Chapter 11
Anna
“What the hell is she doing here?”
“Did you see her dance in New York? The worst performance I’ve ever seen.”
“Why didn’t Chloe’s understudy get the part?”
“Did you hear? She was late this morning. Such a little prima donna.”
Jealousy was sadly typical in the world of ballet much like any other artistic profession. I’d had almost every criticism tossed my way over the years for being too fat, too skinny, too young, too old. Too clumsy.
Many of the worst had come from creative directors and choreographers. If you didn’t grow thick skin, you’d fall into a puddle of sobs every other day. I’d mostly been able to have a deaf ear after falling into a fit of despair early on.
Every artist found a way of ignoring criticism. Mine included going through the steps of the piece I was working on, able to hear the music. I also learned to do so when I was nervous or frightened about something else.
In my mind, being called the Ice Queen was a compliment. That meant my attempt at ignoring personal jabs and bouts of petty jealousy had worked exactly as I’d wanted.
Which was why, after hearing the barbs said behind my back right after meeting everyone on the dance team and even during practice, I was shocked the horrible comments continued to bother me.
The only reason I could ascertain was because I was starting over with no safety net.
I hadn’t come up through the ranks being a student in the New Orleans world, capturing a role as a teenager in the Nutcracker then moving to the corps de ballet.
I’d come into an existing family as a principal dancer, including performing a role another dancer had worked hard to achieve.
I could rationalize all of it.
That didn’t make the ugliness easier to swallow.
After yanking the towel around my chest, tucking in one end, I wiped my hand across the mirror, creating a blob in the steam. With the mirror still blurry, the twisted face I made appeared distorted.
Monstrous. Another face to haunt me.
My nightmares would concur.
Like one of the savages who’d tried to kidnap me, a long scar from just above his right eye to his chin disfiguring his face. If I had to guess, I’d say the injury had been caused by a knife.
Years before.
I’d contacted Sophia. Or at least I’d tried to.
It had been years since I’d reached out.
I hadn’t known whether she was still working for the family.
The odd mechanical voice when the call had gone directly to voicemail was an indication she’d moved on.
I’d left a message, although I’d been careful to do so expeditiously and without divulging anything about my personal life.
At least I’d remembered my former training after almost being kidnapped. Now it was a wait and see situation.
Unless I was ready to talk to my father.
Exhaling, I backed away, turning out the light and stepping into the hallway.
In my mind’s eye, I was able to see the mystery man once again. Nope. I refused to think of him for another second of the night. I’d been right all along about his arrogance. And the danger surrounding him.
It was so quiet in the house that even my bare feet pressing against the polished hardwood floors created sounds. To me they were eerie.
I half laughed and headed into the guest room, more than grateful I had a safe place to stay. After closing the door, I took a deep breath. For a million little reasons I’d felt compelled to leave the hotel even though the night had been paid for.
After the exhausting, nerve-racking day, perhaps I needed a more permanent set of surroundings. Maybe I’d been fearful that the strange, yet handsome man was intent on finding me. Hotels would be the first place he’d look.
“Oh, girl. What are you doing here?” My words were hollow, much like the feeling in the pit of my stomach. Being here was my tiny safety net.
The bed called out to me, the number of pillows offering comfort to my aching body.
I dropped onto the comforter and even with having wet hair, I fell back, staring up at the ceiling fan gently providing a light breeze.
I was already in love with the three-story house, shocked how incredible every room, every feature was.
It was as if Emmeline lived in a fairytale or a glossy architectural magazine.
Other than her own room, which appeared as if a hurricane had gone through it.
The location was on the corner of a lovely street only blocks from the heart of the city.
Sidewalks were on both sides, magnolia trees lining the perfectly white concrete.
Every house on the block was an artistic Victorian with ornate and gingerbread accents.
Even the streetlights were beautiful creations of steel and LED lighting.
Her backyard was a majestic foray into whimsical landscaping, complete with windsocks and wind chimes.
And inside? There wasn’t a window without a lovely suncatcher.
I’d already decided that once I became famous, I was purchasing a house somewhere in the neighborhood.
Laughing, I rolled over, facing the mound of pillows. With the windows closed, I could still hear the thudding drumbeat from whatever music venue was the closest. The effect was so comforting I closed my eyes, doing nothing more than enjoying the moment.
