“Yes,” Dad said, and even as the words issued from his lips, his face contorted in disbelief that he’d uttered them. His face was pure confliction. He struggled once more to speak, but only one word came out. “Yes.”
“Simone?” Bollard asked Mom.
She shook her head.
There was another electrical snap, this time louder and stronger.
“Simone?”
Mom’s brows furled, her lips twisted in pain, but she nodded.
My eyes, now the only part of me that moved, looked from Mom to Dad and back again. Their faces were in pain. This wasn’t right at all, and I knew more than ever that I wanted nothing to do with my uncle.
The ringing filled my head. “Waverly, what say you now?”
“Bollie, enough!” Grandma yelled.
The lid of the ice cream container bounced up and down as the rest of the hot cream boiled onto the table.
Grandma stood up. “Stop this!”
He ignored her. “We are running out of time. This is for her own good and the safety of your family.”
Sweat trickled down the center of my face, off the tip of my nose and onto my lips. I wanted to wipe the sweat away, but my hands remained rooted to the table. I tried to open my mouth but found my jaw wasn’t working. Locked.
“Helena,” Bollard said. “I know you understand. This need not be painful, but it must happen. I can do this with or without you.”
My head swayed as invisible flames lick the skin on my arms.
“Fine.” Grandma closed her eyes, and her hands rose. The hot air settled, and when she opened her eyes, a strange calm fell over me.
Calm and tranquil, my world shifted as if someone had flipped a switch. The sulfur smell dissipated, replaced by the smell of ozone after a storm.
I was okay.
Not only was I okay with going with Bollard, in fact, I wanted to go; I felt giddy about the whole thing.
Bollard’s face shone brightly his moment of victory. “Waverly, what say you now?”
I nodded. I turned to see my parents smiling, both clapping.
“Good. Thank you, Helena.” Bollard stood up. “We are leaving now. Say goodbye.”
On autopilot, I stood, a smile plastered on my face. This felt right, mostly, and I did what I was told. I hugged my parents together. “I love you.”
“Have fun,” Mom said.
“Please write,” Dad said.
“We love you,” they both said.
Grandma hugged me and whispered in my ear, “I love you, Princess. I am sorry. Don’t be angry. This is the only way.”
I told her I loved her and that I was so happy to go. This felt natural and like a decision I should have made the whole time. I didn’t even pack; I was too set to go. I grabbed my cell and charger, my purse, my Barton High sweatshirt and we rushed out the door.
Chapter 5
L’Autre Bête
My eyes opened to a sky made of sapphire glass. I stared at the blue ceiling and tried to get my bearings. Where was I? I had no clue. I put my arm before my eyes, confused.
Last night came back inch by inch as I remembered the kitchen and not wanting to go, hating the mere idea, and then changing my mind so thoroughly that all the way to the airport, I only felt happiness. Blissful to the point of idiocy, I walked up the stairs of my uncle’s private jet and then nothing.
I must have passed out then, but that made no sense. On my first plane ride? I shouldn’t have fallen asleep and not only did I sleep throughout the plane ride but also being transferred to a car. Not to mention, I slept through someone (obviously not my uncle) carrying me to this bed and leaving me here.
Things didn’t add up. No matter how much I wrestled with my memories, my brain refused to cooperate. I recalled nothing. It was gone.
The questions in my head piled up, like how I had changed my mind so fast. Impossibly fast. So fast, in fact, I wondered if Uncle Bollard had mind control abilities. I shook my head. Silly. Stupid. Mind control wasn’t real. Besides, I was still happy about going. Well, mostly happy because a slice of my mind, somewhere deep in a crease of my brain, understood this happiness wasn’t right.
As I tried to figure this out, a strange white mist collected right over my head and kept gathering until it created a small cloud. It sank lower and lower. I exhaled and, in a poof, it dissipated, and a cool mist fell to my face.
Were indoor clouds an invention rich people enjoyed that hadn’t made its way to the average home yet?
I sat up and looked around the room. Luxurious. Every piece of furniture—from the bed to the nightstands and chairs—resembled gold trees and bushes. I crawled to a bedpost and ran my hand down the cold surface. Gold. Real gold. How do you find a good furniture set that looks like a gold forest? Not Raymore and Flannigan. Not Ikea.
I got out of the bed and a second larger cloud hovered next to me. This time, I poked it. Mist fell to the icy marble floor, and it tendrilled out to the fireplace, sizzling into the flames, away into the sitting area and up the golden legged sofa and two crimson velvet armchairs, over to the walnut table, and then out and under the four ornate doors.
Uncle Bollard had to be through one of those doors in an adjacent room, and after I figured out where, we required a lengthy discussion about acceptable behavior and expectations.
Door Number 1 led to some strange freezer room with a massage table. A solid pass on that room. My blood ran cool and needed no help to get colder. No uncle; I slammed the door shut.
Door Number 2 opened to a bathroom as big as the downstairs of my home, with a tub the size of a small lap pool. No windows, but a large skylight stretched thirty feet over my head. The sink and mirror had a makeup chair next to it,
