CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
Daisy
Something warm was on my face. I rubbed at it, eyes still closed, hoping it would go away. It didn’t. I could feel whatever it was warming my skin to the point of being uncomfortable. My eyes fluttered open against my wishes. I was so tired.
I sat up and stretched, realizing I had kind of a crick in my neck from sleeping weird. The sun was streaming through a window and had landed right in my face. That’s what awakened me.
I yawned, then looked around me. And froze.
Where the hell was I?
I was sitting on a green velvet sofa that had seen better days. No wonder I had a crick, I thought. I’d slept there last night. I stood up and walked around a little, stretching and trying to work the kinks out of my body while trying to clear the cobwebs from my mind.
What had happened last night?
Memories flooded my mind, unwelcome and hurtful. “Oh God.” I sat back on the sofa and put my head in my hands. How could I have fallen for Jack so hard when he was a stalker?
But something wasn’t right here. This wasn’t Nia’s house. Hadn’t I asked Ivan to take me to her house? I wondered if when I fell asleep he’d brought me here instead. I looked around. Was this his place?
I tried to remember if he’d ever said anything over the years about where he lived. He hadn’t that I could recall. In fact, I couldn’t remember Ivan ever giving out details about his personal life. Not even to brag to the other cooks about who he was dating… or banging… at the moment.
I took in the dark wood paneling on the walls, the aging carpet on the floor, and the way the windows were small and well above eye level. I was in someone’s finished basement.
I walked around until I found a staircase leading up to a closed wooden door. I stared at it. The stairwell was dark, and I could see light streaming into the basement from a crack under the door.
Had Ivan brought me home last night? The last thing I remembered was falling asleep in the catering van from the deli.
If he’d brought me home, why had he left me in the basement?
I walked around. There was a short hallway that led to a bathroom and a bedroom that seemed to double as a storage room.
Boxes were stacked all over the floor and covered the bed.
There was no way anyone was sleeping down here.
So… why was I in the basement? I noticed a door to the outside and breathed a sigh of relief. For a crazy moment, I’d thought Ivan had me locked in down here.
I went over to the door and found it locked. Frowning, I bent down to study the doorknob. It was painted black, making it hard to see where the locking mechanism was in the dimly lit room. There wasn’t one that I could see. I ran my fingers over it, finding only smooth surfaces.
It had to lock from the outside. The basement door locked from the outside only. Fear shot through me.
Who in the world set it up where someone couldn’t get out of the house if they needed to?
I turned, almost frantic, hoping beyond hope I was wrong.
I hit the stairs running and practically threw myself at the door that separated the basement from the rest of the house.
I paused, full of hope, and tried to turn the knob. It wouldn’t budge.
I whimpered and rested my forehead against the door.
“No,” I whispered to myself. “No, no, no.” This couldn’t be happening. Last night I’d discovered my boyfriend had been spying on me and spent millions on a house just to be in the same neighborhood as me.
And then what? I’d run out the door into the path of another stalker? How was that even possible?
And why was I so groggy? I thought back to the previous evening. The last thing I’d had to drink was water Ivan had given me. I remembered the cap had already been twisted off and replaced. At the time, I’d thought he was being nice.
Now? I’m pretty sure he drugged me.
“Ivan!” I yelled, knocking on the door. There was no answer. No sound. I waited a few moments. There were zero noises inside the house. No footsteps, no sounds of someone cooking, or running water, or anything.
“Ivan!” I screamed as loud as I could, beating my fists against the locked door. I breathed heavily as I waited, hoping this was a mistake. That he’d brought me to his house late last night and had to leave this morning before waking me up.
But I knew it wasn’t a mistake. I sat down heavily on the stairs. No one locks someone in their basement ‘by mistake’.
I didn’t have my phone. I didn’t have my car or my bike. Even if I could figure a way out of this place, I had no clue where I was. What if Ivan lived on a farm outside of town? I could be running through fields all day trying to find my way to the road.
I shuddered hard. Ivan had left me here. When he came back, what was he going to do? Something told me I’d rather me trapped in a maze of corn than face him.
Especially if he’d been the one leaving me those notes.
I went back down the stairs, looking at everything, trying to assess whether or not I could get out of here.
