Uncovering You 5: Confessions (9 page)

It strikes me immediately that this is not the type of place I would ever expect to find Stonehart. These are not the people I would ever expect him to keep company with.

And, quickly shifting my eyes to him and back, I see that I’m right. The change in his expression is subtle, but I’ve become such an expert at picking up his intricacies that, to me, it’s clear as day.

I see it in the added rigidness of his stance. In the tiny tightness around his eyes. In the way his lips purse, ever so slightly, as if he’s just heard a tactless joke.

All that, I take in in the blink of an eye. What I find next alarms me more.

Not all is right in the festivities. I look at the exits leading away from the lobby and discover each one manned by a stationary guard. None is uniformed. But I can tell—from their standoffish demeanor, from the way their eyes glaze over the crowd, from the distracted way they interact with those nearby—that that is who they are.

Other things stand out, too. Small, subtle things, but they are enough to make the hairs on the back of my arms stand on end.

For example. The windows. The latches are outfitted with big, solid locks. Without a key, there’s no way anybody would be able to open them from inside. They are not barred the way they might be in a prison, but the locks undoubtedly serve the same purpose.

What kind of place needs to have a lock-and-key mechanism on the windows from the
inside
?

I also see, cleverly hidden behind the various decorations on the walls, poster boards with thick lines of text. I can’t make all the words out, but the font and spacing reminds me of the instruction boards found in pools: No Running Allowed, No Diving in The Shallow End, that sort of thing.

Last of all is the fact that our arrival has generated absolutely no notice whatsoever. None of the people so much as glanced our way when we walked through the doors. And, based on our clothes alone, we should definitely be worthy of attention.

“Here,” Stonehart says, turning me to the side and starting toward one of those manned exits. “Come this way, Lilly.”

We stay to the outside of the throng of people. Not only do none of them look our way, but I notice two or three consciously lower their eyes when we come close.

The strangeness of it all definitely has me on edge.

Stonehart makes brief eye contact with the man I’d pegged as a security guard, and we walk past him with no comment or interaction. The hallway that we come upon is eerily abandoned.

As we get farther and farther away from the lobby, a haunting silence starts to replace the previous din. Stonehart doesn’t speak. Soon, the only thing I can hear is the sound of my heels striking the linoleum floor.

We turn a corner to a second empty hall. This one, however, has doors lining the sides. It reminds me of the hallways found in an apartment or hotel. There’s a hint of staleness to the air. I shiver.

“What is this place?” I ask softly.

Stonehart’s eyes flash at me. He does not answer, but that single look is enough for me to know that something is terribly, terribly wrong.

All of a sudden, the collar feels like it’s attached to a countdown timer that will go off whether I abide by Jeremy’s rules or not. Whether I stay within my boundaries or not.

“Jeremy?” I try, desperate to hear a single word out of him that might quell the panic building inside me. “Where are we?”

“In a place I’ve waited a long time to show you,” he says. His voice is neither warm nor cold. But his eyes… his eyes terrify me.

They have the same glimmer of madness I saw when I met him at the restaurant for dinner so many months ago. The glimmer that hints at his cruelty, at his sadism, at a trap being laid. The glimmer that tells me he is in absolute control, and about to unleash some unknown horror my way.

“Right here, Lilly-flower,” he says, stopping outside a door. My breaths are coming in quick succession. Sweat trickles down my back. And Stonehart’s arm around my waist serves as the sturdiest shackle in the world. “We have finally arrived.”

Stonehart steps forward, releasing me. He brings his wrist near the handle. A whirring sound fills the air, and the lock clicks open.

The last thing I see before Stonehart pushes open the door are the initials
P.H.
engraved on a tiny golden plaque right where the eyehole should be.

On the other side is a small room. Stonehart guides me in with a bit of pressure on my back.

It’s occupied. There is a man inside, sitting on the bed, facing away from us. Like everyone else so far¸ he does not look our way when we enter.

The door closes by itself behind us. The whirring sounds again, making me jump. We’re locked in.

Only when the sounds fade does the man stir.

His head swivels toward us slowly. Lethargically. Like all the energy and life has been sapped out of him.

I notice his hair is speckled with grey. The skin on his neck is sallow. He is thin. Very, very thin.

His profile comes into view. The moment it does, my knees give out. Stonehart’s arm tightens around my waist, holding me up. He does not let me fall.

I barely notice. The man. I know that man. It’s—

“Hello, Paul,” Stonehart says.

I don’t know what to think. I stare, aghast. Terrified.

Paul’s eyes sweep over me without recognition. Of course not. Last time he saw me, I was an eleven-year-old girl. Aside from that forest rescue, he never paid much attention to what I did.

But I recognize him. Of course I do, after my first stint in the dark. That was when the suppressed memory—the real memory—of my fall came back.

I remember it clearly. It comes to me now. Paul’s face, appearing in the gap above my head and blotting out the sun. That blasted crow. Paul, extending his arm, reaching for me beneath the earth. The words that come from his mouth:

“Give me your hand, child!”

Comparing the face I remember to the one I see before me now fills me with immeasurable dread. The underlying features are the same. He has the same wide jaw. The big, black eyes. The prominent forehead.

But the
vis vitae
, that critical life force that grants a person his personality… all of that has changed.

He has deep circles under his eyes. His cheeks are hollow. Gaunt. The skin beneath his eyes is slack, like he lost too much weight too fast. His complexion is ghostly white. He looks like he hasn’t seen the sun in years.

The one thing I always remembered about Paul was that he was a big man. He had shoulders like a lumberjack, and a hearty laugh that could fill an entire room.

But this man… this version of Paul that I see before me… possesses none of those things. His eyes are empty and joyless. His girth is gone. He looks worse than a shell of the man I remember. He looks like a distant shadow. A specter. A wraith.

