Chapter 18
Kittie
T he day after my attempted escape, Cory was tasked with outfitting most of the doors and windows with small padlocks. Most already have sensors, but I guess the alarm system isn’t a good enough measure.
But I don’t have it in me to feel angry; most of the following days are conquered with this strange sensation Dorian’s punishment imparted on me. Like the most profound form of satisfaction, a sated hunger. But the hunger, like the growing shame that I could even feel that way, only grows by the day.
The comings and goings of the estate fall back into their routine established before my escape attempt. Dorian goes to work in the mornings and returns in the evenings.
Raney shares most of her days with me or performing chores with Cory, who’s been leaving the estate more and more lately. Since the punishment, he hasn’t looked me in the eyes, and I wonder if he’ll always hate me.
I expected Dorian to be angry with me, but whatever beast within him that fulfilled the consequences of his threats has retreated and hasn’t resurfaced. I share two meals daily with him and Raney and have stilted but friendly conversation.
And I can tuck away the parts of myself that might threaten to drive me completely insane, for the most part. But there must be something in the dreary weather today that makes hiding my fears and apprehensions difficult.
Raney and I sit at the dining room table, the restored cabinet stereo plays oldies music as we play Dominos. Outside, gray clouds hang overhead, but not a drop of rain falls. Nighttime is quickly approaching, and Dorian has yet to come home.
It’s strange how my perspective on the passing days has gone from planning when I’d return home to holding my breath for him to return.
Raney rolls her domino pieces in her hand, allowing the porcelain blocks to clink softly together. “You’re not very good at this, huh?”
“No.” I smile down at my mismatched pieces despite myself.
“At least you’re a gracious loser,” she replies, setting her snake eyes down along her line of dominoes. “Maybe we can try a different game? How do you feel about Risk ?”
“You’d win in seconds. I’m too dumb for strategy games.”
“You’re not dumb,” she chides, then sighs when I offer her a shrug. “Honestly, Kittie. Who talked to you like that to make you think it was okay?”
I frown down at my remaining dominoes and drum them against the table. “My dad.”
I’m shocked by my honesty. Under any other circumstances, I wouldn’t bring up my dad. I assumed that putting down all the pain from your past at someone else’s feet would be a burden. But given the situation…what did I have to lose?
“I hear you, sister,” Raney chimes in. “My dad puts King Henry VII to shame.”
I stiffen in my chair. Raney hasn’t mentioned her father since the day he came, unannounced, to the estate. Everyone’s been mum about the situation and left me in the dark.
I pounce on the chance to learn more about what’s going on. “He was the one we hid from, right?”
Raney doesn’t respond. Instead, she resolves to put all the dominoes back into the tin container even though we still have several more pieces to play.
In a desperate bid to keep her from shutting down again, I blurt out, “My dad wasn’t always mean.”
This statement causes her to lift her eyes from the table.
“He and my mom divorced when I was really young, maybe five, I think. It was mostly split custody with every other weekend. He…didn’t like being saddled with me most of the time, but sometimes we’d go out for ice cream. It was mostly because it was next to a place where he could watch the horse races. Once, he asked me to pick who I thought would win. When they lost, I didn’t think I’d hear the end of it.”
Raney listens intently, and just as I’m afraid I’ve opened up about painful memories for nothing, she leans back in her chair and drops her shoulders.
“My mom died three years ago.”
“I’m so sorry,” I say. If I could even think about my mother without getting emotional, I’d be gutted by envisioning what I’d do if I lost her.
“Well, she didn’t die . She was killed,” she adds spitefully. Her shoulders begin to tremble. “She was my best friend. We used to attend these silly little decades dances together at the Rec Center in New Birch. 80s night was our favorite.”
Something twists in my chest, and I grimace. “Raney, I can’t imagine—”
Pale, angry eyes flicker up to me. “They think I did it. They think I killed my own mom.”
The headlights I’d been hoping for cut through the slits in the blinds and cast orange bars of light onto the opposing wall. Wet tires grind softly against the gravel before pulling into the garage.
No, no, no, I was just getting her to open up.
My brow wrinkles. “Who thinks that?”
“Everyone. The cops. The world. What does it matter? It’s awful if even one person thinks I could hurt her.”
The rolling garage door clatters as it opens and closes. I’m running out of time; Dorian’s appearance will likely make her clam up again.
“I know you didn’t do anything,” I tell her. And even if I don’t really know her—and everything I’ve been exposed to might indicate the opposite—I’m telling the truth.
Raney manages a thin, wobbling smile. “I appreciate that, Kittie. If anyone would understand my situation, if only a little, it’s you. My dad is to blame for us both being stuck here.”
