I had to think.
Someone kidnapped me. Maybe I could run to the window and start screaming for help. Maybe someone would call the police and I could get away like that. Or maybe I could jump out the window and land on the sidewalk. I was on the second floor, maybe if I dangled then dropped I might be able to get away.
I heard something jostle the door back out in the main room. I stood up, steadied myself on the vanity, and took a step toward the bed. I stared as the door swung open.
He stepped into the room.
I felt my heart racing. He was tall and muscular. He wore a dark suit, no tie, just the top button undone. His dark hair was tussled and messy, and there were heavy bags under his eyes like he hadn’t slept. He was handsome, gorgeous really, and I hated myself for having that thought. But he tilted his head and didn’t move as I took a step back, terror running down my spine.
“You’re up,” he said.
“Who are you?” I asked.
“My name is Steven,” he said. “What do you remember from last night?”
“You shot me.” I stared at him, heart beating so fast I thought I might fall over. “You… you shot me.”
He clenched his jaw. “That was a mistake,” he said. “You weren’t meant to be there.”
“But I was. And then you took me… is this your house?”
“I live here,” he said.
“And that doctor. Who was that doctor?”
“His name is Dr. Chen,” he said. “He’s a good man and a good doctor. He says you’ll be fine, although you should take it easy and take an antibiotic, just to be safe. I filled your prescription already, it’s downstairs.”
I shook my head and stepped into the room. I felt like I might fall over, like the floor was rushing up at my face. He stepped to me and took my arm. I didn’t have the strength to fight him as he guided me to the bed and sat me down on the edge.
“It’s okay,” he said. “Take it easy. I got you.”
“Get off me,” I said. “Get… get your hands off me.”
He stepped back and looked at me. I leaned back on my hands and took some deep breaths, trying to get myself under control. He stood there and watched me without moving, his arms crossed over his chest, his gaze intense and terrifying.
“Please let me go,” I said.
He looked back at me for a long moment. He didn’t smile, didn’t react at all, almost like I hadn’t said anything.
“Come downstairs,” he said. “Have some coffee, maybe some breakfast. We can talk some more.”
He turned and walked to the door.
“Wait,” I said. “You’re going to let me go, right? I won’t… I won’t tell anyone. I promise, I swear I won’t.”
He paused in the doorway and looked back at me.
“Come downstairs, Colleen Colley,” he said. “We need to talk.”
He disappeared around the corner without another word.
I felt a sob rip itself from my chest. I clenched my jaw and nearly bit my tongue open forcing the tears away. I wouldn’t cry, not right now. I had to keep myself together or else I wasn’t going to get through this.
At the very least, I knew he didn’t want me dead, not yet. If he wanted me to die, he would’ve finished me last night while I was unconscious. That meant he had some other use for me, and maybe it would be worse than death, but I couldn’t let myself go down that road just yet.
I stood up, took a few deep, calming breaths, then walked to the bedroom door.
I stood and looked down a short hall. The floors were a light brown wood and looked new. The walls were a light beige color. There was an end table to the left in front of a mirror, and flowers sat in a vase on top of it. There was another door across from mine, another door beyond that, and a staircase leading down at the far right end of the hall.
I walked to the stairs. There was another door on the right, a bathroom on the left, and stairs leading up in the far left corner. I hesitated at the top of the steps leading down, but slowly took them, inching my way forward. My shoulder hurt with each step, but it wasn’t so bad and I forced myself to ignore the pain.
The downstairs surprised me. It was bright and airy. The front window curtains were pushed back, and the early morning sun streamed inside. There were low leather couches with big, fluffy cushions, a flat screen television mounted on the wall, and an industrial style coffee table on top of a gray rug with red and blue geometric patterns.
I looked to the left and saw a long wooden kitchen table, some bookshelves with leather bound books lined up in neat rows and a few framed pictures lining the walls. Beyond the table was the kitchen, and I spotted Steven standing in front of the stove, moving something over a burner.
I thought about running. I looked at the front door and saw that it had multiple locks, and they were all shut tight. Maybe I could rip the chains free, but I didn’t think I’d get it all unlocked before Steven ran in and grabbed me. I could scream and someone might hear, but I didn’t know what he’d do to me if I began to make problems.
So I turned and walked toward the kitchen. The smell of coffee and bacon filled the downstairs. I saw photographs of Steven when he was younger, arms around the shoulders of some other guys out in a park. There were more landscape photographs on the walls, and I got the sense that they were all taken by the same person.
He turned and looked at me. A small smile played at the corner of his full lips.
“Take a seat,” he said. “Want some food? I
