Chapter Thirty-Three
Mindy
I can't stay here.
Just thinking about being stuck here with Maron makes me sick. Who is he anyway? Do I even know him? I signed a contract without really knowing who I was getting involved with.
I need to get the hell out of here. ASAP. No matter what.
But first, I must find the exit. Because I still have no idea where I am and where I came from. My heart is beating a million miles an hour and I can't catch my breath as I’m wandering these crazy hallways. This goddamn maze is never going to let me out. How long has it been since I left the bedroom, anyway? Must be over an hour. Maybe two. Is Maron back to bed, looking for me?
The thought makes me sick.
I turn one corner, then another, my eyes scanning desperately for any sign of an exit, or any hint of a way out. But there's nothing here except an endless sea of closed doors and dimly lit corridors, stretching out before me.
Still desperate, I start to descend a random set of stairs. My feet carry me down and down into the bowels of the mansion. Maybe there's a staff exit here - I think to myself. Maybe I can find a way out through the service quarters and slip away unnoticed in the chaos of the kitchen or the laundry room.
But as I emerge into the cellar and take in the sight of the damp stone walls and the low, oppressive ceilings... I realize that I've only succeeded in getting myself even more lost.
Shit.
The cellar is a maze of its own, a twisting, turning labyrinth of storage rooms and utility closets. I pass a kitchen, a laundry room, looking for a door that could lead somewhere, anywhere, out of this place.
But it’s no use. Every turn I take, every door I try, only leads me deeper into the maze.
As I wander through the damp, chilly labyrinth of the cellar in my silk robe that provides very little protection against the biting cold, I feel a new sensation rising up within me. I need to pee again. Didn't I go just about an hour ago? Has it been longer? Not that it matters much. I have to find a bathroom soon.
I start opening doors at random, my desperation mounting with each fruitless attempt. A storage room, a utility closet, a wine cellar... but not one damn bathroom. If I can't find one soon, I'll have no choice but to pee on the floor. The thought alone is humiliating.
I open the next door and heave a sigh of relief. It's a cramped little bathroom shoved in the basement corner. Unlike the fancy bathrooms upstairs, it only has a dim lightbulb and a grimy sink that probably hasn't been touched in ages. But it's a bathroom nevertheless. At this point, I'll take what I can get.
I rush inside, slam the door behind me, and fumble with my robe to get it open. I then sit on the toilet, and let out a shuddering sigh as I empty my bladder. I even close my eyes for a moment to savor the sensation of release.
But my relief is short-lived. As I straighten up and move to the sink to wash my hands, I feel a new sensation rising up within me.
Nausea.
But not just any nausea. This is an overwhelming, all-consuming nausea.
I barely have time to lean back over the toilet. Before I know it, I'm retching wildly as my stomach brings up the contents of my gut. A minute later, it happens again. More vomiting. All while gasping, choking, my eyes streaming with tears.
It must be the stress. The terror, the adrenaline, and the horror of what I've just witnessed.
I cling to the toilet like a lifeline, my knuckles white and my breath coming in ragged gasps. It takes about ten minutes for my nausea to subside. Once I’m feeling better, I quickly clean myself up at the sink and focus my mind on my main mission: get the hell out of this mansion.
I wipe my face with the edge of my robe and approach the door to open it. But to my dismay, it won't budge. I make another effort but to no avail.
Shit!
I’m washed over by a feeling of unease once again, but I convince myself it must be a temporary malfunction. Or maybe I just have to push a little harder. So, I try again, but the handle remains immovable. It is clear that the door is locked from the outside. I'm hopelessly trapped.
Damn it, damn it, damn it, Mindy!
With growing apprehension, I hurry to the tiny window, desperate for some kind of help. I pound on the glass with my fist, hoping to catch someone's attention outside. It is a silly idea at this time of the night but it's not like I have too many other choices. As I inspect the window more closely, I realize it's purely decorative. There's no mechanism to open it. Feeling discouraged, I go back to the door and try turning the knob again, but it remains stubbornly locked.
I lean against the door and give the knob a final, forceful twist. Nothing.
No!
I slump back onto the toilet, cradling my head in my hands. I inhale deeply, trying to regain composure, but my heart races, and my hands tremble uncontrollably.
This is a disaster. Just like my whole life.
Time just stretches endlessly as I sit there motionless, trying to figure out my next move. What the hell do I do now?
Having no other option, I spend the rest of the night perched on the toilet. Sleep is out of the question. My mind continues to race, replaying the horrors I've witnessed over and over again. Countless scenarios of what would happen if Maron discovers I'm missing flash through my mind. The cold, hard porcelain under my butt becomes my unwelcome companion as hours crawl by at an agonizing pace.
Every creak and groan of the old house makes me jump, my heart leaping into my throat. Is it Maron, coming to find me? Or worse, has he sent one of his henchmen to "take care of the problem"? The darkness and the uncertainty feel oppressive, closing in around me like a shroud.
As the first weak rays of dawn begin to filter through the tiny frame, I feel a glimmer of hope. Surely someone will come to clean or use this bathroom soon, right? I stand on shaky legs, my muscles protesting after hours of inactivity as I peer out the window.
The world outside seems surreal in its normalcy. Dew glistens on manicured lawns, birds chirp their morning songs, completely oblivious to the nightmare unfolding within these walls. I press my face against the glass, desperate for any sign of a potential savior.
As I gaze outside looking for anyone who might be able to help, I notice the gardener trimming the lawn.
At last!
A human being!
It is a man in his fifties with a full, bushy mustache, and skin weathered by the sun. Clad in a green polo shirt and khaki shorts, his muscular arms guide the lawnmower back and forth across the grass. His movements are precise and systematic. I can hear the hum of the motor through the glass. Which means he should also be able to hear me if I scream loud enough.