“Why?”
Raney breathes another sigh. She severs the conversation and withdraws the second she gets to her feet. Her usual smile laces her mouth as she crosses the dining room, but it doesn’t meet her eyes. “I better disarm the system to let Dorian in. If I hear that thing go off again, I’ll lose my mind.”
I’m left reeling in the dining room, mind spinning.
My first response is pity. It explains why Raney’s bound to the estate as much as I am, but to be a suspect in your own mother’s murder is something so cruel that I can’t comprehend it.
But my second reaction is confusion. I assume Raney meant her father blames her for her mother’s death, and maybe he’s looking for her.
It makes me wonder if he knows something about Dorian, Raney, or another element of this family that I don’t. Does he know Dorian’s capable of holding me captive? Is this man actively looking for me? Is that something I should hold my breath for?
As I’m cycling through my thoughts, I block out the beeps of the security panel and the creaking of the garage door as it opens. I don’t even pick up on Raney and Dorian’s conversation until I feel something touch my chair.
“Let’s you and I discuss that a little later,” Dorian says, only inches behind me.
I tip my head back to look at his face. It’s strained, indicative of a hard day.
“I’ll give you guys some space,” Raney replies, gathering up the Domino box.
I lock up at the idea of Raney leaving me alone with Dorian. It’s been some time since we were alone…how long? I can’t remember. The days are blending together. Either way, all our interactions post-escape attempt have been around Raney.
“Actually, Katherine and I will go somewhere else,” he says softly. I barely have time to respond before he’s bending toward me, slipping one arm around my back and the other under my knees. He exhales as he hoists me out of my seat and carries me out into the hall, calling over his shoulder, “Don’t mind us.”
I wrap my arms around his neck as he takes me to some unknown destination.
Outside, rain begins to tap ever so softly against the glass. A flash of lightning in the distance illuminates the dark cloud formations beyond the window, but no thunder comes.
This isn’t the first time that Dorian has picked me up, and while we walk straight past the stairs, my heart knocks against my ribs as I recall what happened the last time he took me anywhere.
I’m not sure why he wants to carry me. It’s not as if I’m not capable of following him somewhere. But from this close, I strangely don’t mind. I hold onto him, catching a whiff of his fading cologne. Beneath his coat, there’s a lot of tension in his shoulders, much more than just activating them to lift and carry me.
Shyly, I peer up at him. “Is…something wrong?”
All Dorian offers me is a shake of his head.
By the time I start worrying my lip over his silence, we make it to the parlor. He brings me over to the far recliner. When he sits, he keeps me in his lap.
Leaning back, Dorian places his elbow on the arm of the couch, resting his knuckle under his chin while his other arm coils around my back.
Finally, he answers me, eyes studying my face. “It’s been a very miserable day.”
“Oh.” I guess that explains his mood. “Can I help…?”
I struggle with the words, unsure of the version of him I’m dealing with. Luckily, he doesn’t force me to finish my thought.
Dorian removes his hand from his chin long enough to reach up, coil one of my stray hairs around his finger, and tuck it behind my ear. “Not any more than you already are.”
This statement confuses me. “I’m already helping?”
Dorian gives the briefest nod and returns his fist to his jaw. “Your presence is calming enough. It reminds me that there are sensible people out in the world, and it isn’t filled with morons.”
I pull a face. “I wouldn’t call me all that sensible.”
The corner of his mouth tugs upward for a second before he sighs. “Normally, I might humor your criticisms, but your view of yourself is absolutely absurd. Then again, I might be just a little partial to you, so I’m biased.”
Ugh . Despite my more sensible self screaming at me, my face flushes with pleasure at how he speaks. I don’t know how to respond, either because I’m sawed in half over how I should behave and react or because of what I feel.
“Dorian,” I begin after the weight of his eyes on my face becomes overwhelming. When he lifts his chin ever so slightly, indicating that he’s listening, I continue, “You mentioned something to Raney a few minutes ago. Can I ask…what you talked about?”
“Of course,” he says, taking his hand from his face to place it against my thigh.
It’s a miracle I manage to stay upright. My face burns with the same intensity of the tingles radiating beneath his touch. I’m suddenly hot and hoping that he can’t feel it.
“There’s a property we own a few hours north of here. We’re turning it over for new tenants, but our usual handyman is on vacation, so Cory’s checking everything tomorrow before the tenants move in. It’s a tall order, so Raney will be accompanying him.”
“But—” I swallow, ignoring his hand, “—Raney said she can’t leave.”
“Under normal circumstances, she wouldn’t be able to. But they’ll be taking back roads, and the property will be empty, so she should be fine.
