“Does he stay here all the time?”
The odd look Bessie gave her made her realize she’d slipped. If she were his wife, she’d know this already. Biting her tongue when the urge to overcorrect herself came, she turned to look outside and stopped short. A long porch wrapped around the house, stairs leading down to a pathway. One side of the pathway, the side that dipped down into the cliff, was completely paved with cement, a large honest-to-god black helicopter sitting there. A helicopter.
Mouth agape, she looked to the other side of the pathway, green lush grass beginning to span the slope, her eyes coming to rest on a glass shed a little way down.
“That’s the greenhouse.”
Of course,he had a greenhouse. She wouldn’t be surprised if the next door she opened led to a throne room made of gold.
Surprised at her own sarcastic thought, she pulled up short, shaking her head. Sarcasm wasn’t familiar to her, but it felt nice.
"Dr. Manson will be here tomorrow to see you."
Lyla blinked. "Who's Dr. Manson?"
Bessie gave her a warm smile as she led them to the greenhouse. "I'm sure Mr. Blackthorne must have told you."
He hadn't, but she bit her tongue not to give anything away.
And that was how her morning passed. Taking a tour of the greenhouse as Bessie introduced her to an older gentleman working there—her husband—and showed her where the property line was, quite far away from the house. The property was fenced with barbed wires, and she wondered for a moment if that’s where he got the barbed wire from when he strangled Two and Three.
The dark thought was a good reminder that no matter how much finesse he showed to the world, how convinced Bessie and the staff were that he was a wonderful man—oh, he had them fooled—he was still the devil, and this was still her prison.
***
Bessie showed her where the tea was and showed her how to operate the tablet to look up anything she wanted. ‘Mr. Blackthorne is so thoughtful.’
That he was. He thought of everything and that’s what made him so good. The staff was eating out of his hands, and Nikki wanted to fuck him. Had she fucked him? The thought unsettled her.
That was what she’d perceived in a day of being there.
Oh, and he had a helicopter on standby.
Still grappling with all the new information thrown her way, she shook herself.
Finally alone in the house after an insightful but exhausting day, she poured a cup of water in a pan and placed it on the fancy burner to boil. Bessie had showed her how to operate the dials, telling her that usually Nikki came during the day and prepared the meals.
The warring factions inside her were not quitting. One part of her wanted to escape and never see him again, the part that was angry and hurt and betrayed by him. The other part wanted to stay with him, be with him, actually find herself with him, the part of her that had fallen for the man over the years. But had she fallen for him or what he had represented—safety, power and control, all things she hadn’t had?
She didn’t know.
Looking at the tablet sitting on the kitchen counter, she opened it and typed into the search bar.
‘Blackthorne’.
She got thousands of results, but nothing she could really find relevant to him. She tried again.
‘Shadow Man.’
Same. Too inconclusive. She gave up.
Looking at the blinking cursor, she typed again.
‘How to stop suicidal thoughts?’
Articles upon articles popped up on the screen, along with a helpline number that she couldn’t call because she didn’t have a phone. She clicked on the first article and read through slowly, her comprehensive speed not as fast as normal people.
#1. Talk to your friends or family.