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I gazeat the closed door as though the answers to my dilemma might lie there. They don’t.
And it remains closed. Locked.
What possessed me to say those things, to ask those questions?
And what on earth am I to make of his answers?
Jack Morgan is a hardened killer. He’s ruthless, driven, a law unto himself. He’s everything I’ve been taught to despise. So, why does whatever it is I’m feeling seem nothing like that?
And if I don’t despise him, then how would I describe the things he makes me feel? The odd tingling in my stomach every time he comes into the room. The intense awareness whenever he’s close? The desire for his company, on whatever terms that might be?
I don’t trust him. I don’t even like him. Why would I?
But, I do believe him when he says he doesn’t want to hurt me. Despite everything, I feel sort of safe with him. I think I might even miss him a little bit, after he releases me. And I’m convinced he will, eventually. But will that come soon enough for me to get back to Cambridge before my mum…goes?
I unroot my feet and move over to the bed, then perch on the edge of it. I have a mental image of my mother the day I left, just a week or so ago. She was propped up against a pile of pillows, Julie fussing about with medication and the bits and pieces she uses to check her patient’s condition. My mum looked so hopeful, her confidence in me to find Naomi and bring her back was unwavering, but I’m going to let her down. I haven’t located my sister, and even if I had, I’m stuck here in this house with about as much chance of escape as I have of winning the Euro Lottery.
By the time I see my mother again, she’ll be gone. I’ll be lucky to get to her funeral.
Frustration and despair threaten to overwhelm me. It’s not too much to ask, surely. To be there at the end, holding her hand in her final moments, to tell her I love her and not to worry, that I’ll be all right.
I give in to the tears. When all else fails, I do what I usually do at such moments — bury my face in the pillow and howl my eyes out.
I awake soon after dawn,still fully dressed, lying of top of the duvet. I stagger to the bathroom, do what’s necessary, then decide to take a shower. I emerge feeling cleaner though not necessarily any better. Nothing has changed.
I open the curtains. The sun is just rising, casting a golden glow across the horizon. In the absence of a balcony, I pull up a chair to watch the dawn through the window.
It’s fully light by the time I stand, stretch, and wonder if anyone will bring me any breakfast. After last night’s pizza I’m not especially hungry, but I’d kill for caffeine.
My prayers are answered. The door opens, and Jack enters.
He halts in the doorway. “You’re up early.”
“I couldn’t sleep,” I reply.
He smirks, as though he knows something I don’t. “I brought your breakfast. I was just going to leave it.”
“Why? Are you going out?” His day-to-day movements are none of my concern, and I expect him to say just that. He doesn’t.
“I have places to go. I’ll be gone all day, and probably overnight.”
The stab of disappointment takes me by surprise. “Oh,” is all I can manage.
“Someone else will bring your meals today.” He sets a tray on the low table we ate off yesterday, along with a small electronic buzzer. “This sounds in the kitchen. There’s always someone there, and they know to come up if you buzz. So, if you need anything…”
“I won’t.”
He shrugs. “Whatever. I’ll see you tomorrow, or maybe the day after.” He’s at the door before I find my tongue.
“Wait.” I take a step forward.
He turns, one eyebrow raised. “Is there something you need now?”
I swallow hard. “Yes. I need to know when you’ll let me go.”
“Ruth, we’ve been through all of this.”
“You don’t understand. I have to go home. I need to see my mum before…before…”
