Chapter 33
Chapter Thirty-Three
The world came back in pieces. First, the ache in my skull that felt like someone had taken a sledgehammer to my temples. Then the taste of metal coating my tongue. The sound of humming, cheerful and off-key, drifted from somewhere nearby.
I tried to lift my head, but it felt like it weighed a thousand pounds. My eyelids fluttered open, and I blinked against the soft morning light streaming through windows that weren't mine. This wasn't the hospital. This wasn't anywhere I recognized.
Panic shot through my veins like ice water.
I was sitting in a wooden dining chair, my ankles bound to the chair legs. More rope circled my waist and torso, keeping me upright and immobile. One of my arms hung free at my side, but it felt sluggish and disconnected when I tried to move it. The other was tied to the arm of the chair.
Whatever Glenda had injected me with was still working its way through my system.
The kitchen around me looked like something out of a magazine. Pale yellow walls, white cabinets with glass fronts showing off mismatched china, and a view of a lake through the window above the sink. Quaint. Homey. The kind of place where families gathered for Sunday dinner.
Not the kind of place where some crazy lady held another person captive.
A plate sat on the table in front of me. Orange cranberry scones, perfectly golden and still warm from the oven. A plastic cup filled with lemonade. A small bowl of what looked like clotted cream. Even a plastic spoon, the kind you'd give a toddler.
My stomach lurched. Hell, they even smelled like the scones I usually baked.
“Oh good, you're awake.”
Glenda appeared in my peripheral vision, a mixing bowl cradled in her arms like a baby.
She'd changed out of the clothes she'd worn to the hospital and now sported a floral apron over a yellow sundress.
Her hair was styled differently too, softer somehow, and she'd applied lipstick in a shade of pink that made her look younger.
She looked like someone's favorite aunt. Someone who baked cookies for the church social and volunteered at the animal shelter.
Not someone who drugged people and stuffed them into car trunks.
“I was starting to worry that I'd given you too much of the sedative.” Glenda set the mixing bowl on the counter and wiped her hands on her apron. “But you have such a strong constitution, I knew you’d be okay.”
I opened my mouth to speak, but only a croak came out. My throat felt like sandpaper.
“Oh, you poor thing. You must be parched.” Glenda bustled over and settled into the chair across from me. “Please, have some lemonade. I made it fresh this morning, just the way you like it.”
Her table setting was completely different from mine. Real silverware gleamed against the wooden surface unlike the plastic spoon and fork I had. A crystal goblet instead of a plastic cup. A cloth napkin folded neatly beside her plate.
She noticed me staring. “I'm sorry about the plastic, but I can't trust you yet with anything that could be weaponized. You understand, don't you? It's just a precaution until you realize how much better this is than that life you were living.”
I struggled against the ropes binding me to the chair. They held tight, cutting into my skin when I pulled too hard. My heart hammered against my ribs, and I fought the urge to scream. Nobody would hear me out here. Wherever here was.
“Please don't do that.” Glenda reached across the table and patted my free hand. “You'll only hurt yourself, and I don't want you to be in pain.”
I jerked my hand away from her touch. “Let me go.”
“I will. Eventually. When you understand that this is where you belong.” Glenda picked up one of her scones and broke it in half, releasing the scent of orange zest and dried cranberries. “But first, I thought we could have a nice little snack together. Then maybe you could help me with something.”
She took a delicate bite, chewing thoughtfully. “I got your recipe, you know. For the pineapple upside-down cake. But I could never make it come out right. The pineapple always got soggy, and the cake part was too dense.”
My blood turned to ice. “How did you get my recipe?”
Glenda's smile was radiant. “Oh, that was easy. I made myself a copy of the key from the one I found in Miss Laverne’s junk drawer. It made slipping in so much easier after that first time I climbed in through the window. Most times I visited when you were both at church, but I really enjoyed my visits when you were both sleeping. You look like an angel when you sleep, Joy.” She took another bite of the scone and this time took a sip of lemonade afterward.
“I learned so much about you that way. Your favorite books, your little habits, the way you organize your recipes in that adorable little box of yours.”
The room spun around me. She'd been in the house. In my space. Going through my things while I slept just feet away.
“I found your journal too.” Glenda's eyes sparkled with excitement. “The one where you wrote about London. About that awful man who hurt you. I wanted to find him and make him pay for what he did to you, but it sounds like he's moved on to terrorizing other women.”
She'd read my journal. The private thoughts I'd written down to try and process what had happened to me. The nightmares, the fear, the shame I'd carried for years.
“You had no right.” My voice came out stronger this time, fueled by anger.
“I had every right. I love you. When you love someone, you want to know everything about them.” Glenda reached for the clotted cream and dropped a dollop onto her scone. “Try yours. They're really quite good, even if they're not as perfect as when you make them.”
I stared at the plate in front of me. “Why me?”
The question hung in the air between us. Glenda set down her scone and folded her hands in her lap, suddenly looking younger and more vulnerable.
“Rob used to get so jealous.” Her voice turned wistful.
“He said I cared too much about other people. That I was always finding new friends and paying more attention to them than to him. He never understood that I just have a lot of love to give, and that I couldn’t help all the people who adored me. ”
She picked up her lemonade and took a sip.
“So that night at Louey’s when you sang that song to me, I swooned.
