Total pages in book: 83
Estimated words: 82524 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 413(@200wpm)___ 330(@250wpm)___ 275(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 82524 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 413(@200wpm)___ 330(@250wpm)___ 275(@300wpm)
“Damn right we will.”
16
JUNE
Glimpses of humanity. That’s all I get from Rafe. Moments where he seems like a normal person: smiling at Hattie, holding the door for me, offering to bring coffee in the morning.
But most of the time it’s like he’s dead inside.
There’s a coldness to him. He keeps himself physically distant, even though I can still feel the tension between us. The sharpness of my desire for him is painful some nights when we’re lying in bed side by side, struggling to pretend like I’m alone and there isn’t some massive, beautiful monster at my back.
He’s hyper-focused on his job and his family. There’s not a moment when he isn’t thinking about work, planning, texting, emailing, talking. And his time is sacred. There’s a steady stream of communications, visitors, meetings, and decisions that he has to make. I’m barely aware of a tenth of whatever he’s doing at any given hour.
There’s a reason he’s up before dawn every morning.
It’s the only time he has where he’s not being constantly bothered.
Which is why it’s so special when he chooses to sit in the kitchen with Hattie after his workouts every day instead of getting more quiet time to himself.
A week passes like that. I live with him in a strange limbo. Every time I start to think this is normal—
I’m reminded that we’re in a prison.
“Mommy, what are you doing?”
“Hmm? Oh, nothing.” Two. Three. Four.
“You’re counting. Six. Twelve. Eighty-one!”
“Sweetie, please stop.”
“I can count higher than you!”
“It’s not a competition.” Five. Six. Is that another one? Seven. God, seven?!
“And now you look unhappy.”
I tug Hattie toward me and hug her tight, making her squeal and wriggle, before she escapes and returns to chalking up Rafe’s driveway while a guard watches nearby.
“Mommy’s totally fine,” I lie and take the opportunity to crane my neck, groaning when I find another camera.
That’s eight of them watching the front of the house.
Plus five on each side and at least six in the back, though there are probably more.
I know what Rafe would say if I asked him about them. He’d try to spin it like they’re for my protection. Without the cameras, how can he make sure I’m safe at all times?
But keeping me safe sounds a lot like keeping me locked up.
As more time passes, I feel myself starting to acclimate to my current circumstances. Because the truth is we’re comfortable here. It’s like living in a five-star hotel except I’m the only guest and the staff is obsessed with making me happy and meeting my daughter’s every need.
Gourmet meals every night. All the entertainment we could ask for. Pool, sauna, gym, even a big room filled with instruments, and another packed full of kid toys with soft play mats and sliding equipment.
It’d be heaven if it weren’t also hell.
So I’ve been taking inventory. It hasn’t been too hard. The building wasn’t designed to hide its defenses and I’ve been planning weddings and events for long enough that I’m good at taking stock and making lists.
Fortunately, the burner phone I use to call Marnie has a notes application that’s local and doesn’t upload to the cloud.
I tap my new findings quickly, doing my best to make it look natural, so the guards aren’t alerted.
Hattie continues to play. We draw a giant mural all down the driveway, which gives me a good excuse to get close to the wall again. I watch the guards, how they react, where they move. I pay attention to when they switch positions. There’s a schedule and I crack it on the second day of trying.
By the third, I’m reasonably sure I know how the overnight rotation works.
The house isn’t perfect. Yes, there are tons of cameras, but the grounds are old. The trees get close to the wall in several places and the front gate was clearly original. There’s a door beside it that the staff uses to come and go. It’s locked, but not with a key; there’s an ancient iron bolt that slides across manually. Which means I could easily open it from the inside.
On day four, I start to think I’ve got a shot. On day five, I convince Byron to let me help him unload the grocery shipment. Hattie’s enthusiasm sells it.
“There’s nothing fun about carrying food inside,” Byron says though he seems pleased for the company. “But if the young lady wants to haul carrots for poor, old Byron, who am I to complain?”
“Yuck, carrots!” Hattie wrinkles her nose. “Ponies only eat meat.”
“That doesn’t sound right…”
“The meat of their fallen enemies!”
“Hattie!” I smile sheepishly. “Sorry, she’s been watching too much TV lately.”
“No problem at all. The young lady has a beautiful imagination. Though maybe less pony-on-pony violence would be good?”
The grocery truck arrives around one in the afternoon. The driver’s a stocky guy who seems to know Byron. The two of them chat for a few minutes while I take stock of the interior. It’s a typical delivery vehicle and the order comes in medium-sized crates. Not big enough for me, but maybe for Hattie…