Liam would walk straight out of here without a moment’s hesitation. I’m not quite that brave, though. But I force myself to move. To step out into the dimly lit corridor. The alternative would make me a good prisoner. A compliant one. Exactly what I cannot be. What I will not be.
I try to retrace our steps of earlier. He brought me back up a different way than we went down to dinner, but I think I can remember the way downstairs.
It’s dark and chilly. I remember the main part of the house was warmer and brighter. After two wrong turns, I find it. I get to the landing and see the large staircase leading down, see the fireplace in which the fire has died to embers, and I smile at this feat.
It may not be much to someone else, but it’s everything to me.
I take my time, listening for any sound and only moving when I’m sure I’m alone. The silence here is almost eerie and I swear I feel like someone’s watching me, but there’s no one. There can’t be because they’d most likely stop me.
Creeping toward the staircase like an intruder, I make my way down and decide what I’m going to do. Having a purpose gives me a little strength. I need to find a phone and call Liam. I need to let him know I’m okay and see if he found anything about Damian that I can use. And I need to hear the voice of someone who doesn’t hate me.
It’s warmer here, even without the fire going. I guess they have modern heating capabilities although I wonder how old the house is.
But then as I near the first-floor landing, I see something, and I can’t believe my luck.
There, by the front doors, lying on the floor, is the knife I used to stab him.
I guess he’d forgotten to clean it up. Or maybe he just assumed whoever would wipe up the blood would pick it up too.
I hurry to grab it, trying not to look at all the faces on the doors desperate to claw their way out of hell.
The blood has dried on it, but for a moment, I remember the sensation of stabbing him. I hadn’t done it consciously, but maybe that’s a good thing. I’m not sure I could have if I’d thought about it too long.
Although I’m sure these doors will be locked, I try them anyway. Nothing gives though, so I move in the opposite direction of the living room where the light is still on.
This part of the house is darker, and I don’t want to turn on any lamps. Grateful for the moonlight, I draw the curtain back on one of the large windows and peer outside. From what I can see, he wasn’t lying. Beyond the circular drive is forest, and the road that leads up to the house is lit by lamps that seem to go on for miles.
Just then, movement outside has me jump back from the window. From off to the side, I watch as two men armed with rifles across their chests walk across the driveway and pass the house. In the distance, I see another structure with lights on. It’s tall, maybe a guard tower?
One of the men is smoking. I know when the tip of the cigarette lights up as he drags in a breath, then tosses it to the ground. He doesn’t bother to crush it out. I watch as the light fades and the men disappear in the direction of that tower.
Maybe they’re out doing their rounds, a check of the perimeter? I wish I knew exactly where we were.
A sound has me turning around, gripping my knife as I press my back against the wall. But it remains silent after that, and I wonder if it was human or ghost.
I sneak around the room, which appears to be a more formal living room, looking for a phone but don’t find one. Back in the foyer, I head toward a closed door. There’s no light inside and when I try it, it’s locked. Same thing happens with the other two doors, and when I turn a corner, I stop dead when I see the elevator there.
Damian’s father must have used it to come down to the first floor. Being in a wheelchair, he’s certainly not using the stairs.
Thoughts of that man make me shudder, and I know, given the choice, I’d run into Damian’s arms if I ever was confronted with it. Not that I think he’ll save me or cares about me. I just feel, with Damian, it’s different. That I’m safer, as stupid as that sounds.
I don’t know what it is. I can’t make sense of the thoughts.
Turning back in the direction from which I came, I head toward the living and dining rooms. From here, I can access the kitchen. The shattered remnants of my glass still liter the floor, and the wine itself has seeped into the stone. I guess they won’t clean up until the morning. Damian had sent Elise to bed.