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Chapter 10
“This is definitelywhere he tortures people.”
The small shack stares silently back at me, the green vines twisting and growing through the stone siding seeming to mock me as I converse with myself. It’s the only other building on the property, sitting far off to the side like the separation makes it somehow less conspicuous.
“You’re not fooling anyone, Kal,” I murmur, narrowing my eyes at the metal bars framing the opaque window and the boards nailed to the front door, barring entry.
What else could the building possibly be used for?
“Are you talking to yourself?” Marcelline calls from the window in the kitchen, close enough that she doesn’t have to scream.
“Yes, Marcelline, I am. You won’t give me a guided tour so I’m making it up as I go along.”
In truth, I’ve already scouted out the Asphodel three times since the day Kal left me in our room. I hadn’t planned on another round across the acreage, but since the internet here is spotty at best and I’m not fully interested in continuing the program I’m currently enrolled in at Boston U, I figured why not.
Marcelline, despite being a permanent fixture in the renovated hotel, refuses to participate.
She did, however, assist me in unpacking the belongings Kal had shipped to the island, though seeing the sets of lingerie I’d gotten at my bridal shower made her face flame the color of her hair.
Exhaling, I turn with my hands on my hips, surveying the rest of the yard: the concrete wall bordering the property and hedges left untrimmed, probably to deter peeping Toms; the stone patio with sparse furniture, a rusty charcoal grill, and a hot tub in need of a good cleaning; the partial garden across from the kitchen windows that seems to function as a bed of weeds only.
Just over the fence sits a stretch of beach, blue water kissing the distant horizon, making me more than a little homesick. Reaching into my pocket, I take out the phone Marcelline set up for me, pulling up one of the few contacts available.
My sister Ariana answers on the fourth ring, her face lighting up the screen as she shifts it into a video call. She has on an avocado face mask, and the sight causes a pang to slash across my heart—face masks and pedicures were our Friday night thing growing up, and not being there now to indulge in it with her is more than a little unnerving.
It’s not been long since I last saw her, and yet it feels like eons of time exist between us.
“There’s my favorite newlywed,” Ariana singsongs, barely moving her lips so the mask doesn’t crack. “How’s the world’s very first Mrs. Kal Anderson?”
“Slowly spiraling into insanity,” I say, casting another glance at the outbuilding.
“Oh, Jesus, what did you see?”
I frown. “What did I see?”
“Come on, you’ve been with Doctor Death for a week now. Tell me all about his little shop of horrors.”
Making my way back to the house, I slide open the glass patio door, stepping inside the kitchen. Marcelline is gone, so I flip the camera around, showcasing the room with its black marble countertops and stainless steel appliances.
A formal dining room sits through a doorway on the left, and a sunken family room with a huge stone fireplace and a white sectional with gold sides brackets the other exit from the kitchen.
There are no paintings or photos adorning the cream-colored walls. No dust dirtying the baby grand in the oval sitting room off the foyer, or the bookshelves in the library down the hall. No real evidence that anyone other than Marcelline existed here before I moved in, and I can’t help wondering why Kal owns such a large place if he doesn’t live in it.
When he is here, he locks himself in his office, not even coming out to join me for dinner. I’ve eaten every meal at the dining table in complete silence, staring at the window overlooking the luscious side yard, dreaming of all the ways I might one day escape.
“Yikes, it’s even creepier than I expected.” I switch the camera back, and Ariana raises her perfectly arched brows. “Where’s all his stuff? I didn’t even see a TV!”
Taking a seat at the rectangular island, I prop the phone against a fruit bowl and twist the diamond ring on my finger, shrugging. “I know. There’s one mounted in the bedroom, but it isn’t hooked up to a cable box or even the internet.”
“So weird. Does he not have hobbies?”
“I don’t know.”
“You don’t know?” She pauses, furrowing her brows. The orange flecks in her brown eyes shimmer as she shifts the phone, moving out of the direct sunlight on her balcony and heading back into her room. “That feels like an important piece of information to know about your husband.”
Chewing on my lip, I reach up and run the pad of my thumb over the bite mark Kal left on me the other day, concealer catching in the ridges of my fingerprint.
“He likes poetry,” I offer, knowing where the conversation is headed.
