Blood Debt (Touched Series Book 1) (34 page)

Chapter
2
6

Camille

I had four assigned guards
who rotated their shifts
.  I was never left alone – even while asleep, watchful eyes were there.  Each
remained
under strict orders not to speak with me, not to answer any questions I asked, and above all, not to let me out of their sight.

My first week was the toughest.  Each time I attempted to go to an area of the house that I was forbidden from
, I found myself in some sort of physical pain as a deterrent.  One guard used pressure points
;
he was by far the most humane of the four.  The other
day
guard was quick to grab me by the nape of my neck and shove me in the direction of his choosing.  Although none ever left a mark, it was clear that each one took
his
job very seriously and had no intention of letting me go farther than I was allowed. 

That first week I fought them at every turn.  I refused to dress in the elaborate outfits to go sit in a formal dining room by myself for dinner.  After several days
,
the only conclusion I could draw was that if I didn’t dress for dinner and make my way downstairs when directed – I wouldn’t eat.  A couple mornings I had tried to sleep late
;
Aragon tipped the entire mattress up so that my body spilled out onto the floor.  In protest, I grabbed a blanket and a pillow and curled up on the floor.  I was not willing to go to the garden for another lesson from Zandra – A
ragon carried me in my pajamas to the garden and set me down on a bench. 

By the
afternoon
of my seventh day
,
I knew no one was coming to rescue me
-
I had to plot my own escape
.  The frosted window in
my
bathroom was small, but I
was sure
I could squeeze through it.  It had been nailed shut, but that didn’t stop me.  I kept a butter knife from a breakfast tray and used it to pry the nails loose.  The sound of the running water masked the complaints from the nails as I pried them free. 
I opened the window only to see there was no ledge to step onto.  The bathtub was full and I was fully clothed.  I needed a rope or bed sheets or something.  When I emerged from the bathroom
,
the guard made eye contact with me but quickly looked away.  I walked over to the side of the bed and grabbed my book, “You might as well get comfortable,” I motioned to the chairs, “I’ll be in there a while.” 

A change of sheets was
lying
on the corner of the bed;
I was able to grab
one
without the guard realizing.  I tucked it close to me and balanced the book so it would obscure that I was carrying
the sheet
if the guard happened to look my way. 
The guard didn’t flinch.  
Once back in the bathroom,
I ripped
the sheet into
thirds, then knotted it every foot for added strength.  I secured one end to the claw f
oot
on the bottom of the ancient bathtub and threw the rest of it out the window. 

I scraped both
of
my hips pulling myself through the window, but I didn’t care.  It was my first taste of freedom in almost a week
– I could feel my heart racing
.  The height of the
window
scared the crap out of me, but
the sheet allowed me to get ten feet closer to the ground.  I dropped and rolled onto the lush grass.  I knew I’d never make it on foot
,
so
I crept around the house toward the
garage.  I
sn
eaked
around each corner, careful not to let anyone see me.  I made it all the way to the garage door
;
when it swung open
,
I heard, “Out for an afternoon stroll?”

Zandra stood just inside the garage with a very large man I’d never met before.
  Not wasting one bit of the adrenaline coursing through my body,
“You can’t keep me here!” I spat out,
refusing
to be any more of a victim than I’d already been.

“Can’t I?  Camille, I am your guardian
.  You don’t get to
simply decide
to leave.”

“I just did.”

“Ahhh, I see.”  She gracefully crossed her arms in front of her and quietly responded, “It would be a shame for you to leave before I believe you’re ready.  It might even be considered disrespectful.  If I were to be disrespected by you, in this community, you can be assured a debt would be owed.”

A debt?  What kind of a debt would I owe her?  Smearing her reputation couldn’t result in a blood debt, could it? 
“You kidnapped me!  You’ve
kept
me here against my will.  I just want to go back to my family.”

“I
am
your family
,
you ungrateful nag
.  You decide
: 
do you want one of your half
brothers to pay your debt for leaving my estate without permission, for stealing one of my cars
, for
tarnishing my good name
?
  I can see now you do not possess the strength you
r
mother had
.  S
he would never have allowed another to pay her debt.
  I still believe that if Kyle Richardson had demanded a blood debt when he was wronged, she would have returned to pay it herself.
”

My stomach cinched tight
. 
I couldn’t stand the though
t
of Brent, Bart, Bruce, B
e
n
or Beau being penalized for my action
s
.
  I wanted to leave this place, but not at their expense.
  I put my head down
and took myself back to my room without another word.  I hated it here, I hated this woman, but I would never fall into her trap.  I’d become a model prisoner and pray for an early release.
 
