Chapter Eight #2
“Are you insane?” Not only was the basement dark, dank, and scary, but she would also have to contend with her older brother’s and father’s belongings, boxed for donation.
Roxana hadn’t been able to let them go, and Hagan had moved the boxes to the basement.
She hadn’t gone down there in years. “Absolutely not.”
“You need to go into the basement—”
“No, I do not.” The room turned sideways, and time skewed as though her life had been thrown onto a roulette wheel. Why wouldn’t she wake up from this nightmare?
“Babe,” Jason tried again. “This is important. I need you to understand what I’m saying.”
Like hell. “Spiker and Vanka will have to drag me down the stairs.”
“I can do that,” Spiker volunteered.
Vanka rolled her eyes.
“You have to,” Jason added. “It’s the safest place for you.”
“Are you kidding me? This is my house. All of it is supposed to be safe!”
“Spiker, take her to the basement. Roxana, throw some water on your face and relax. I’ll be there soon as I can.”
That was it. Roxana would kill him. Spiker and Vanka wouldn’t get the chance before Roxana wrapped her hands around his lying neck and strangled him. She pointed her finger at Spiker. “Do not touch me.”
“You should listen to your partner,” Vanka offered.
Partner? Ha! She didn’t know who he was, what he did, or why these people were really here.
Her fiancé lived a double life and couldn’t even remember that he’d promised on his life never to call her sweetie again—Roxana’s blood ran cold as the vivid memory fully formed.
Jason had promised never to call her sweetie unless the world was coming to an end.
They had been joking… They had laughed… Roxana’s mind raced.
“Do you understand?” Jason tried again.
Disturbed that he might be speaking to her in code, she nodded. The world was coming to an end. Fan-flippin-tastic. “Yeah, think so.”
“Vanka,” Jason said, “check the basement out, and you’ll agree to hold Roxana there.”
Spiker nodded for Vanka to inspect Roxana’s windowless prison. Dark and dank, it was nothing more than an old half-bath and storage.
A minute later, Vanka confirmed the basement was a fantastic dungeon.
Spiker agreed to the terms, separating Roxana in exchange for Jason’s immediate arrival and cooperation. Vanka pushed her toward the basement.
Roxana couldn’t swallow against the razor blades of heartache cutting her throat. “I really don’t want to go down there.”
“No choice.” Vanka opened the door, then scrutinized Roxana as she had when she first arrived. Her forehead and lips pinched. “I honestly hope you’re a great actress.”
“Why?”
“Because.” She pushed Roxana onto the first step. “No one should be used as a cover if they aren’t game.” Then Vanka shut the door.
Roxana remained still until the click of Vanka’s high heels faded. “Thanks for your two cents.”
She grabbed the rickety banister and tried to recall where the lights were.
Two minutes later, luck was the only reason she found the string connected to the hanging light bulb.
Boxes took up a majority of the space, and if she stood and stared, her heart would ache for the past. Roxana squared her shoulders and walked to the small washroom in the far corner, grateful for a secondary light source.
Her reflection wasn’t pretty, and she refused to take Jason’s advice to relax. But splashing water on her face wasn’t a bad idea. She twisted the faucet. Nothing came out. “Of course not.”
The pipes gurgled and sputtered. Dirty liquid coughed out of the unused spout until it became a steady stream of water and sediment.
Years’ worth of sediment washed itself from the pipes as she stared into the gritty sink, questioning what she really knew about Jason.
For all the worrying she’d done over the years, there wasn’t a moment with him that blipped on her radar—except last night.
Something had triggered a look in his eyes, but she couldn’t remember exactly what.
The water cleared, and she splashed it on her face as the specific words returned to her, at least you know what you’re getting into. “Apparently, I didn’t.”
Water dripped off her chin. Her reflection wasn’t any better. Roxana dried her skin with her shirt and dropped onto the closed toilet seat cover. Of all things she could be doing on her first day newly engaged, and her fiancé had trapped her in the basement. “Why do you want me down here?”
The silence didn’t answer.
She glared at the bathroom wall as if it might hold the answer instead. A flowery embroidery, framed and hung in the unused bathroom, caught her attention. No one in her family was an embroidery person. They were more of the snarky T-shirts and funny throw-pillow crowd.
Roxana leaned forward to take a better look. In a house where boys had outnumbered girls, there hadn’t been floral bathroom decorations in pinks and greens.
She read the large, pink, cross-stitched lettering, Sweetie’s Bathroom Rules. Her heart stalled. Slowly, Roxana stood and inched closer. She wiped away a light layer of dust and focused on the green-stitched list.
Brush and Floss
Wash Your Hands
-Follow the Tunnel-
-Behind the Panel-
Don’t Forget to Flush
Put the Seat Down
Turn Lights Off