“Sorry, sorry, been a busy day—” He catches sight of me. “Hello again, pretty girl.” His voice is like velvet.
Screw you, asshole.
“York,” Logan spits out, “take this and deal with it.”
York grabs the file from Logan’s hand and leaves, but not before giving me a wink.
Logan stands in front of me. He is much taller—I only come up to his chin. “You don’t have to stay. It’s your right to leave but if you do we cannot protect you. I give it one week before you’re snatched up again and disappear into thin air. It took us five months to locate you the last time, and we’re one of the best there is.” He glances at his watch again and I see his jaw tense. “I have a video conference shortly, but tomorrow you have a meeting at oh eight hundred with Dr. Roberts. He’s our resident therapist and it’s mandatory that you attend.”
Oh, hell no, I will not be seeing a shrink!
He crosses his arms, sensing my change in mood, “mandatory,” he repeats, “Abigail will see you make it there on time. For now, if you need anything, go to her. She’ll be your aide. Feel free to use anything in the house, and know that the house is under constant watch for everyone’s safety. Of course the bedrooms and bathrooms are not under video surveillance, but the windows and doors all have sensors so we can keep track of who is coming and going. Please understand that the use of phones to call outside of this area is strictly prohibited, as is the use of the internet for communication. We’ve worked extremely hard to keep this place secret—only a select few know its location and they know the consequences if they should ever reveal it. I’ll give you a week to decide if you want to stay, and if so we’ll talk more about the rules.” He moves to sit behind his desk. “Any questions?”
Yes, about a billion. I shake my head and head back out the door closing it behind me. Jesus, there is so much to take in my mind is reeling. I need to get back to my room and think. Am I really ready to live like this? Trade one prison for another, however posh? Or do I go home and take a chance and risk it all?
Dr. Roberts is a tall, skinny man with blond hair in his mid-fifties. His hazel eyes look warm against his crisp navy suit, the thin tie resting over his belt buckle. He repeatedly taps his right heel against the floor while he thinks.
We are in a small room next to Logan’s office, the color scheme is yellow and has different shades of green. It is quite pretty.
“Not much of a talker?” Dr. Roberts asks, trying to lighten the mood.
We’ve been sitting staring at one another for the past forty-five minutes. When I first arrived he asked a few questions but when I didn’t respond he just watched my behavior as I did his. I know he is going to go with a shock question to get a response out of me. Oh, here it comes. I can practically smell the smoke from his brain turning gears.
“What’s your feeling on Jose Jorge?”
I don’t flinch.
He nods, then continues scribbling on his tablet. “Savannah, would you like to go home?”
Ah, the follow up shocker question, nice one doc—I've got to hand it to you, using family would have cracked me at one time, but not now.
He leans forward, setting his tablet on the table. “Well, I guess we’re not going to accomplish anything here today.” He removes his thick framed glasses and rubs his eyes, sighing. “If you don’t let people in, Savannah, how can we help you? Aren’t you tired of being alone?”
Okay, that hit a nerve, almost broke my mask. I am terribly lonely but when you live with no one to talk to and no one to trust for as long as I have you almost forget how. People are sneaky creatures. “Can you at least tell me your favorite color?”
I silently watch him shake his head.
“Okay, fine. I’ll see you tomorrow, same time.” The door opens and in walks Abigail.
“Hello, Dr. Roberts, will you be joining us for lunch?” She smiles at him.
“No, I’m afraid not. Thank you, though, I do love your chicken pot pie.” She blushes a little.
Huh. This is interesting. Does soft-spoken Abigail have a crush on the snappy-dresser therapist? I think so.
“Ready, Savannah?” she asks, holding the door open.
I wake in a layer of sweat, my heart still wild from my nightmare, and glance at the clock. It’s barely past midnight. I can still smell the foul sheets of my prison room. They had only been changed three times during what I now know was over seven months. I bet they never saw any soap even then, probably just rinsed and dried. Knowing I’ll never get back to sleep with the memories of my nightmare still too fresh in my mind, I toss my blankets off, grabbing the robe that Abigail had left out for me. The cool silk feels amazing against my hot skin. I make my way downstairs to the bottom floor. The entertainment room window overlooks the lake and the space is filled with the glow of the lovely, soft moonlight. A black grand piano sits in front of one of the windows. My hands twitch as memories flood over me. I slide onto the cold bench and lift the cover, running my fingers over the keys and feeling how smooth and familiar they are, goose bumps run along my skin. It has been fourteen years since I’ve played, fourteen years since I’ve seen my mother, fourteen years since I promised myself I’d never play again.