AllFreeNovel
Share Us
So with tentative steps I follow Mary down an immaculately white, gleaming hallway and through a white leather padded door. Why do they have padded doors? Are we in an insane asylum? But once we pass through the entrance, the door closes gently, and suddenly it becomes obvious. The spa is absolutely silent, and I recognize what a luxury that is. When you work in a noisy diner, you’re surrounded by the clatter of plates and the chatter of customers all the time, not to mention the incessant ding! of the bell indicating that the food’s ready and waiting. So I breathe in deep while filling my lungs with perfumed air. Wow, this is nice. The air smells faintly of citrus and elderflower, a heavenly blend. I could get used to this.
Mary turns to me, her lined face friendly.
“Hmm,” she muses, scrutinizing my face. “Could you come closer to the light please?” She indicates a lamp nearby, and then reaches over to turn up the wattage. Oh wow. This thing is like a klieg lamp, it’s so bright.
“You want me to look at me under that?” I ask with bafflement. “But why?”
“Because I need to see the condition of your skin,” she says cheerfully. “Tell me, based on your experience, what type of skin do you have?”
I pause for a moment, completely befuddled.
“Um, human skin?” is my reply. “Is that what you mean?”
The middle aged lady laughs, and I smile back hesitantly. I’m so out of my element. I try to take care of myself by using mild soaps at home, and a gentle cleanser that I pick up from the local drugstore. But I’ve never had somebody actually ask me about my beauty routine, or lack thereof.
“No sweetheart,” the old woman chuckles. “What I mean is, do you have dry, oily, or combination skin?” she asks. “You know, here,” she gestures to her forehead and nose. “This is your t-zone. Most people have a bit of oiliness here, but then dryness on their cheeks. Is that the case for you? You do look a bit shiny on your nose.”
I want to tell her that any shine is the result of grease from my waitressing job, or sweat from taking out three thugs in the elevator. But it seems inappropriate in this peaceful, calm setting. So instead, I step gingerly into the light, wincing a bit as the lamp’s bright glare shines directly onto my face.
“My, my,” clucks Mary. “I see that you definitely have a bit of oiliness. And is this blood?” she asks, indicating the wound on my forehead.
I nod, resigned.
“Yeah. I had, um, a bit of a fall getting down here. The other man said you could get it looked at?”
Mary nods.
“Yes of course. Mr. Carmichael made very clear that you’re to get the best medical care available. Let me call the doctor, and then we’ll get you spiffed up in no time!” she says with a smile. “Come on, into this waiting room, dearie. I’ll call our house doctor.”
And with that, Mary disappears. I’m left alone in what seems to be an ultraluxe waiting room. The walls are lavender, and again, the comforting scent of citrus and elderflower floods my senses. I breathe deeply and close my eyes, trying to relax. Nothing bad is going to happen to you, the voice in my head speaks. You’re going to be okay. You’re a smart girl, and you’ll find a way out of this.
But the voice can’t completely quell the feeling of fear that lingers deep in my heart. After all, what’s really happening? I was kidnapped earlier today, and I haven’t managed to escape yet. In fact, things are even worse off than before. I’m now in some underground maze where I don’t know anyone, and where a man has told me that I need to work. But I already have a job on the surface! They can’t keep me here as a prisoner just because they feel like it.
At that moment, there’s a quiet knock on the door, and then a doctor enters. He’s an elderly man with white hair and a white lab coat, carrying a clipboard.
“Ms. Kane, is it?” he says by way of greeting. “Matthias Thompson. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
I take his hand, and shake it. It’s dry and his grip is firm. That’s soothing in and of itself.
“I see here that you have a nasty scratch on your forehead,” he says, peering at my face. “Does it hurt?”
“Um, not really,” I mumble. But before he can say more, I speak quickly. “Um, what kind of doctor are you? And what do you do here?”
Dr. Thompson’s white eyebrows raise with surprise.
“I’m a general practitioner with a specialty in women’s health,” he says. “Why, is there something in particular bothering you?”
“No, it’s not that,” I say quickly. “It’s that … well, you seem to be a real doctor. At least I assume you are. So what are you doing here? Do you know this place that they call The Billionaires Club?” I ask, gesturing to the walls. “I mean, what is this place?”