I narrowed my eyes at the small windows.
They were high on the walls, and horizontal.
They were only one pane tall, but several panes wide.
Were they locked? If they weren’t locked, did I have any hope of fitting through them?
I scrunched my nose at the size of the panes of glass.
I was pretty sure I could squeeze through there except for my hips and butt.
I had to try, though. It was the only way out.
There wasn’t much furniture, and what there was wouldn’t be tall enough to reach the windows.
I remembered the boxes in the bedroom and hurried to get some.
God, they were heavy. I had to carry them, one at a time, painstakingly slowly, as dust and dirt got all over me and mixed with my sweat to make me feel gross and grimy.
I stacked the boxes as high as I could and still hope to climb them without falling over. I pushed a low table over beside the boxes. I climbed on top of it, hoping it could hold my weight. It didn’t seem sturdy.
Sure enough, it creaked and cracked as soon as I stood on it.
It was breaking, so I hurried to push off it and climb up the rest of the boxes.
I had to go slow. The whole thing was shaky, and my legs were wobbly from exertion and nerves.
And from the aftereffects of whatever drug Ivan had given me.
Finally, I reached the top box and got on my knees, leaning over to try the windows.
At first, I was excited. The locks opened without too much trouble. They were old and squeaked as I put all my strength behind turning them. But it worked. I was going to get out of here!
My hands were shaking as I reached for the bottom of the window and pulled upwards. Nothing. It didn’t budge.
“What the hell?” I murmured to myself.
I tried again, using every last bit of my strength to push the window up.
It didn’t move. I wanted to scream with frustration.
I carefully balanced myself on the box, being careful to stop every time it swayed too much.
I was about to throw everything I had left in me into making that window open, when I saw the tiny, flat nail heads that had been coated in the same black paint as the windowsill.
The window had been both painted and nailed shut.
What the hell was going on here? Did Ivan do this often? Did he stalk and kidnap women all the time?
I looked around nervously. Would I find the skeletons of long dead missing women somewhere down here? I shivered at the thought and turned too quickly to look back at the window. I was trying to make out how easily I might be able to break the thick glass. It seemed to be double paned.
That’s when the tower of boxes came crashing down, dumping me onto the hard floor below.
I lay there for a while, not wanting to move.
I was in a lot of pain, and I was pretty sure I’d heard my ankle make a popping sound.
It was also hard to breathe. I’d landed hard on my side, and I was afraid I’d broken a couple of ribs. At least I hadn’t fallen on my head.
Damn the floor was hard. I wondered if there was a concrete slab underneath the old carpet.
I tried to roll over and hissed at the pain. I laid there in defeat for a while, letting myself cry. I had plenty of time to think while lying there, trying to come up with a plan to get out of my predicament.
I decided to try to throw something at the windows and break them. If I couldn’t crawl out, maybe I could at least scream for help and get someone to hear me.
Someone that wasn’t Ivan.
I slowly rolled to a sitting position. I tried to put weight on my ankle and stand up, but let out a scream of pain.
It was a no go. I was afraid I’d broken it.
I hobbled on one foot, doing my best to ignore the pain in my ankle and my ribs, until I reached a heavy glass paperweight that had fallen off the table when I’d moved it.
I picked it up and hurled it with all my might at the window, glad I’d played summer league softball for years when I was growing up.
It crashed through one of the panes, leaving a gaping hole. I wanted to jump around and celebrate, but that wasn’t happening with my injuries.
So, I started yelling for help.
I yelled, screamed, pleaded, and cried until my voice was hoarse and my throat hurt.
No one came.
Either no one heard me, or Ivan lived too far out to have any close neighbors.
Or…
A more terrifying thought occurred to me. What if Ivan’s neighbors could hear me? But they were too scared of him to come let me go?
I went back to just lying on the floor, staring at the ceiling and thinking. I thought back to the camera feed Jack had set up at his house.
He’d known I had a stalker. What if that’s why he was staring at me?
What if he’d set up those cameras to protect me from my stalker? Maybe Jack hadn’t been my stalker after all, and I’d run away from the person I’d thought might love me. The person I’d thought I loved right up until I decided he must be an evil killer. I’d run away from Jack.
And I’d run right into the hands of my actual stalker.