AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Do I go back without knowing and keep my job? Or do I plunge ahead and get the answer to my questions to the detriment of my current employment and, possibly, my life?
“He isn’t a killer,” I say. But it’s a cold comfort if it’s even true at all. I saw Kirill snap a man’s leg in half without a second thought. In the lineup of people I know who are capable of murder, he is front and center. “Or at least, he won’t killme.”
That is apparently enough encouragement to send me through the double doors.
Confidence is key, I decide. If I look like I know where I’m going and what I’m doing, no one will stop me. Of course, that’s hard when I’m busy gawking at my surroundings.
Unlike the rest of the mansion, which is decorated in severe modern lines and shades of gray, the third floor is awash in yellows and blues. It’s like diving into the ocean. The wallpaper is creamy white and textured with blue wainscotting on the lower half of the walls. The carpet is a plush, pale goldenrod color reminiscent of sand. Instead of being sectioned off into countless individual rooms, this floor has been laid out like one single apartment.
There’s a sitting room off to the right with windows that look out on the water. A kitchen and dining space is just behind that. Moving towards the back of the space is a hallway that I presume leads to a bedroom. Or bedrooms plural, depending on how many people are staying up here.
Is the third floor off-limits because Kirill is renting it out? Maybe he’s leasing out this floor, so he doesn’t want his maids barging into someone else’s private residence…?
But that doesn’t explain what I overheard from the guards the other day. They were talking about the place being trashed. About some kind of freakout. They mentioned someone being locked up…
I shouldn’t be here.The feeling is so sudden and overwhelming that it almost bowls me over. What in the hell was I thinking? I walked into an unknown situation with no information other than it might be dangerous.
I could get murdered. Or kidnapped. Or shot dead because the person living here thinks I’m an intruder.
Panic clamps around my chest, and I need to get out. Now.
I turn back to flee through the double doors I just walked through. But the moment I turn around, the doors open.
And Sonya walks in.
The severe woman doesn’t see me for a second. She’s holding a pile of folded sheets and a bundle of towels. I think I even see the hint of a smile on her lips.
Then she looks up.
“You,” she hisses. Her mouth pulls down into a fierce scowl. “What are you doing here?”
“I was cleaning, and I—The door was unlocked,” I stumble. “I thought I heard—I’m sorry. I was just leaving.”
Her eyes narrow. “I was told not to discipline you, but you’ll be fired for this. I knew you were trouble from the start. Your pretty face won’t save you now.”
I have no idea what the woman is rambling about, but I’m about to sprint past her through the door and out of this damned house—when I hear an unhinged roar behind me.
Instinctively, I turn around. Sonya runs past me, moving towards the sound. But she’s stopped in the middle of the hallway by a huge, hulking man lurching out of a doorway to the right. The way she jumps back, I assume he’s an intruder.
The man’s face is cast half in shadow, but twisted in a clear rage. He moves towards Sonya, and I don’t know why, but I want to protect her.
“Hey! Leave her alone!” I yell.
“Shut your mouth,” Sonya hisses. “Get out of here. You’re making it worse.”
The man turns to me, and I realize his face isn’t twisted with rage; it’s twisted with scars. Deep, mottled creases run along his left cheek and over his eye. His mouth hangs partially open, and I can hear him breathing heavily from all the way across the room.
“It’s okay,” Sonya says. She approaches him with open palms, moving slowly like he’s a wild animal she’s trying to soothe. “It’s me. Sonya. Do you remember me?”
“Kirill!” the man yells. Though I wouldn’t know what he was saying if I didn’t already know Kirill’s name. It sounds like his tongue is too big for his mouth.
“He’s not here. But I’m here,” Sonya croons. Her voice is a bit softer than usual, but it could hardly be described as warm. I’m not sure Sonya is capable of warmth.
“Kirill!” The man swings his arm out, barely missing Sonya’s shoulder. His fist bashes into the wall. The drywall beneath cracks and the wallpaper rips. He pulls on the wallpaper, ripping it down to the wainscoting before going back for more.
Sonya gasps. “No, no! No. Let’s not do that. That makes a mess, remember? Let’s turn on the TV. You want to watch a show?”
She lays a hand on the man’s arm, but he throws his elbow out and Sonya stumbles back, losing her balance in the process. She lands flat on her backside.
