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It’s time for William to tell me what the hell happened at his warehouse. And absolutely anything he knows about Max.
Chapter thirteen
Irelynn
October9,2018,10:15a.m.
I pace across the room, my lightweight Saucony running shoes sinking into the plush carpet with every step I take. It’s not lost on me that William has my favorite brand of running shoes. Of course, they fit perfectly, and I have several pair, all of them matching the running attire in my closet.
How in the hell does he know so much about me, even the smallest of details?
It would almost be flattering if it weren’t so damn creepy.
I’m a ball of nervous energy and could really use a run to burn it off and calm my emotions. Reaching my arms up to my ponytail, I tug on the elastic band for what seems to be the twentieth time in fifteen minutes. My muscles twitch beneath my black and white running tights, my ears straining for any sign of William’s approach.
Rehearsing the questions I plan to ask William about Max and the warehouse explosion, my gaze flits to the window and I suck in a breath, completely consumed by the sea of deep red and burnt orange maple trees in the surrounding forest, the beauty of autumn filling me with longing. Like an invisible rope is pulling me along, I’m drawn to the glass, the only way I can experience the season right now.
Nature’s fiery beauty enchants me so much that I lean forward, my head resting on the glass. I’m like a canary trapped in a gilded cage, my wings clipped, rendering me unable to escape. My depressing thoughts cause me to release a mournful sigh as my gaze drinks in what I can only see, but not smell, touch, or feel, because of my imprisonment.
The plush carpet surrounding my running shoes is like quicksand, holding me captive at the window, unable to feel the gentle October breeze kissing my cheeks, or the rustling of the leaves as they fall, covering the trails.
Wistfully, I recall the brisk, slightly crisp scent of the foliage that was so pleasurable to my senses, despite what it represents—the decomposition of leaves, trees, and plants as they rot.
Held against my will, I’m unable to go outside and feel the fresh air on my skin. My lungs constrict so tightly it’s as though a boa constrictor is squeezing them.
My hands press against the glass, staring mournfully outside.
I want out.
I’m so lost in my morbid thoughts that I don’t hear William enter the bedroom.
“What’s up, buttercup? Why do you seem so sad?” His deep voice breaks through my reverie, making me jump.
Crossing my arms over my chest, I slowly turn and face him. “Autumn is my favorite season, yet I can’t experience it. All I can do is stare at it through a damned window.” My stare is accusing, my tone high pitched from my mounting frustration.
He heads to me, clad in a pair of running pants and a t-shirt, his intense stare boring into my skin. Stopping in front of me, his touch is gentle as he brushes back a stray wisp of hair that escaped my ponytail. His brow cocks as he tilts his head. “I’m sorry I’ve been keeping you locked up in this room.”
As though he feels the waves of irritation and resentment flowing from my body, he holds out his hand. “Come on. Let me take you somewhere.”
I’m astonished by his changed temperament and several long seconds tick by before I snap out of my daze and put my hand in his, fingers locking together as a small smile pulls his lips up.
It’s odd that I don’t see that smug, arrogant smile nearly as often as when he first captured me.
It’s as though a different side of him is emerging, transforming his usual mannerisms.
He turns, leading me from the only room I’ve known for five long days, which seems more like five years as the time slowly drags on. Especially since the days are getting shorter, causing the darkness to settle in longer.
My eyes scan over my surroundings as I trail behind him, studying the mocha colored walls, the plush beige carpet, the large, colorful paintings of nature hanging on the walls, breaking up the monotony and the number of closed doors we pass on our journey.
When we reach the center of the hallway, a wide stairway is on my right, the gleaming mahogany banister shining from the early morning light pouring through the windows downstairs.
I’m only able to catch a glimpse of the downstairs and a couple of large windows as I pass by, but the light-colored walls and white trim brighten up the lower floor considerably.
William stops, pressing a few buttons on the keypad beneath the door handle, then opens it, pulling me through the doorway and into another room. He doesn’t provide me much time to look around, continuing to guide me to another door that resembles a closet.
When he opens it, a large stairway emerges, the steps a dark mocha colored wood, the risers a light mosaic of beige and light gray-colored tiles. The stairway curves slightly at the bottom and then straightens as it leads up to the large landing.
I lock eyes with him, his gaze watchful, absorbing my reaction to this space. He motions for me to go ahead of him and I suck in a breath of fearful anticipation, wondering what the door at the top leads to.
