“Who are you?” I whispered. I thought I was going to have to repeat myself, but he heard me.
He turned around. “My name is William.” I just nodded and for some reason, he seemed disappointed. He sighed. “Are you hungry?”
“I want to go home,” I found myself brave enough to say. I wrapped my arms around my long legs, trying to hold on to something.
“You are home.” I shook my head. He cocked his head. “No?”
I didn’t say anything. He must have been me tensing up because his frown grew deeper. My head just kept shaking, along with the rest of my body. When he turned back to the fire, I got up from the couch and stood there. I knew I couldn’t outrun him, and I didn’t know where to go that was safe. I tried looking for a weapon, but all in my reach was pillows on the couch and an old throw blanket. He turned back and stood up too, towering me. “Do you want to see the house?”
I looked around as he pointed out, “This is the living room, and that’s the Christmas tree that we will decorate tomorrow, and that’s the kitchen over there. I got a computer over there and some games. But I don’t have the internet. Besides, we’re too far back to get the internet anyways. I got books on the shelves, and more in your room.”
A shiver went down my back when he said my room. He laughed. “It’s just down that hallway, come on.”
I didn’t have a choice, so I followed him down the long hallways. There were two doors on each side and a door at the end. The room I came out of was his room. Next, to that room, he opened a door that showed a room with nice white walls. It didn’t feel like it was a part of the cabin anymore with the room being so smooth looking.
There was a twin size bed with warm peach pink fluffy sheets and blankets with matching pillows. It all looked like it just came fresh out of the package. I could see the crease still where it had been folded.
There was a white bookshelf with novels waiting to be read, on top of the shelf were a jewelry box, angel figures, and another stuffed animal. The floor was wooden, but there were rugs by the bed and by a desk in the corner. There were journals and sketchpads that covered the desk. A lot of the stuff looked like it could have come out of a second-hand shop. One of the journals looked used, with the name ‘Jimmy’ written on the top.
The closet was small with white sliding doors. The clothes inside looked to be around my size. I looked around with him waiting in the doorway.
I peeked in the closet to find two soft pink and blue dresses, some shirts, and sweats. I saw a tub with underwear still in the package, what looked like sports bras in another. I got another chill up my back.
“What do you think?” he asked. I wasn’t going to say anything, but he had this smirk on his face, that type that makes you want to slap off.
“This is for me?” I asked, shivering as I realized I wasn’t so random, that he had me in mind as he design this room. Bugs and snakes crawling all over my body had given me more of a warm feeling than standing in that room with that man, who had built that room just for me, and me only. I wanted to hurt him. I wanted him to suffer.
“Yes.”
“Why?”
He seemed puzzled by the question. “Because you need a room of your own. You can do whatever you want with it, you’ll be here for a while anyways.”
“So you’ll let me go after a while?” I asked with a bit of hope. A while didn’t mean forever. A while meant for a short time, or a long time, but never forever.
He smiled, amused I supposed. “Not a chance. I’ve been waiting for you to come live with me for a long time. I am a patient man, trust me.” Before I could ask him what he was talking about, he went on. “Look, I got you things you like. Sketch pads, journals, books, lots of books! This house has a lot. Trust me, you’ll like it. Let’s see the rest of the house,” he said taking me by the We went across the hall. He opened the brown door to a large room filled with arts and crafts. Canvases were spread out everywhere. There was one canvas on a stand, still wet and unfinished, waiting for the artist to hurry back so that it could come alive.
“Do you paint?”
“Yes, do you like?” he asked showing me a painting with real-like looking trees and snow and mountains. It was like a picture. You know, as if he just blew up a picture and claimed it as a painting. Something I would have done, yet, he actually painted a picture that was real and so bizarre.
He had talent. I hated the fact that he had talent. I didn’t like that he could paint and get enjoyment from it. I wanted him to be a miserable old man, and in my head, that was how I pictured him. He wasn’t though. He was an artist. He had some type of happiness.
“You’re good I guess,” I confessed. I noticed a painting lying against the wall. It was a long, wavy copper-headed girl, with eyes bright blue and skin white as a ghost. She was wearing a long brown dress that hung down as she was sitting on a window bench. She was looking out the window at the snow and trees. I went closer and picked it up. “Y-you painted me,” I choked out as I realize who she was. He tried to take it away from me, but I threw it down. “You’re a freak!” I wished the picture had broken, but it didn’t. I wish it was glass so that it would have broken into a million pieces. I wanted him to be made of glass too, so I could throw something hard at him and break him into a million pieces!
