36
Bianca wakes in the dead of night. The pills Damian gave her had helped her sleep, but now she feels wide awake.
And slightly befuddled. For a moment, she doesn’t know where she is.
It’s so dark, so quiet but for the constant hum of the small fan.
Soon, she places herself inside the van, tucked into the double bed, all alone.
Damian must have slept in the house. She can’t blame him for choosing the comfort of the guest bed over this thin foam mattress.
The van is too warm, too stuffy, especially with two occupants.
But her partner had handed her some strange medication, watched her take it, and then left her out here by herself.
What if she’d had a reaction? She’d already had a couple of beers.
What if she’d been sick? Did he even care?
At first, she tries to ignore it. She doesn’t want to leave the safety and privacy of this tiny space.
If she goes into the house, she risks running into Curtis again.
Damian will have told him to leave her alone, but if Curtis wakes up, hears her enter, he might secretly confront her.
Attempt to manipulate and twist her mind again.
Sydney slept most of the day, so she could be awake now.
Bianca doesn’t have the energy to resume her cheerful Aussie traveler facade. She could pee outside but… snakes.
Giving in to the building pressure in her bladder, she climbs out of bed and stumbles out of the van.
She’s unsteady on her feet from the lingering effects of the meds, so she picks her way gingerly through the darkness.
Her phone flashlight illuminates about a foot in front of her, but this isn’t safe.
She could fall and hit her head, step on a deadly spider, or disturb a wild boar.
And yet Damian abandoned her out here. He didn’t care that she might wake up, might be frightened, might need to find her way into the house in a compromised state.
He’d gone inside, and he’d spent the evening with their hosts. With Sydney.
Trying the front door, she finds it unlocked.
At least her boyfriend cared enough about her to not lock her out.
Bianca lets herself into the darkened house, picks her way down the hall to the blue bathroom.
She pees but doesn’t flush, doesn’t want to risk waking anyone.
She’s about to head to the bedroom, to climb in next to her sleeping partner, when she hesitates.
She won’t get back to sleep now. And there’s no point lying in bed wide awake.
Quietly, she opens the medicine cabinet and inspects the orange plastic bottles lining the shelves.
They’re prescriptions for Sydney, filled at a Spanish pharmacy, but the drug names remain the same or similar to what they would be in the States.
All the medications are for anxiety and depression.
No wonder. Being married to a monster would be a real downer.
The thought of Sydney’s willful blindness, her intentional stupidity, fills Bianca’s mouth with bitterness.
Why can’t Damian see her for what she really is?
Slipping out into the hall, she tiptoes over the cool tiles toward the living room.
She runs a hand along the wall for balance, but she feels steadier now, almost back to normal.
Curtis’s laptop and tablet sit on a corner shelf, and she wonders if she could access them.
But his devices would obviously be password-protected. He has so much to hide.
As she nears the kitchen, she becomes aware of the hollowness in her belly.
When did she eat last? She and Damian had a couple of beers, but she hasn’t had any food since breakfast. Her wobbliness makes sense.
Curtis, Sydney, and Damian must have eaten.
Did all three of them sit down to dinner together?
Or did Damian and Sydney dine alone? Either way, she hopes there are some leftovers.
She’s moving to the fridge when she hears it.
A low mumble, a woman’s voice. It must be Sydney. But who is she talking to?
Bianca’s heart skitters with dread. Is she about to catch Damian and Sydney in an intimate moment?
Is he telling Syd everything because he cares more about protecting her than he does Bianca’s revenge?
On stealthy feet, she moves toward the living room.
The glass door is ajar, and Syd stands just outside it, wearing a short robe made of lilac silk.
A thin wisp of smoke curls into the air, and Bianca notices the cigarette in Sydney’s hand.
In the other, she holds a phone to her ear.
Creeping closer, Bianca can hear Syd’s words.
“Anderson Technologies,” she says. “On Franklin Street.”
There’s a pause while the other person talks, and Sydney takes a drag on her cigarette. It’s late in Spain, but not in the States. And Sydney is speaking English. She must be phoning someone back home. Clearly, this is a call she doesn’t want anyone to overhear.
“Try the client’s name. Collette Jasper.” There’s another pause before Sydney says, “That’s so strange. I appreciate you trying.” She hangs up with a muttered “Shit…”
Bianca watches Syd exhale a plume of smoke into the night air. She could really use a cigarette herself, but that’s not what she’s thinking about right now. Why is Sydney sneaking around in the night? Who was she talking to? What is she hiding?
Perhaps Bianca should slip away, head to the kitchen, and pretend she hadn’t been eavesdropping. But her thirst for information usurps her desire for discretion. She pushes open the glass door and walks outside.
“Jesus Christ!” Syd spins around, hand flying to her heart. “You scared me.”
“Sorry.” Bianca pastes on that pleasant smile. “What are you doing out here?”
“Sneaking a cigarette.” Sydney butts her smoke out on the paving bricks. “Don’t tell Curtis.”
“Your secret’s safe with me. I thought I heard you talking on the phone.”
The possibility of denial flits across Sydney’s features, but she ultimately decides against it. “I had some business to take care of back home.”
“What kind of business?” It’s rude and probing, but Bianca doesn’t care.
“Work stuff.”
“Who’s Collette Jasper?”
“No one. An old client of mine.”
“Why are you looking for her?”
Sydney narrows her eyes. “What happened to your accent, Bianca?”
Oops.
“I’ve been here too long,” Bianca says, putting on the Aussie. “I think I’ve been picking up your American accent.” She points a thumb back at the house. “I slept through dinner. Is it okay if I grab something to eat?”
“Help yourself.”
“Do you want anything? I can make you some eggs?” She’s being sweet, obsequious, but Sydney’s expression remains hard. And suspicious.
“I’m good.”
Bianca backs toward the house. “I’ll be quiet. Good night, Syd.”
“Night.”
Her voice is ice-cold.