"Hey!" I yell, pounding on the window to gain his attention, but the deafening sound of the lawnmower drowns out my cries. The man appears unaware of my presence, focused solely on his task. I keep yelling and knocking on the window as loud as I can, but to no avail. The man gradually moves to another area and soon, he vanishes from sight.
This is it. The end of the line for me. I'm going to rot here, trapped in this invisible cell, reeking of urine. What an absurd way to go. Absurd, just like my entire life.
My serf-deprecating thoughts are interrupted by the distant sound of a vehicle, so I glance out the window once more.
There's the guy again!
This time, he's perched atop a polished ride-on lawnmower, its thunderous engine overpowering all other sounds. The noise reverberates through the air with each pass across the lawn, causing birds to flee from the trees in protest. When he finally brings the vehicle to a momentary halt, I strike the window with my fist as forcefully as I can. He looks up. I continue to jump and wave my hands frantically.
"Help!" I yell, hoping he can finally hear me. But my heart sinks as I watch him disappear once more. I attempt to call out for help again, but my voice emerges as a stifled cry. Unable to contain my emotions any longer, I crumple to the floor, sobbing uncontrollably. I can’t believe this. How on earth did I get myself into this mess? What is it about me that attracts these bizarre life scenarios? Am I a part of some twisted cosmic joke?
Just when I think things couldn't possibly get any worse, I hear a scratching sound from across the door. Someone with a key must be outside. The scratching continues and my eyes light up as the door swings open, revealing the gardener who had been working on the grounds.
"Oh my God, thank you!" I croak out through tears of relief. "I accidentally locked myself inside."
The man doesn’t say a word but gestures for me to follow him. So, I push myself up, and I gratefully do so. We exit the bathroom and he starts leading me towards a different staircase than the one I used before.
"Please," I plead as we move through the maze-like corridors. "I need to get out of here. Can you show me the exit?"
The man glances at me and points towards the gate without uttering a word. Then he gestures to me to follow him. When we get to the gate, he takes a huge keychain out of his pocket and opens the massive metal door with a creak. He then turns to me and speaks only three words: "Go. Dangerous here."
Yeah, right.
You can say that again.
"Please," I beg him, my voice still trembling. "Please do not to tell anyone about this."
He gives me a slight nod, then urges me to leave. Once I’m outside, he closes the gate and walks back to resume his duties.
Holy shit!
I’m out! I made it!
I take a quick look around and move across the street, away from the mansion before anyone else sees me. As soon as there’s a safe distance between me and Maron’s property, I call an Uber. I silently congratulate myself for bringing my phone with me before sneaking out of the bedroom. The pink gown I’m wearing is crumpled from the night at the toilet, but I don't care; all I want is to go home and get some rest.
I glance at my phone and I see multiple missed calls from Maron. He's clearly looking for me already. But after spending the entire night huddled on the cold bathroom floor, too exhausted to move, I can't deal with it right now.
I’m relieved to see my Uber pull up to the curb. It's a small victory, but a victory nonetheless. I managed to find my way out of that maze of horrors and lies, and escaped successfully. As I slide into the backseat of the car, I feel a flicker of hope that maybe, just maybe, I can put this nightmare behind me. At least for now.
I don't care about the curious glance the driver gives me as he takes in my disheveled appearance and my silk robe. I don't even care about the fact that I must look like a madwoman or a witch that just emerged from her underground cave. All I care about is getting to the safety of my cozy home, and as far away from Maron and his world as I possibly can.
As the car pulls away from the curb and the mansion recedes in the rearview mirror, I allow myself to close my eyes and just breathe. I allow the exhaustion, the terror, and the feeling of relief wash over me like tidal waves. I'm tired, drained, dehydrated, and utterly spent from the long night I spent alternating between being huddled on the bathroom floor and sitting on the toilet seat. All I can think of is going home, crawling into my bed, and sleeping until the world makes sense again.
"Miss, we've arrived." The driver's voice jolts me awake. I must have drifted off on the way here.
I stumble out of the car and through the doorway of my apartment, feeling the weight of the night fall off my shoulders. Betty has already left for work. The silence and the emptiness that would usually make me feel lonely now feels like a sanctuary.
I head straight to the bathroom, throw the pink robe onto the floor, and step into the shower. As the hot water washes over me, I can't help but feel endlessly grateful for the place I call home.
Finally clean, I wipe myself dry and collapse into my bed. I burrow deeper into the covers, trying to lose myself in the comfort and safety of my sheets.For many minutes, I toss and turn, but sleep won’t come. It must be one of those moments when I’m simply too stressed and exhausted to fall asleep. The bright daylight that streams through the windows isn’t helping either.
Frustrated, I decide to reach for my phone. I know I should put it down, get some rest, and deal with Maron and everything that's happened later, but a part of me is screaming at me to put an end to this nightmare once and for all.
After some thinking, I open a new message and start typing.
"Maron,
I have reconsidered your offer and have decided to decline. Please consider the contract null and void. I am sure you will find someone better suited to your needs. I’m sorry if this comes as a surprise, but my decision is final.
Please do not attempt to find me.
Mindy."
My finger hovers over the ‘Send’ button, hesitating for a moment. But then, with grim determination, I hit it. I watch as the message disappears, winging its way towards Maron Korolev’s phone.
It’s done.
As I place the phone back on the nightstand, a feeling of closure floods through me. I have made my decision. I did the right thing.
I try to remind myself that the worst is behind me, but somehow, it doesn’t ring true. There’s still a gnawing feeling in the back of my mind, telling me that the worst is yet to come. I decide to ignore it. Blame it on the stress.
Finally, my eyelids close and I drift into a deep, dreamless sleep.