Chapter 8 #2
She must walk away, because all I hear is the soft click of the shutting door, followed by the more pronounced sound of a turning lock.
Then, everything slips into absolute silence.
Everything except the thundering of my heart.
And my quavery breaths, exhaling into dead air.
Being blind, I feel like I’m trapped in a tomb. Maybe one I’ll never be able to leave.
I strain to listen for…something. Anything. Steps? When is he coming? Am I just supposed to sit here and wait? Of course I am. Because some man paid ten grand for me to talk his ear off tonight.
I take a slow breath to try to calm my nerves. My stomach keeps twisting, insides swirling with fear over what’s going to happen next. The silence in the room is suffocating. How long has it been since Maggie left?
I turn my head from side to side. Stupid, because there’s nothing to see. I wipe my palms on the edge of the sofa cushion. My skin is starting to itch. I feel—
I feel someone else in the room. Some primal instinct deep inside is telling me I’m not alone. There’s someone close by. Watching. Studying his subject.
Me.
Without seeing a speck of light… Without hearing a whisper of sound… I feel him.
The man who paid gobs of money for me to yabber nonsense at him. To fulfill his every weird desire. He. Is. Here. Right in front of me. Only a few feet away.
And I can’t make myself utter a single word.
I’m frozen on the couch, my spine plastered to the back of it.
Without sight, it seems as if the rest of my senses are heightened.
Hearing. Smell. Touch. Taste. Extrasensory perception?
Right, my mind is just spinning in place.
No. I’m definitely smelling…something. Too many different smells.
There’s some alcohol nearby. Something…fruity, maybe with some spice mixed in.
There’s also a hint of oil. Wax? Or wood polish?
It reminds me of a product I use when I help with the cleaning at the Spada Estate.
One that always makes my palms itch after.
And then, there’s something else. The faintest trace of men’s cologne. Fresh but subtle. Him.
My guest doesn’t seem to favor a heavy fragrance. So many men, particularly the Italian guys I come in contact with day-to-day, do. They love the weighty perfumes that linger. I’ve gotten good at identifying the don’s visitors long after they’ve left.
This… It’s something clean. Crisp. Organic.
It reminds me of an ocean breeze. Salty air.
Miles and miles of warm sandy beach. Not that I’ve ever been there.
But the scent envelops me all the same. It’s faint.
Understated. Calming. It’s vaguely familiar, but I can’t place it.
Nevertheless, it settles my nerves. Just a bit.
I’m still feeling anxious, but that pure zesty scent somehow assures me that maybe…
maybe everything will be alright. How could I know that?
I should still be terrified. I’m locked in a room with a stranger.
Blindfolded. Vulnerable. Yet, that slight smell of the ocean is keeping some of my fears at bay.
Who is this man? I wish I could see him. I wish I could be absolutely sure I’d be safe. None of that is possible, though. But there is something I can do.
Something I have to do.
“You’re here. Aren’t you?”
I wait for an answer, remembering too late it won’t come.
“Um… I wish I knew your name. Or what you wanted to talk about. I don’t suppose you feel like telling me?
” I smile, but I’m sure it looks strained.
“Okay, well…I’m not really sure what I should say.
” My voice peters out, so much so that I can barely hear it myself.
“Maggie… She… She suggested I should maybe talk about…myself. Or maybe about the movies. I guess… Um… I think that might be a more entertaining topic, so…let’s start with that. Okay?”
I wait. Maggie did tell me that he didn’t want to speak, but I still kinda expect him to say…something.
I give it a few breaths, but nothing happens. Not a single sound comes from the direction of my guest. Only silence.
God, I hope I haven’t lost my mind. Sitting in this room, talking to myself.
“Okay,” I exhale, feeling silly and terrified at the same time. “Um…it was a series, actually. The last thing that I watched, I mean. British show. About a detective who was investigating the disappearance of a child. It was…good. I guess. They caught the bad guy and well…that’s all that matters.”
I pause again, expecting…a comment? Some kind of noise. Movement, maybe. A rustle of clothes. The clink of a glass when it’s set on the table. A cough.
There’s nothing.
“Before…” I continue. “Before that, my friend from next door invited me out to a movie. She had an extra ticket because her boyfriend bailed. We ended up seeing a silly rom-com. Evelyn really likes those. I don’t share her taste, but she was excited about it and didn’t want to go alone.”
Not a fricking peep.
“So…um…about that movie. Total chick flick. The girl in it was a magazine editor, I think, but got fired. However, she was invited to a wedding on some Greek island, and ended up sleeping with the best man. Turns out that the guy—the one she slept with—was the owner of the magazine where she used to work. Obviously, they fell in love in the end, and then he made her the editor-in-chief, or something. It was…cheesy. Like, super cheesy. The popcorn was great, though.”
Nothing but crickets.
What is he doing? Is he just watching me babble like an airhead?
I wish I could see. My blindfold is still securely in place, though, not even a smidge of light is getting through. The room could be cast in utter darkness, and I wouldn’t know. I have a feeling, however, that the lights are on.
I clear my throat. It feels dry and a bit raw all of a sudden.
A tiny noise.
Like the scrape of fabric against another surface. A subtle movement of air. I’m struck still. Every muscle in me is paralyzed. All but my eyes. If I could open them under the blindfold, they’d be flaring wide right now.
Pop.
I tense. What was that? Sounded like a bottle of wine being uncorked. In the next second, I hear the telltale sound of liquid being poured.
That ocean breeze scent gets stronger, and then I feel something cold and hard touch the back of my hand. The one that is presently squeezing my knee.
My stomach is doing somersaults as I twist my hand, turning it palm up. The base of a stemmed glass lands in my grasp. As soon as my fingers curl around to secure it, that fresh whisp of briny fragrance fades away.
