Chapter 15 Fifteen Places to Hide
fifteen places to hide
Dolly Beckett
When Preston’s done making me cum and let himself have his own release, he turns off the light and holds me while he falls asleep. I lay awake in the dark, listening to the distant pounding of footsteps, the occasional muffled voice or laughter when they—whoever they are—get a bit raucous.
I wonder who’s up there with Sullivan. If he’s locked in the way I am, the way Grampa Darling is.
At least he gets guests. Sometimes I see him outside, alone or with friends.
Once, I saw him push Magnolia into the pool, and I was scared for her because it’s January, but she scrambled out and somehow caught him and pushed him in before running away.
I know he’s the only one who has friends over, besides Preston. But I also know he never leaves.
I roll onto my back and stare at the ceiling. One more time, I try to picture my life here, in this nuclear fallout shelter of a house, the abandoned castle of a fallen king who seems forgotten by the town he once ruled.
Would it be enough? To see only my kids and husband, a few select members of his family, the estate staff and people he hires to come in and provide their services for an hour a few days a week?
The answer is easy.
I can go along with his plan, let him think he won, but in reality, no one wins.
No one’s happy. I’ll be his prisoner, and he’ll accept a life without love because that’s all he thinks himself worthy of.
He won’t accept my love because he thinks he doesn’t deserve it.
And that doesn’t just hurt him, it hurts me.
Everyone should be able to give love as well as receive it.
From somewhere in the heavy house, I hear the creak of floorboards as it settles, then a girl’s giggle. The night I arrived, I heard her singing, and I often hear the noises of the others. Of course now I know it’s not a ghost. I’m sure it’s just Magnolia.
I picture her as I saw her that first day, her arms out as she balanced on the stones lining the stream, jumping from one to the next. It’s easy to forget, when faced with her smart mouth, cutting words, and abundance of teenage attitude, that she’s just a lonely little girl.
I can’t bring kids into this. They won’t be happy, either. I’m their mother, their example. How could they learn about happiness or love in a place such as this, in a marriage such as the one Preston’s proposing?
Looking around the room, I can barely make out everything in the pale moonlight filtering in from the cold night.
I wish I’d set out clothes, but that would have looked suspicious.
I’m not about to wear a dress and heels, not to mention it would be obvious if someone catches me.
So, I pull on the sweatpants and hoodie I wore this morning to work out.
If anyone sees me, I’ll just say I needed a snack.
After checking the bed and finding him motionless, his breathing deep as his strong chest rises and falls, I crouch and pick up the charcoal grey trousers Preston wore to dinner.
I rifle through the other pockets until I find his keys.
Holding my breath, I check the bed again.
He hasn’t moved. For a second, I watch him breathe, aching at how beautiful he is even now.
Half his face is in shadow, and for a moment, I remember the Preston he was before the accident.
If I’m honest, he was always a dick. He always took what he wanted, everyone else be damned, just like when he took my virginity.
He never worried about what anyone thought.
I was the one who didn’t want to be with him, who worried what it would look like if I went from his cousin to him.
He never gave a single fuck. He wanted a reputation in high school, so he got one.
When he wanted to cum, he stuck his dick in whatever girl was nearest. He was cocky and rude as hell.
The Preston I knew then would never settle for so little.
I take one more moment to admire the rest of him—the shape of his masculine form under the covers, the way his strong arm rests on top of the blanket, the veins I can see standing out on his bicep, the fine hairs on his forearm shining silver in the moonlight, the bulge of muscles in his bare shoulder.
I swallow and pull my gaze away, pick up my shoes and my room key, and tiptoe to the door.
Holding up his keys, I find the one for the rest of the east wing and start to unwind it from the keychain.
Then I realize he probably has a copy of my room key on there, too.
I hold his keys in one hand and mine in the other, then slide my key into the lock.
The click sounds deafening in the empty room, but when I glance back at the bed, Preston hasn’t moved.
For once, I’m glad for the other constant noises in the house.
Maybe he’s so used to small noises that he won’t wake until morning.
I turn the knob and pull open the door, wincing at the squeak.