  

I found myself wishing I had never called Will. 
I w
ish
ed
I had stayed hidden in California, working my job as a cashier, living in a shoebox of an apartment, free to go to the ocean or the mountains – whenever I chose.  My father’s home had been more like a fairy tale, something dreamt up by Disney himself: a family
who
loved me, an ancestry I never knew
,
and endless possibilities for life.  Meeting Will, Gretchen
,
and my brothers seemed like a blessing – truly a life that I had always craved.  But reality was I had known their joy for a week. 
I kept watch on the front gate, hoping
Will would
come driving through to take me back to his house.  He never did.  Did he even know where I was? 

Shortly after my a
ttempted escape
,
I found myself prying at that loose baseboard in the closet
.  T
he thing jammed into the
plaster
was a diary
;
written in flowing
c
alligraphy across the front was the name
Angel
a
Chiron
.  
The diary’s cover was made of leather and was locked with a key.  Sure that my mother would want me to read whatever she had written, I used a wire hanger to pry the lock open. 
The first entry
was written in smooth flowing handwriting
: 
I recognized it instantly as my mother’s. 

Entry One Sep 21 – My engagement was just announced – Kyle Richardson.  I didn’t care who she chose
.  L
iving with the devil himself would be better than my mother.  She’s got it in her head that I won’t go through with it
.  S
he ha
s
no idea how deep my hatred is for her and this prison.  Father came to my room last night and gave me this diary
.  H
e said it would be better for me to write my words down than to say them to my mother.  Just once, I wish he would stand up to her.  Just once I’d like for him to tell her to go to hell where she belongs.

The next several entries were of little value
,
so I flipped a few pages and found
:

Entry Twelve Oct 2 – I met Kyle today.
Truthfully, I had expected a monster.
  It didn’t take long for him to decide
mother
was completely unstable.  He wanted to return home to try to convi
n
ce h
i
s father to speed up
our wedding date.  He told me if it was within his power
,
he’d marry me today and get me out of here.  I’m sure he felt sorry for me – the wounds on my neck were scabbed and bloody
again from her tirade this morning
.
  I knew I looked a fright
.  T
rying to cover my neck with a scarf didn’t do any good as the blood seeped through the bright yellow
material
.
 
He said he’d be back every day until we were married.

This entry threw me for a loop
. 
I wondered if she was some sort of a vampire?  Why would my mother’s neck be scabbed and bloody? Zandra was so wrapped up in Greek Mythology but had never mentioned vampires, werewolves or any creatures from the night
.  M
y imagination began running wild
.

Entry Thirteen Oct 3 –
Angelo
was at it again today.  He’s as evil as mother.  I overheard that he’d attacked a woman in town
.  I sat all day looking o
ut
my window, hoping the authorities would come take him away
– no one ever came
.  Kyle stopped by again today.  He’s so kind
.  W
hen no one was looking
,
he gave me some medicine for the wounds on my neck.  Only two more weeks
,
and I’ll be able to leave this place with him
– and never look back
.
 

The guard knocked on my closet door
and about made me jump out of my skin
. 
“Just a second, I’m getting dressed!” I answered before he could open the door and catch me with the diary. 
I tucked the
book behind the drawers, inside the dresser, and pushed the baseboard where I’d found it, back securely against the wall. 

I found a long forgotten crayon that lay dusty in a corner.  On the inside of the closet, near the floor
,
I made
a
series of
tick mark
s – one for each day I’d spent in this place
.  I didn’t know how long I would be kept here, and knew I needed some method to keep track of the time. 
I
didn’t know
why my mother ran away
or
why she
had given
up everything that was her birthright
,
but hopefully the diary would reveal truths to me that I couldn’t find anywhere else. 

I couldn’t be sure, but from their strength, I believed the guards to be Centaurs.  The servants didn’t talk to me
either;
I wasn’t even sure if they spoke English, but I wasn’t as frightened of them, so I assumed they were human.     

Each morning, no matter the weather,
Zandra
and I
met in her gardens.  She taught me about Greek Mythology with the same reverence my high school Civics teacher taught me about Democracy.  The first few weeks were all her telling me stories, but eventually she waited to tell me a new story until after I had repeated the story to her from the day before.
  There were never conversations
;
she didn’t spend time with me anywhere but the gardens and only for an hour each morning.
   

There was no telephone, no
television, no
internet – there were plenty of
servants
, but the only
person
who
would speak to me was
Zandra
.  I had read enough about Stockholm’s syndrome
to know
I
would
eventually feel some sort of a bond with her, just because she was the only one to show me even the smallest sliver of kindness by
speaking to
me.  The solitude of
Zandra
’s home was deafening.  The only part of the day I looked forward to was my garden time with my captor
and the few moments I could steal in my closet reading my mother’s thoughts
in her diary
.