It’s all too much for me. A wave of dizziness hits, and I sag against Stonehart like an ice cream cone left too long in the sun.

Paul’s dim eyes focus on Stonehart. He blinks, as if in disbelief. And then his face lights up in pure joy.

He scrambles to his feet, suddenly full of energy, suddenly full of life. “Doctor Telfair,” he exclaims. “It’s you. It’s really you!”

“Yes, Paul,” Stonehart says gently. “It’s really me.”

“But… but how?” Paul stutters. “Why? I thought, after all these years, that you’d forgotten about me.”

“No,” Stonehart says. “I don’t forget my friends, and I keep my promises. You must forgive me if my visits have been less frequent than I envisioned. I’ve been occupied.”

“O-of course,” Paul says. “I know you’re a very important man. Why should you make time for little old me? But, truly…” he stops in front of Stonehart, staring at him with all kinds of adoration, “…it’s an honor to see you again, sir.”

“Please,” Stonehart says. “You don’t need to be so formal. We’re all friends here, aren’t we?”

“And you brought a companion,” Paul says. His eyes dart to me. But, they never make it all the way to my face. He looks back at Stonehart before I can blink. “A beautiful woman, sir. I haven’t had the pleasure of a lady’s company in a very, very long time."

He reaches up and smooths his frazzled hair. “I’m… I’m afraid I don’t know exactly how to act,” he confides.

“Why Paul,” Stonehart says, smiling wide, “you should relax. My guest and I came here to see you. Invite us to have a seat. Perhaps a cup of tea?”

“Oh, certainly, certainly,” Paul mumbles, making an awkward bow. He licks his lips, clears his throat, and speaks in an oratory way. “Would you please sit with me? I’ve just put the kettle on. We will have hot tea in a minute.”

He blinks, snapping out of the trance, and looks at Stonehart in the way an eager boy might at his father when he’s searching for approval.

“How did I do?” he asks, his voice returning to normal.

“Very well,” Stonehart says. “I am pleased. And my guest and I will both graciously accept your kind offer.”

Paul smiles and bows his head. He sweeps his hand low in an obsequious way, showing us our path.

By now, I’ve had enough time to recover. I take stock of the tiny room. There is the bed on which we found Paul. A small window is set in the opposite wall. It does not look like it can be opened. There’s a single armchair, bolted to the floor. A small bookshelf, reaching only halfway to the ceiling, stands beside a reading lamp, which is also secured. There is a desk with a neat collection of notebooks on top, along with a wheeled office chair of dark leather.

That’s it. There’s nothing more. I spy some expendable drawers peeking out from beneath the bed, which I take store some of Paul’s belongings.

But the kettle? It’s nowhere to be found. I don’t even see an outlet other than the one for the lamp.

Paul directs us to his bed. I sit down with Stonehart in a daze, then watch, stunned, scared, and silent, as Paul starts preparing three invisible cups of invisible tea using an invisible tea kettle.

He brings the first cup to Stonehart, cradling it in his hands as if it were as precious as a newborn babe. Stonehart indulges the illusion, playing along so far to even bring the cup to his lips and pretend to take a sip.

“This is very good tea,” he murmurs. Paul glances over his shoulder and smiles at the praise. Then, he carries the next cup to me.

My stomach is in knots. Time slows to a standstill as he hands it over. He keeps his eyes down. “Careful now,” he murmurs. “It’s very hot.”

I say something barely intelligible as I accept. Both my hands are shaking. My nerves are shot.

I know why things felt off in the common room. And I know, now, why Stonehart gave me the warning he did before we entered.

We are not simply in some gated community. We are in a mental institution.

What happened to Paul? How did he end up here? And, most important of all: what does he have to do with Stonehart?

I’m not ashamed to admit that, at this moment, I am more afraid than I have ever been in my life. Being trapped in the dark, even the first time, when I had no idea of the identity of my captor, does not compare.

It’s a different, more menacing type of fear that consumes me now. The way Paul responds to Stonehart, the title he gives him, the way Stonehart sprang this on me, the way he lured me here with promises of a public dinner and all that bullshit about trust…

Obviously it means something. Just like my captivity means something. Stonehart and I have a shared past. But, it’s one that only he knows.

That is what scares me most. I’ve now seen the extent to which Stonehart will go to to get what he wants. He chose me for a reason, and I’m certain that that reason is going to be revealed very soon.

The reason is not what I’m worried about. Stonehart’s
intentions
are. I see Paul before me, a ghost from my past, downtrodden, subservient, mentally damaged, and it makes me wonder…

Am I next?

“Go on, Lilly.” Stonehart’s voice pulls me from my dark contemplations. “Take the tea. Paul brews one mean cup.”

On hearing my name, Paul goes shock-still. I hear him draw a sharp intake of breath.

“Lilly…” he says, frozen in spot. “Did you just say… Lilly?”

My eyes dart from Paul to Stonehart. The man beside me has a look of utter triumph on his face.

“That’s right, Paul,” he confirms. His hand tightens on my knee. “I did. She is the guest I brought for you today.”

“Not…” Paul’s hands are at his sides. They’re shaking harder than mine did when he handed me the imaginary tea cup. “Lilly…
Ryder?”

He remembers me,
I think.

“Yes,” Stonehart says. “The one and the same.”

I can feel him reveling in this moment.

“I promised you that you would see her when I left you here. Do you remember?”

“I—I do,” Paul stutters. He turns to us. His eyes hover on me for a moment before going straight to Stonehart. “Of course I do. Remember? Hah!” he laughs. “I think about it every day. I think of
her
every single day. But I… I never expected such a gift. Such a magnificent gift. Th-thank you. Thank you, Doctor Telfair, sir!”