I reach the front door, my legs wobbling underneath me. I feel so lost. I don’t even know how I’m going to get to the police station. I wish Harry were here. I need to find him. Wherever he is, I’m sure he’ll help me. I don’t believe what that letter said about him having done bad things.
As soon as I get out of here, I’m going straight to the police and I’m going to find Harry.
I reach for the lock on the front door. But then my hand stops, inches short. There’s a lock, but not one that you turn from the inside. Instead, there’s a keyhole.
Oh God, this door is locked from the inside. I can’t get out.
I turn the knob, hoping this is some sort of mistake. It’s not. I can’t get out of this house without the key to the lock on the door.
I’m trapped here.
“Tess?”
I whirl around. Graham is standing there, holding a spatula in his right hand. He raises his eyebrows at me. “What are you doing, Tess?”
I wipe my sweaty hands on my jeans. “I… I need some fresh air. Could I go out?”
“Maybe after breakfast.” He nods in the direction of the kitchen. “Come on. Let’s eat.”
I could scream. I could try to attack him. But what good would that do? I saw him without his shirt on—he’s a muscular guy and he would have absolutely no problem fending off any attacks from the likes of me. And even if I momentarily disabled him, I can’t leave this house without a key.
Maybe it’s better for him to think I trust him. For now.
“Okay,” I say.
When I get into the kitchen, I have to blink a few times. Like the living room, the old skeletal kitchen that used to be falling apart at the seams has now been replaced with… well, my dream kitchen. Not that I’m the sort of person who has a dream kitchen, but God, this kitchen is gorgeous. I sit down at the kitchen island on one of the barstools. There’s a flat rectangular device on the table.
“What’s that?” I ask.
Graham’s lips twitch. “It’s your phone.”
A phone! And not just a phone—it’s one of those iPhones. I always wanted one of those, but it was so far out of our budget. But now, not only do I have my dream kitchen, but I have my dream phone.
But none of that matters. All that matters is that I can call 911 with this phone. I can let the police know that this crazy man is holding me hostage and drugging me and making me live in this house that is… well, gorgeous, but that’s beside the point. I’m trapped here.
And now I can call for help. But I have to wait for the right moment to do it.
There’s a scratching noise coming from the back door, which looks like it also has a keyhole the same as the front door. Graham walks over to the door and reaches into his pocket for the keys. He unlocks the door and a beautiful golden retriever bounds into the kitchen. The dog makes a beeline for me, and for a second, I’m frightened, until the dog licks my hand.
“What…” I manage. “What’s this?”
Graham smiles at me. Despite the words scribbled on my leg, he doesn’t seem evil. He seems like a nice guy. I mean, he’s making me breakfast. And if he were keeping me hostage, why would he give me a phone? This doesn’t quite make sense. But then again, nothing about this situation makes sense.
“This is Ziggy,” he says. “He’s our dog. Your dog. We got him after your accident last year.”
Ziggy. I freeze at the mention of his name. Does Graham realize that’s the same name as Harry’s pet bird? I’m sure he doesn’t. It seems like another secret message I’ve given to myself.
I run my hand over the dog’s fur. The effect is instantly calming. I once read that petting an animal can be a form of therapy. Ziggy pants up at me, his expression almost like a smile. I love him instantly.
Graham scrapes three slices of bacon onto two plates, then gives me a piece of toast that’s mostly black. I watched him cook our breakfast, but there’s no chance I’m eating it. After all, I have no idea what he put in it before I came into the kitchen. Of course, if he’s making himself a plate, it’s unlikely there’s poison in it. But maybe he’s not going to eat it—he’s just going to pretend to eat it. Or maybe he’s been building up immunity to the poison by gradually ingesting trace doses over time.
A ring tone echoes in the kitchen. At first, I think I’ve got a call, but when I look at my phone, the screen is still black. It’s Graham’s phone that’s ringing.