Chapter 73
seventy-three
MAVERICK
Patrick has been pulling me by the arm to show me all the rooms he renovated.
He completely changed every single thing in each room I’ve seen so far.
Every light fixture, wall color, doorknob.
It even seems like he changed out the light switches.
I don’t understand what the point of buying this place was if he changed everything.
I’m scared to ask because I have no idea what’s going on.
Mostly, I’m confused about why every room seems to have a different theme.
Patrick keeps presenting them to me like I’m supposed to know what they are.
I think they’re different countries . . .
maybe? The kitchen reminded me of a villa I stayed at with my parents in Spain.
No, that doesn’t make sense because that’s the only room that reminded me of a country.
There are several bathrooms that resemble the one attached to my bedroom in my house.
He’s been in my house plenty of times when we thought he was Jon, but I wasn’t aware he saw my bathroom.
One bedroom is decorated like a fairytale forest, while another is black and white, like the first house I bought.
He showed me a recording studio and a library.
I didn’t get a close look at either, but I have a sick feeling my bass and books from my house are here.
I want to scream in frustration. Jo would have this all figured out, along with an escape route and a place to stop for lunch. Ezra would have our backs and know what needs to get done to leave this weird place. I’m so utterly lost without them already, and I barely got to have them both.
I noticed he didn’t show me the basement.
There’s a wine cellar down there, or at least there was.
If he had Jo and Ezra chained up anywhere, that’s where they would be.
Assuming they’re still alive. I have to believe they are or I won’t survive.
I’ll be begging Patrick to take a knife to my throat.
I want to ask him. I need to ask him, but I’m so scared of the answer my throat keeps closing on the question.
I’ve tried to keep the panic at bay as I’m being dragged around the house.
My best chance is to get outside and scream for help.
The neighbors are close enough that they should hear me.
Or do I go to the basement first? If they’re not there, I’d be wasting precious time, but if they are and I leave them, Patrick could kill them while I’m getting help.
The doors don’t have any extra locks and neither do the windows from what I’ve been able to see on this fever dream of a house tour.
Which makes this even more confusing. Don’t you want the person you kidnapped to stay kidnapped?
I’m no expert, but none of this is making sense.
Maybe I’m just having a really vivid and bizarre nightmare.
“You love it, don’t you? I knew you would,” Patrick sing-songs as he pulls me along to the last room on the second floor.
“Now, this is the best part!” He smiles and throws open the double doors.
I walk in beside him, not that I have a choice, to see a beautiful bedroom.
Deep blue walls, with a dark wood king-size bed.
Linens in brown, gray, and blue. Black and white photographs that I recognize in thin black frames with a thick white border hang above the bed.
I want to cry or maybe throw up everywhere.
This isn’t just a beautiful bedroom, it’s the bedroom Ezra and I designed.
Those photographs are ones he took. Everything clicks into place.
The plans for this room were in a scrapbook we made in college when we were dreaming up our life together.
That scrapbook was in a box along with a few other items I took with me when I left my parent’s house. This house.
“It’s for me. You designed this house for me.
” I can feel my limbs going numb, my ears ring, and I can’t get my chest to expand so I can breathe.
Patrick says something I don’t hear before my vision goes black and my knees give out.
I feel pain in my shoulder, but only for a moment before I feel nothing at all.