, I poured my heart into it but I just couldn’t be happy. I couldn’t do it. My heart wanted to be somewhere else.” I walk over to the piano, running my hands over the fallboard. “I always wanted to be a musician, a composer, a singer. Growing up, I’d sit in the barn, up a tree or by my bedroom window and sing, play my guitar or come up with songs.”
He stands next to me. “I guess you really do love music.”
“I do. I did. I worked a few odd jobs for a while just to earn money to go to Tennessee. I wanted to be a country musician, so Tennessee it was. I intended to go to Nashville but I heard there are too many good musicians there. I decided to try other cities first. Eventually, I ended up in Memphis. I started playing in bars there. I became a wedding singer, too.”
“I bet you were really good.”
I move away from the piano. “Then I met Vincent Lestair. Vince. He’s the owner of a famous recording company. A billionaire. He used to be a singer himself, too. He promised me he would make me famous. He said he was in love with me, too, and that he was going to marry me. He said he was going to make all my dreams come true. Guess what? I believed him. I believed every word he said. Well, we did sign a recording contract and he gave me a diamond ring but he never did do anything after that. All my dreams turned into just one, big nightmare.”
Randall’s hands clench into fists. “What did he do to you?”
I take a deep breath, trying not to cringe as I remember. “He just kept me at the mansion. He didn’t hurt me at first but when I realized he was just playing around with me, I tried to leave. That’s when he locked me up. He locked me up and each time I tried to escape or fight him, he’d beat me up or hit me with a whip.”
“Then the scars on your back…”