” She had a glint in her eye that made me shiver.
“Joy, that was the most beautiful moment of my life. I told Rob that, and he had the audacity to say I was crazy. He said you weren’t singing to me.
I wanted to go talk to you, but he wouldn’t let me.
Of course, I’d driven us that night. I always had to be the designated driver, so he insisted we leave.
I was heartbroken. Here he was, the man who had once claimed to love me, trying to keep me away from my soulmate. ”
“Glenda—”
“I couldn't let that stand, of course. When I dropped him off at his house, I told him I needed to talk to him in his driveway. When he got out of the car…” She shrugged. “I put it in reverse, then drove backward as fast as I could…”
I waited for her to continue. When she didn’t, I prompted her. “And?”
“Unfortunately, he died.”
The casual way she said it made my blood freeze. She'd killed her boyfriend. Ran him down in cold blood because he'd questioned her delusion about me.
“I knew you loved me from the very first note you sang to me.” Glenda's expression turned dreamy. “The way you looked right at me during that song. You were telling me how you felt, weren't you? That you wanted to kiss me?”
Horror crashed over me in waves. This was so much worse than London. The man who'd stalked me there had been delusional, but his delusions were about possession and control. Glenda's delusions were about love. About a relationship that existed only in her mind.
In London, I'd been dealing with a stranger. Someone I could hate without reservation. But Glenda had been kind to me. She'd adopted Rosebud, had seemed lonely and sad after her breakup. I'd felt sorry for her.
I'd invited her into my life.
My hands started shaking. I clenched them into fists, trying to hide the tremor. I had to stay calm. Had to think. Graham and the others would be looking for me by now. They'd find the security footage from the hospital. They'd figure out what had happened.
But how long would that take? And what would Glenda do to me in the meantime? She could tip over the edge at any moment. Just how long did I have to live?
I needed to stay alive long enough to be rescued. But how?
“You know we were meant to be, don't you, Joy?” Glenda leaned forward, her eyes bright with fervor. “From the moment I first saw you on that stage, I knew. You have such a pure heart. Such a beautiful soul.”
I forced myself to meet her gaze. If I was going to survive this, I needed to play along. At least until I could figure out an escape plan.
“I knew how special you were when you showed your big heart.” I kept my voice soft, gentle. “When you wanted to adopt a kitten. You could have chosen any pet, but you wanted to save Rosebud.”
Glenda's face lit up like Christmas morning. “I knew you’d understand. You saw the real me, not the awkward woman everyone else sees.”
“Where is Rosebud?” I asked. “I'd love to see her again.”
Something flickered across Glenda's face. A shadow that was there and gone so quickly I almost missed it.
“She's fine. She's safe.” Glenda picked up her scone again, her movements jerky. “We need to eat our snacks now. I want to get started on that pineapple upside-down cake.”
She was deflecting. Changing the subject. What had happened to Rosebud?
I picked up the plastic spoon with my free hand—still tingling and half-numb—and took a small bite, though the food turned to chalk in my mouth. “These scones are delicious. When did you start baking?”
“As soon as I found all of your recipes. I thought you would like a partner who shared your interests.” Glenda practically glowed. “I've been practicing. I want to be able to cook all your favorites.”
We ate in relative silence, Glenda chattering about the lake house and how peaceful it was here. How we could be happy together, away from all the people who didn't understand us. She talked faster and faster, her words tumbling over each other in manic excitement.
When she finished her scone, she clapped her hands together. “Now for the fun part. You're going to teach me how to make your pineapple upside-down cake. The real way, with all your little secrets.”
“I'll need to be untied.”
“No.” The word came out sharp and final.
“Glenda, I can't bake tied to a chair. I need to move around, to measure ingredients, to check the oven.”
“I said no.”
“How am I supposed to help you if I can't use my hands properly?”
“You can tell me what to do. I'll be your hands, sweetie.” She smiled cheerfully.
Anger flared in my chest. This was insane. All of it. The kidnapping, the delusions, the casual way she'd admitted to murder.
“You hurt Graham.” The words burst out of me before I could stop them. “You tried to kill him, and he never did anything to you.”
Glenda's expression darkened. “He was in the way. He was keeping you from seeing what we could have together.”
“He loves me. I love him. We're going to build a life together.”
“No.” Glenda stood up so fast her chair scraped against the floor. “You think you love him because you haven't given us a chance. Once you see how good we can be together, you'll forget all about him.”
“I'll never forget about him. I'll never stop loving him.”
“You will.” Glenda moved to the counter and opened a drawer. She pulled out another syringe, already filled with clear liquid. “You just need more time to adjust.”
Terror shot through me. “What’s that?”
“Something to help you sleep. When you wake up, maybe you'll be more reasonable.”
“Please don't. Please. I'm sorry I got upset. I want to help you with the cake.”
But Glenda was already moving toward me, the syringe held like a weapon. I thrashed against the ropes and swung around with my one free hand. She gripped it and wrenched it behind my back, making me cry out in pain.
The needle pricked my neck, and I felt the familiar burn of whatever drug she'd used before flooding my system.
“Sweet dreams, my love.” Glenda's voice sounded like it was coming from underwater. “When you wake up, we'll start our new life together.”
Darkness swallowed me whole.