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CHAPTER FOUR

“Can you remember who you were, before the world told you who you should be?”

~ Charles Bukowski

Em

The door creaked open, and I flinched at the streak of light that was let in.

“You can come up now.” The voice was stern, but being without light or sound for three days, it could have been a whisper and been too loud.

I stood from where I sat on the tattered old mattress and made my way up the stairs. While in the basement, I’d walked around so my legs didn’t cramp, but I was thirsty and starving and halfway up the stairs, my head spun.

“Hurry up,” they snapped, and I double-timed it so they wouldn’t shut the door on me.

That had happened to me a few times—I’d been tricked into thinking I was being released, but at the last minute someone would cackle and slam the door shut.

The basement led to the kitchen. The chef was at the stove, his little minions all doing his bidding. No one paid me any mind; they rarely did. I followed Jim, the butler, through the room, relishing in the aroma of whatever was being cooked.

“Master and Mistress Brookes will see you in the library.”

I didn’t say anything; it was better that way. If I only spoke when I was asked a question, it was safer. I hoped to get this part over with quickly, so I could scrounge up something to eat.

Jim opened the French doors that led to the library. It used to be my favorite room in this ridiculously big house. I could hide in the stacks, and it was two floors. I used to pretend I was a prisoner being held by two evil serpents, and I was desperately waiting for my prince to come rescue me.

Alas, no prince has done so, but the part with the two evil serpents was true.

“Em.”

I lifted my head at the sound of my name. Shyla sounded happy to see me, but she was likely drunk and had forgotten I existed until now. She had long blond hair, absolutely dyed. I wasn’t sure what she originally looked like, but she had more plastic in her body than a Mattel factory.

“Mistress Brookes.” I dipped my head, knowing she loved the respect.

“Do you understand why you were punished?” A much more cruel voice spoke from my left. Ramsey Brookes. Hair brown like chocolate, eyes black like death, and while he had no work done on him, he was in great shape and unfortunately was handsome.

“I do, Master Brookes.”

“I’ve been thinking about what you told me the other night after you returned from the errand. You explained that there was an issue getting a cab, and then some man was getting mugged, which caused you to take a different route, which is why you were late?”

“Yes, sir.” I wasn’t going to tell them that I’d helped men get murdered or helped strangers.

“Interesting, and where was this mugging?”

“A few blocks from the gallery.”

“I see.”

His tone told me he didn’t believe me, but he had no proof so he’d hoped I’d slip up. That wouldn’t happen.

When I’d arrived home, I’d gone straight to the study and handed him the envelope. Thinking I’d done exactly as I was instructed, I went to leave only to be stopped and told I was late. All I knew was that I’d needed to be at the gallery by a certain time, not back home, so I was confused.

I’d tried to come up with a story that Ramsey would no doubt believe, but he’d been in a mood and had sequestered me to the basement for a time yet to be determined.

“Why didn’t you call, like, Uber or something?” Shyla inquired, her head tilted to the side.

“I should have. I thought it would be faster to walk than to wait for a car.”

“But you were wrong.” Ramsey pursed his lips. “Isn’t that right?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Say it,” he spat.

I took a deep breath. “I was wrong.”

“Yes, you were.” He lifted a tumbler to his mouth and swallowed the amber liquid down. “You know, Em, whenever I think you’re finally going to be useful, you show just how useless you truly are. Honestly, I don’t know why I keep you around.”

I wasn’t sure what to say to that. He wasn’t asking me a question, so if I did say something and should’ve stayed quiet, it wouldn’t end well. If I was silent and he expected a response, I was also fucked.

“Darling, we have company coming in an hour. We should wrap this up.” Shyla stood, a little wobbly, but composed herself quickly. “I’m going to get dressed; don’t dawdle.”

She walked past me, faltering a beat and pushing me to the side. She didn’t say excuse me or sorry—I wasn’t sure she knew those kinds of words.

Ramsey sighed. “Go to your room. Don’t come out while I have people here.” He waved me away, and I was all too happy to comply.

My room was at the far end of the house, the floor above where the staff slept. It wasn’t a very big room, but I had a bed, a dresser, a nightstand, and a small bathroom. There was a window that showed the backyard, and that was about it.

I pushed my nightstand and kneeled. After Ramsey and Shyla began withholding food and locking me up, I’d hoard it any chance I got. I stored it under a loose piece of wood beneath the nightstand.

There was enough room for me to hold a good number of nonperishables. Every so often, Ramsey did surprise room inspections. But those consisted of going through drawers, looking under the bed, that sort of thing. No one had ever tried pulling up flooring.

I grabbed a bottle of water, a bag of beef jerky, and one of the small boxes of rice cereal. That would be enough.

I didn’t have a television, but my phone had apps, so I pulled up a movie, took my snacks to the bathroom, and hunkered down in the tub. The bathroom had a lock, but my bedroom didn’t, so if anyone surprised me I’d hear them with plenty of time.

I could hear some voices here and there below me, but I concentrated on my show and snacks and tried to get whisked away to another place.

There were a few loud booms of laughter downstairs that threatened to pull me out, but I slid lower in the tub, ate my jerky, and watched the action flick.

After it was over, I took my garbage, wrapped it in toilet paper, and tucked it in the bottom of my trash bin beneath the other garbage there. Then I showered, dressed in sweats, and slid under the covers.

I often wondered at what moment Ramsey had decided he hated me. I honestly couldn’t think of a time he didn’t. Ever since I was a little kid he had a sort of disdain for me. Always whispered to Shyla how he didn’t like me, thought I was useless…I mean I was five when he said that the first time. Five . What child of that age really proves their worth in the world?

I didn’t know how I’d come to live with Ramsey and Shyla. All I knew was that it was before I could form memories and that I was definitely not welcome.

I shook my head of those wandering thoughts. Ramsey’s guests tended to stay a while, and no one ever bothered me when he was entertaining, so I closed my eyes and drifted off to sleep. My dreams for the last few days brought me right back to that night, that man, and the way he’d looked at me.

He was no prince, but I wouldn’t mind being rescued by him.