I grabbed a pillow, hugging and molding the soft down close to my body. A tiny yawn slipped past my lips and every ache in my muscles and joints was just another reminder I wasn’t getting any younger.
I half laughed, allowing myself to drift off. Maybe I’d take a nap. Just a few minutes of peace and quiet.
Mmm…
Pop! Pop!
“Papa?” I jerked up in bed, instantly terrified by the darkness. What happened to my nightlight? I had no idea what I’d heard. Maybe there was a storm outside and that’s why my light wasn’t working.
I grabbed my teddy bear, tugging her close, rocking slowly as I listened for any sounds.
Another loud noise and I instantly whimpered, but as my papa had taught me to do, I pressed my hand across my mouth. Once again, the quiet was terrifying. Shadows crept out from every corner of the room.
Something dark and ugly crawled up my spine. I jerked back the covers, jumping from bed, my teddy cradled tightly against me. Another whimper and the salt from tears burned my eyes. That would make Mama mad. She’d told me crying was a weakness and that if she caught me, she’d punish me.
I slid my feet along the floor and moved toward the door. Maybe Papa was close. He’d tell me everything was alright. With my hand shaking, I turned the knob on my bedroom door, slowly opening it.
There was no sound. The hallway was pitch black. “Papa?” When no one answered, a sob broke free. “Papa, ho paura.” I was scared. So scared. Where was Papa? Why wasn’t he answering me?
Sudden movement caught my attention. A hand slapped across my mouth.
Pop! Pop!
My scream was muffled, my teddy dropped to the floor.
“Tieni la bocca chiusa, ragazzina.”
Keep your mouth shut, kid.
My papa had told me bad people might try to hurt me and that if they did, I should try to run. I pounded his leg with my fists even as he laughed. He picked me up, his hand slipping from my mouth. This time my scream was shrill.
There were voices coming from downstairs.
“Papa!” I managed, still punching the bad man.
He cursed under his breath, tossing me on the bed. I landed against the headboard, sobbing hysterically.
Footsteps pounded in my ears, echoing as the voices grew louder, I slipped to the floor, trying not to make a peep while I crawled underneath.
So many loud sounds.
So many people yelling.
Where was my papa? Where was he?
Bam.
“Shit!”
Instantly, I opened my eyes. What had I just heard? I bit my lower lip and lifted my head, blinking several times. The light was still on in my bedroom, the door still closed. But I’d definitely heard a sound.
Also a man’s voice?
Shit. Someone was inside the house. My God. Fuck. I’d left my phone downstairs. How could I have been so stupid?
A weapon. I had to find a weapon. Even my knife was inside my other bag. Which was also downstairs. I knew better. I’d been so intent on taking a shower I’d ignored every rule I’d set in motion, every security measure that my papa had taught me as a child.
Trying to remain as quiet as possible, I eased off the bed, scanning the entire room. First, I lifted the lamp. It was too light and wouldn’t be an effective weapon. What else? What else?
There was a lovely brass statue of a dolphin. With careful steps, I headed to the dresser. As soon as I lifted it, I knew the heft would be perfect. My nerves were frayed, my pulse thrumming in my neck. When I reached the door, I turned off the light, cringing as I turned the knob.
Thank God there were no creaks. Whoever had broken inside was in the bathroom.
What? It didn’t matter what the hell the thief was doing. Maybe taking a leak before filling his bag with Emmeline’s valuables. I refused to allow that to happen to her. Or to me. The one personal item that meant something to me was valuable.
And was downstairs along with everything else that actually mattered that I owned. Damn it.
As in the dream, I took careful steps, my fingers already aching from the tight grip on the statue. I approached the door, barely breathing.
A man was in the house. He was huge, barely able to fit inside the bathroom.
A flash of something shiny caught my eyes just as he started to turn around.
Oh, my God. He had a weapon.
Before he was completely facing me, I swung the statue, hitting him in the head.
“What the goddamn fuck?” he hissed, stumbling backward. Whatever he had in his hand tumbled to the floor with a loud clang.
He fell against the shower curtain, his hand wrapping around the material and one by one, the rings pulled from off the shower bar and he went down in the tub.
“Whoever you are, I’ve already called the police!” I stood with the weapon in both hands, dancing from foot to foot.