I hear the sheets rustle and turn back just in time to see Preston fumbling across the empty side of the bed for me.
Shit.
I dart out, slam the door, and shove the key back into the lock.
“Dolly,” he barks on the other side of the door. I hear his quick, light footsteps as I fumble to turn the key.
He hits the other side of the door just as the lock clicks into place.
“Dolly,” he bellows again, pounding his fists on the door just like I did when he locked me in, just like his Grampa did.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper, closing my eyes and resting my fingertips against the wooden surface for a moment. Then I turn and walk away.
I hear his body hit the door so hard I’m surprised it doesn’t crack, and I know it’s not going to hold for long.
With a final, longing glance at the wide open studio with the ghostly glow of moonlight falling across the floor, I turn and shove the east wing key into the door next to my bedroom instead.
I slip through, lock it behind me, and blink into the pitch blackness of the hall beyond.
Preston will think I took the easy way, that I ran across the studio and took the main staircase down to the huge foyer.
He’ll look for me that way. Even if it takes more time to get down this hall, especially in the dark, it’s the safer option.
Besides, I’ve never found any of the rooms locked, so I can dart inside and hide in any room or even on the roof if he does come this way.
The soft patter of running footsteps sounds from somewhere that must be the attic, though I can’t be sure.
It could be the stairs at the end of this hallway.
I take a second to mentally picture this wing.
Twelve widely spaced doors like the west wing, plus the one behind me, and two at the far end, on either side of the window that looks out over part of the roof for the lower level.
With renewed determination, I start forward on tiptoes, going as quickly as I can in the dark, my hands held out in front of me.
The only light comes from the lone window at the far end, and though it doesn’t illuminate my path, it beckons me toward my destination.
On either side of the window, a door leads to a set of stairs. One set goes up to the attic, and one goes down to the ground level—freedom.
I’m halfway down the hall when I hear a click behind me. I spin around, sure I’ll see Preston silhouetted in the door. For a second, I don’t see anything but darkness.
Then a phone light flickers on, aiming upwards to cast his features in harsh glare and startling shadow. His mask gleams silver, seeming threatening as his face looms like a disembodied head just steps behind me.
I scream, stumbling backwards. Then I throw my shoes at him, turn, and run.
The hall is so dark I have to hold my hands out to brush along the wall so I don’t accidentally veer off course and trip on a doorframe. I’m nearing the window when my fingers brush over something… Alive.
My first sensation is of hitting something, but it takes only a fraction of a second to register that it’s warm and solid, covered in cloth. It’s not a something, but a someone. Someone standing pressed against the wall. The moment my hand connects, I jerk back, but he’s faster.
A strong hand jerks me against a solid chest, warm breath feathering across my cheek. His voice comes out in a triumphant whisper. “Gotcha!”
I shriek and yank at my hand, and his evil chuckle echoes down the dark corridor. I flail at him, swinging a hand with my key poised, ready to scratch his eyes out. How did he get in front of me? Is there a secret passage between some of the rooms?
“Let me go,” I yell, twisting at my wrist. My free hand connects with a face, but all I feel is the point of his nose and the mask.
My key catches in the eye hole, and I tear it from his face and fling it to the floor.
He curses and releases me, and from the wetness on my finger, I can tell I got his eye pretty good with one of my nails or the key.
I stumble toward the window, the only light, like it’s my only hope.
I hear footsteps behind me, and my heartbeat explodes into chaotic, racing beats.
I step to one side, flattening my back against a recessed door the way he did.
Maybe he’ll miss me the way I would have missed him if I wasn’t running my hand along the wall.
A light bounces off the ceiling and the walls, illuminating sections in the blue glow of a cell phone screen.
“Come out, come out, wherever you are,” taunts a sing-song voice.
The light hits the guy as he bends to pick up his mask, and I see a flash of dark curls and ghostly fingers reaching out before he finds the silver mask I threw to the floor.
My heart starts pounding even more erratically as I realize it’s not just Preston in this hall with me. There’s someone else here, someone else wearing a mask. Did he put out someone else’s eye just so he wouldn’t be alone in his misery?