It’s a bold move, and though common sense screams at me for my stupidity, I angle for it anyway. “Can I go with them?”
Steely, gray eyes scan over my face. His serious expression sends a chill through me that does nothing to dampen the warmth building between my legs.
“I’m sorry, Kittie,” he murmurs, “but you’ll be staying here with me, where I can keep you safe.”
“Safe from what?” I blurt out. It’s foolish, and Dorian’s skirted the question just as hard as Raney, but I can’t help myself. “Is it Raney’s dad?”
Dorian lifts his hand from my lap and places it on the side of my neck, thumb below my jaw. I allow him to guide my face toward him.
Goosebumps break out across my arms. I can’t make heads or tails of his expression.
“You’ve been very good as of late,” Dorian states evenly.
If I could remember how to breathe, I’d hold my breath.
“This entire family’s cursed, Kittie,” he tells me. His thumb caresses the length of my jaw. “The day you saved my life, yours was put in danger.”
“I don’t understand.”
“My uncle assumed that because I paid for your medical bills and stayed at your side, you would become a financial liability. As if you’d leave the hospital and take me for all that I’m worth.” Dorian drops his hand from my face and lets out a bitter laugh. “And I suppose there’s the emotional angle—the Ward men are terrified of women that get too close and discover the skeletons in this place. God-awful things have happened to them.”
I want to ask him if that happened to Raney’s mom and if one or both of them discovered something they shouldn’t have.
But then the depth of his confession dawns on me.
My words come out shaky. “Your uncle wants to kill me?”
Dorian circles an arm around me, bringing me tight to his chest. “Nothing’s going to hurt you, Kittie. I’ll put him in the ground if he even catches a glimpse of you.”
My mind spins with the truth. In the recesses of my mind, I’d held onto the misguided hope that Raney’s father was the good guy and on the lookout for me. But this is so much worse.
And I linger on Dorian’s mention of skeletons. If there are worse things that he and the others did, it would explain why Cory and Raney are so calm in the face of my imprisonment. I shudder to consider what else Dorian has done.
I slip out of his embrace when he eases his hold on me.
“Do you think I might be able to call my mom at some point?” It’s a shot in the dark, and it might be straight through my foot, but I take it anyway. “I haven’t seen her in almost three months, and I just don’t want her thinking I’m—” I can’t say the word dead .
Dorian’s silver eyes dance across my face for a second. There’s a muted horror there, and I jolt when he places a hand against my face.
“Kittie, it’s been five months. It’s January.”
Somehow, the lapse in time is worse than the information about his uncle. I might be numb to why I’m here, but realizing that I haven’t even noticed how much time has come and gone is devastating.
It doesn’t feel like it’s been five months. When I try to summon the memories day by day to quantify the time, so much feels faint and unobtainable.
I blink at him, dread washing over me.
“Have you been losing time?” he asks, searching my face. “Do you have gaps in your memory?”
I open my mouth but can’t respond. I frantically search my memories, but it’s as if there’s nothing to retrieve. Like remembering a dream slipping through my fingers, I can’t account for more than a handful of weeks. I have some clear memories, but some are blurred together as if I didn’t live them.
When I don’t say anything, Dorian pulls me closer. His fingers graze my temple. “You know who I am, don’t you? You know where you are?”
Dorian’s restrained panic turns me into a trembling mess. I get the sense that deep down, something’s wrong. But what can possibly be done?
The doctor mentioned that there might be long-term consequences to my head injury and that they would need to be evaluated later down the road.
Except I know that Dorian’s not going to let me go.
So, I swallow the fear. I try to throw on a smile. “I’m sorry, it’s hard to follow the days anymore. You know, no job or calendar to keep track of. I’m sorry if I scared you. I’m okay.”
Although his shoulders drop, there’s still worry in Dorian’s eyes. He lowers his hand to lightly stroke my cheek. “Please tell me if there’s something wrong, Kittie.”
“I’m fine, really!” I’m afraid the smile will crack my face; it’s so painful to hold. I thump my face against his chest. Part of me is seeking comfort from him, but another part is hiding the fact that my smile’s fading.
“If you’re sure.” Dorian strokes the back of my head. I feel his chest heave a little with a sigh. “As for your mother…we’ll see how you behave when Raney and Cory leave. If you behave, I’ll think about a phone call. But it would only be for her peace of mind.”
“Of course,” I reply, trying to keep the sound of my tightening throat from my words. I press my cheek to the cotton of his button-up. “I wouldn’t tell her where I am, I swear. I’ll behave.”
I feel foolish for readily agreeing with the sentiment of behaving or being good , but right now, I know I have to get out.