Slowly, I bring the glass upward, letting my lips settle on the rim.
Under the circumstances—blindfolded, trapped in a room with a stranger—drinking anything I’m offered would be stupid.
Beyond stupid. But then again, we are in a private room.
Alone. He doesn’t need to drug me to hurt me.
He could do practically anything to me. Who would stop him?
I take a small sip. It’s wine. Dry and rather bitter. I swallow another gulp and can’t help but cringe.
“Thank you. I just… I don’t really like wine,” I mumble as I carefully lean over to set the glass by my feet on the floor.
My guest remains silent. Absently, I try looking around the room even though the blindfold prevents me from seeing anything. But my body is functioning on autopilot. My mind is blank. What should I do now? Continue yammering about what I watch?
“I also saw— Oh, what was it called? Ugh! I don’t remember. It was a fantasy series based on a book. There were only two seasons, but I really liked it. It got canceled. Actually, I saw the announcement just yesterday. The show, well, it was about a group of…”
I talk. I talk for hours. Hours without an end in sight.
Saying…nothing. Just incoherent, useless things.
But I keep saying them nevertheless. Movies.
TV shows. Books. Whatever comes to mind.
I even tell him about my almost-spat with the librarian at our neighborhood branch.
About how we argued over the merits of the new crime thriller by my favorite author that’s releasing next month.
And how devastated I am that the waitlist to borrow it is a mile long, so it’ll be forever before I get to read it.
“I just hope there are no mentions of bugs.” I shudder. “The previous book had a scene where spiders were crawling over the dead body, and I had to skip it. Bugs freak me out. Also, the first book in the series included cockroaches and…”
My voice is the only thing that resonates through the room. No more rustling of clothes. No clinks or clanks. Nothing from my guest or from the direction of where he’s sitting. Just silence.
As I’m recounting the plot of another murder-mystery I read forever and a half ago, a loud knock sounds against the door. It erupts somewhere behind me. At the entrance that I must have used when Maggie brought me in. My pulse jumps into the stratosphere.
Another moment of silence passes, then the slight swish of rustling clothes. Then, steps. Slow. Heavy. Retreating further and further away. In the opposite direction of the knock. The floors must not be carpeted everywhere, so my silent guest’s footfalls are easy to hear.
What can they tell me?
His stride is long. Not hurried. I think my guest might be tall. Confident. Calm. There’s no sense of nervousness in the way he walks.
A door opens, but not the one behind me. Instead, it’s somewhere ahead, in the direction my guest went. In the direction I’m straining to see, yet I’m still blinded. There must be two sets of doors in the room.
For a moment, nothing happens. Stillness descends once again.
He’s watching me. Standing right there on the threshold. I don’t know how I know. I simply do.
Then, a soft snick, and the door shuts.
And this time, it’s only me in the silence. In the dark.
The ocean breeze is gone.
“All good here?” Maggie’s cheerful voice startles me. “You can remove the blindfold now.”
My fingers shake ever so slightly, so it takes me a few tries to untie the silk knot. Once I finally pull the blindfold off, I squint at the onslaught of sudden light. Blinking rapidly, I eagerly take in the room around me.
The space is elegant, but it doesn’t come across as if it’s trying too hard.
Instead of looking staged, it feels comfortable, lived in.
Along the light-gray walls, there are many bookshelves, filled with actual books, not the fake cases that only provide the illusion.
Some hardcovers, a few paperbacks, some pushed in, others lying down.
Heavy drapes obscure the window and the view beyond.
They’re velvet, the color of rich burgundy wine.
In the middle of the room, two facing couches with a mahogany coffee table between them.
The soft upholstery matches the drapes. A floor lamp near the sofa, another in the corner, and a table lamp near a dry bar illuminate the room.
Now that my eyes have adjusted, I realize their glow is actually dimmed, creating a cozy atmosphere.
I’m not certain what I expected. Should this room have been painted red?
Maybe black silk and leather everywhere?
Whips and chains surrounding a four-poster bed?
None of that is here. The room looks more like a pleasant reading nook than a chamber of debauchery.
It’s all so ordinary. Luxurious, expensive—yes. But ordinary.
“Once you change, the car that brought you here will take you home. It’s waiting for you in the back courtyard,” Maggie chirps as she leads me out of the room and down the hallway.
While we’re heading to the dressing room, her phone rings.
After she answers, her cheerful tone fades.
Her words come out a little strained. I think the person on the line must be giving her instructions, because her only replies are of course, sir and I understand, sir.
She finishes the call just as we reach our destination.
“So?” she asks, her voice upbeat once more. “Did you enjoy your evening?”
I glance at my hands, clutching the silk blindfold. Not sure if I enjoyed it, but it wasn’t bad. After my initial nerves settled, it got easier to be there. It was even a little cathartic to simply talk about meaningless, random things.
I shrug. “It was fine.”
“Good to hear.” She leans in. “Your guest tonight was very pleased with your company and would like to see you again. Would you like that? You should know, though, he requested exclusivity.”
I tense. “What does that mean?”
“You will not be able to entertain other guests. Only him. For that, he’s offering you a bonus of five thousand dollars for every evening you spend with him. But you must agree to his terms.”
Breath gets caught in my lungs. Five grand? “And… And the only thing he expects from me is…more talk? Nothing else?”
“Nothing else.”
I gulp air. My mind races, calculating what having that kind of money could mean. The medicines I could afford for Mom. The doctor visits I could cover. Maybe I could finally convince her to be placed on the transplant waitlist. I’m still short a couple of million dollars, but it’s a start.
“Yes.”
Maggie grins. “Great! I’ll let him know.” She turns to leave, then stops. “Oh, I almost forgot… Your guest left you a gift. It’s in the car.”