I hate him.
And I hate this woman, who’s smiling at me right now.
“Sure, Beth,” I say, wanting to claw at her face until that smile turns into a grimace. “It’s always nice to leave a small cage for a bigger one.”
She rolls her eyes and sits down on a chair. “So dramatic. Just eat your food and then I’ll show you around.”
I think about not eating just to spite her, but I am hungry. So I eat, polishing off all the food on the tray.
“Where is Julian?” I ask between bites. I’m curious how he spends his days. So far, I’ve only seen him in the evenings.
“He’s working,” Beth explains. “He has a lot of business interests that require his attention.”
“What kind of business interests?”
She shrugs. “All kinds.”
“Is he a criminal?” I ask bluntly.
She laughs. “Why would you assume that?”
“Um, maybe because he kidnapped me?”
She laughs again, shaking her head as though I said something funny.
I want to hit her, but I restrain myself. I need to learn more about my surroundings before I try anything like that. I don’t want to end up locked up in the room if I can avoid it. My chances of escape are much better if I have more freedom.#p#分页标题#e#
So I just get up and give her a cold look. “I’m ready to go.”
“Then put on a swimming suit,” she says, gesturing toward the clothes she had brought, “and we can go.”
* * *
Before we walk out, Beth shows me the rest of the house. It’s spacious and tastefully furnished. The decor is modern, with just a hint of tropical influence and subtle Asian motifs. Light hues predominate, although here and there, I see an unexpected pop of color in the form of a red vase or a bright blue dragon sculpture. There are four bedrooms—three upstairs and one downstairs. The kitchen on the first floor is particularly striking, with top-of-the-line appliances and gleaming granite countertops.
There is also one room that Beth says is Julian’s office. It’s on the first floor, and it’s apparently off-limits to anyone but him. That’s where he supposedly takes care of his business affairs. The door is closed when we walk past it.
After we’re done with the house tour, Beth spends the next two hours showing me the island. And it’s definitely an island—she didn’t lie to me about that.
It’s only about two miles across and a mile wide. According to Beth, we’re somewhere in the Pacific Ocean, with the nearest populated piece of land over five hundred miles away. She emphasizes that fact a couple of times, as though she’s afraid I might take it into my head to try to swim away.
I wouldn’t do that. I’m not a strong enough swimmer, nor am I suicidal.
I would try to steal a boat instead.
We go up to the highest point of the island. It’s a small mountain—or a large hill, depending on one’s definition of these things. The view from there is amazing—all bright blue water wherever the eye can see. On one side of the island, the water is a different shade of blue, more turquoise, and Beth tells me it’s a shallow cove that’s great for snorkeling.
Julian’s house is the only one on the island. It’s sitting on one side of the mountain, a little ways back from the beach and somewhat elevated. That’s the most sheltered location, Beth explains; the house is protected from both strong winds and the ocean there. It has apparently survived a number of typhoons with minimal damage.
I nod, as though I care. I have no intention of being here for the next typhoon. The desire to escape burns brightly within me. I didn’t see any phones or computers when Beth was showing me the house, but that doesn’t mean they’re not there. If Julian is able to work from the island, then there’s definitely internet connectivity. And if they’re foolish enough to let me roam this island freely, I will find a way to reach the outside world.
We end the tour at the beach near the house.
“Want to go for a swim?” Beth asks me, stripping off her shorts and T-shirt. Underneath, she’s wearing a blue bikini. Her body is lean and toned. She’s in such great shape that I wonder about her age. Her figure could belong to a teenager, but her face seems older.
“How old are you?” I ask straight out. I would never be so tactless under normal circumstances, but I don’t care if I offend this woman. What do social conventions matter when you’re being held captive by a pair of crazy people?
She smiles, not the least bit upset at my impolite question. “I’m thirty-seven,” she says.
“And Julian?”