I got to my feet and tied the blanket around me like a toga. “I doubt there’s anything in the kitchen…” I walked inside and looked around, seeing the old-fashioned decor, the kitchen island made of solid wood, the small fridge like that looked as though it was installed sometime in the sixties. The kitchen wasn’t built for a fridge, so it stuck out like it didn’t belong.
She followed me to the door, shifting her neck but not stepping into the confined space.
“What do horses eat?” I moved to the pantry and started to open doors. It was mostly canned goods. “Hay? Oats?” I kept looking, finding old boxes of cereal, mostly expired products. Then I found a large container of plain oats. “Yes!” I held up the container to her. “Look what I found.”
She stared at me blankly, her eyes wiggling.
I found another large pot and emptied the entire container inside before I carried it back to her pot of water, which was empty. There were horse droppings around, along with puddles of urine. My living conditions had been terrible, so I didn’t blink an eye over it. “Here.”
She walked over, dropped her neck to smell it, and then started to munch.
“I’m glad you like it.” I rubbed her neck while she ate. “I need to give you a name. I’m sure you already have one, but they probably named you something stupid.” I searched for something pretty, because she was a beautiful brown horse with a light-colored mane. “How about Rose? That was my mother’s name.”
She continued to eat.
I patted her on the neck. “No objection? Rose, it is.”
19
Rose
I was too afraid to let Rose outside because the guards might still be looking for me, so I continued to give her water and scavenge for things to feed her. When the droppings and puddles became too much, I cleaned them up and threw them outside, but she always seemed to be making droppings, so I could never really stay on top of it.
I explored the rest of the chateau, which was two stories tall. It was like stepping into a history book, moving through narrow staircases, outdated bathrooms, the hard stone covered with rugs that seemed just as ancient as when the place was built. The bedrooms had four-poster beds with comforters with floral prints. When I ran my hand across them, dust covered my palm until it was black.
This place was extremely untouched.
There were old paintings on the walls, mainly of landscapes, or French aristocracy long before the new world had been fully explored. I searched through the house and examined everything because I had nothing else to do.
Every time I went upstairs, Rose waited at the bottom and remained until I returned.
I hoped to find a laptop or cell phone. The only people I could call right now were the police, and I didn’t even know where I was to give them directions. Magnus said he would return me to Paris, so that seemed pointless. But I did have friends who were worried about me, so they’d like to know I was okay. But I didn’t have their numbers memorized, so that wouldn’t work either. Using the internet to send someone a message would be my best chance at contact.
But I didn’t find anything.
I discovered the room Magnus used because it was the only room in the house where the bed was unmade. It was a master suite with its own bathroom, and it had windows that overlooked the tree line. I pulled back the curtains to take a look from this elevation.
In the daylight, I could see the trees and the plains. I could even see the river. But everything beyond that was a blur. There were patches of snow everywhere because it was too cold to melt it all away, and a lot of the trees still had the white powder on their branches. I closed the curtain then explored the closet.
It was empty.
Then I started opening the drawers in the dressers.
There was some clothing, but not much.
There were a couple pairs of fresh boxers, so I pulled one on. I found black sweatpants, so I put a pair of those on too, along with a gray t-shirt. Everything draped down my body like a curtain, and the pants struggled to stay up, so I had to tie them as tight as possible and make a double knot to keep them in place.
He had toiletries in the bathroom, like a razor, shaving cream, shampoo and conditioner, a comb, and a hair dryer. The chateau had mirrors in every bathroom, so it was the first time I actually saw my own image.
I didn’t recognize myself.
The weight loss had changed the shape of my face. The fatigue caused slight bags under my eyes. The direct sunlight for hours at a time gave my skin a tan I didn’t normally have. When I lifted up my shirt to see my stomach, I saw the outline of a six-pack, a curvature of my body that made me look ready for the beach. I’d never been in shape in my entire life, so it was a different look for me. When I turned around to look at my back, I stilled at all the scars from where I’d healed. I was covered in bumps and streaks from the way the loose skin healed together.
It was ugly.
I didn’t look again.
I should be thankful I was alive. I should be thankful I escaped.
My appearance was insignificant.
I took advantage of the toiletries to really wash my hair, comb it, and dry it.
My hair felt so much lighter. It framed my face differently and improved my looks too.
It made me feel like me again…a bit.
I looked through the kitchen and made whatever I could find. The food wasn’t as good as it was at the camp, but I’d gladly eat expired soup as a free woman than a gourmet meal made by my captors.
I came across