“How do you know me? I’m not a random girl, am I?”
He’s seen me before the coffee shop. How long had he been watching me? He stared at the floor, thinking hard for his next words. “Are you hungry?”
“That . . . no, I . . .”
“Tavi, I know it’s all confusing now, but you’ll thank me soon enough. And you need some food. Let’s go to the kitchen and eat.”
I didn’t have a choice. We went back to the kitchen. So many questions ran through my head, swimming in an ocean of confusion, making their ways to the worried shores.
I was drowning in air. How could you drown in something you needed to live in? I read somewhere that fish could drown in water. Really, I read that. I started to think how stupid that fish must be, but I am realizing that I was that stupid fish.
When we got to the kitchen, he handed me a glass of water. I didn’t know how badly thirsty I was. It actually hurt going down. He got me another glass and another. He showed me the walk in pantry. He explained, “I go to the city every 3 months for more food, but I got enough to last for six months right now.”
“What city?” I asked. “Are we still in Colorado?”
He smiled. “I go into Denver if that tells you anything.” I didn’t know if that meant yes or no. People have cars and trucks that allow them to drive for miles. We could be in another state for all I knew. I thought maybe Idaho but, wasn’t sure why. Maybe New Mexico. I don’t know much outside of the Front Range, or outside of Loveland and Fort Collins. That was the city I was born and raised in.
“You must be starving, you were out for three days,” he told me. “I put too much into your coffee. I didn’t think you’ll drink so much.”
“Three days?” I whispered, my mouth going dry. “I’ve been out for three days?”
They only gave a 72 hours search. They would declare I was dead. I wasn’t though, I wasn’t dead. I was just trapped. “I’ll make some dinner, kitten. You go sit down.”
The knife was on the edge of the counter. I think I would have too if he didn’t grab it. He must have seen me staring, plotting. He gave me this feeling, and it started in the back of my neck. It was a sharp warm feeling . . . fear. That was the word. I went to sit down on the couch, watching him carefully. But he would look at me, and I would panic and look at the fire.
When I looked back, I saw that he was cracking eggs into the bowl. “Do you have chickens?” I asked.
He started to mix the bowl. “No, why do you ask?”
“Where did you get the eggs?”
He stopped what he was doing and looked at me. I tried my hardest to keep my gaze. “What does it matter?”
“Do you usually eat a lot of eggs?”
He shrugged.
I waited a second before I asked, “How often do you go to town for eggs?”
Even though he was hairy, I could see a little vain on his forehead. His eyes were stabbing into me. He didn’t have to say anything, his look said it all. I turned back to the fire and waited. I saw some papers on the coffee table, but I felt frozen.
When I got a good look at it, they were maps. It took me a while to see that it was Colorado. I was about to pick it up, but he stepped into my view.
There were no footsteps, not even a creek. “Dinner is ready,” he said. He grabbed the maps and sloppily put them on the shelves. We ate at the table in silences. It was fish, green beans, and corn.
After dinner, he took my plate and told me to get a shower. I couldn’t imagine being naked in that house, but I went to the bedroom, grabbed some sweats and a shirt. I opened the packages and ran to the shower. I locked it and made sure five times it was tightly locked. It took a few minutes to work the shower head, but I got it. Once I was in, I let myself go. I bawled but I was trying to be quiet. I decide I don’t want him to see me cry anymore, and if I have to, I’ll wait until I have to take a shower.
When I got out, he was in the living room. “Time for bed, what do you think, kitten?”
I didn’t argue. He walked me to my room. I crawled into bed, putting the towel on the pillow. He watched me from the doorway. I looked back; he was there, watching me. “What?” I asked.
He smiled, “I just can’t believe you’re here.” I didn’t know what to say, so I didn’t say anything. He tried to get closer, reaching out his hand, but I tensed up and let a gasp out by accident. He backed away.
“Well . . . goodnight kitten.”
I didn’t say it back, even though he waited for it. He turned off the lights, and I was finally alone.
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