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5
EVERLEIGH
I woke up the same way I did yesterday: tucked into bed, even though I went to sleep in the closet. Someone kept coming into the room while I was sleeping, despite the locked door. But they never seemed to do more than move me to the bed and cover me with a blanket.
Since the only person who had access to this room was Lucius, I wasn’t too freaked out. I’d long realized that this must be his room. His scent was everywhere. And the suits in the closet were his size and style.
But where was he sleeping? I hadn’t seen him since he left me in the room on my first night here.
Rubbing my aching eyes, I resigned myself to another day locked into the small office I now spent most of my time in. I’d found all the missing money, but there was still a lot of work to do. But since I wasn’t fish food yet, I figured they were happy with my progress so far.
I’d left the bedside lamp on, the soft light casting a faint glow around the vast room. Even though I started my nights hidden in the closet, I didn’t feel comfortable with a pitch-black room.
My suitcase appeared as well, so at least I had something else besides huge sweatpants and a T-shirt to wear.
My alarm had gone off twenty minutes ago, and if I didn’t hurry, I’d still be in my pajamas by the time Santino would knock on the door. He seemed to have been appointed as my regular guard and walked me wherever I had to go.
Dragging myself out of bed and into the closet, I pulled out a pair of jeans that molded to what little curves I had, as did the white tank top. I wrapped myself in a soft blue cardigan and then quickly went through my morning routine.
I used to have a range of products I used, from cleansers to masks to special creams. Now all I had was water and nondescript cream. But something that used to be so important to me was now an afterthought.
Once finished, I sat on the bed, waiting for the knock. It came a few minutes later, and a glance at the clock confirmed he was there exactly at 7:00 a.m., just like every morning.
“Buenos dias, Santino,” I greeted him when I opened the door. He didn’t respond, nor did his face move. I asked him the same question I did every morning. “Did you sleep okay?”
Silence.
“What are you up to today besides babysitting me?”
Silence.
“What was that? You want to know how I slept? I slept well. Thank you for asking. How was your night?” I continued, pretending as if he’d answered. “You don’t need sleep? Because you’re a cyborg? Makes sense. How’s that going for you? You go through a lot of batteries?”
Silence. And then a twitch of his mouth.
Satisfied, I followed him through the maze of hallways and into the warm kitchen. The big island in the middle gleamed in the sunlight streaming through the row of floor-to-ceiling windows.
If I could move my office there, I would. It wasn’t only the warmest room in the house but also the most comfortable.
The smell of baking bread reminded me of lazy mornings spent at home. I could almost imagine our housekeeper standing at the stove baking, Mom rushing around the house, running late for a meeting.
The housekeeper, Mariana, looked up when we entered and smiled a genuine, happy, “I’m not fearing for my life because of an evil cartel boss” smile. She then fired Spanish at me in rapid succession. When I didn’t react, she pointed to a barstool instead. I nodded in relief and moved, because gestures I could understand.
“Good morning,” I greeted her once her stream of words died off. She smiled at me in return.
Once I was seated, she presented me with the world’s biggest omelet. I quickly realized it wasn’t just eggs she’d whipped up. There were potatoes and vegetables mixed in. It tasted delicious, and I ate as much as I could.
Santino hovered near the door, sipping on a cup of coffee she’d handed to him earlier. I stuck to tea, grateful I could find the right word. Not that it was hard, since the Spanish word for it was nearly the same as the English one.
Mariana tutted when she saw I’d only eaten half the omelet. “Guapa, tienes que comer mas. Estás demasiado flaca.”
I needed to work on my Spanish, since most of the people working in the compound seemed to speak it instead of Guyanese Creole. For someone who remembered as much as I did, learning a new language should have been a walk in the park. But I’d always been more interested in numbers and mostly ignored everything else. Something that came back to bite me in the ass now.
After Mariana motioned to my plate and made eating motions with her hands, I forced down another few mouthfuls. Once she was satisfied I had eaten enough, she released me back into the clutches of Santino. Mariana pinched his cheeks, and he mumbled something under his breath but didn’t tell her off.
She waved at me. “Mantente fuerte, cariña.”
I nodded at her and smiled, the universal sign for “I have no idea what you said, but will pretend I did, anyway.”
