Chapter 18
1356words
The dopamine high I'm on lasts a whole day.
He's going to let me keep the studio!
Well, not keep it keep it; he still plans on owning it. But that's only paperwork. The dance studio won't be bulldozed. It will remain as it was. My memories of that place—and by extension of my father—won't be turned to dust. He'll probably pay for upgrades too! He wants to turn a profit, and I know I can do that with a little extra help. I can't wait until I can go back to teach the students. Mom will faint at the news.
But why did Asher have a change of heart? I've been trying to figure it out since the conversation ended. All I did was tell him the truth about my father. Asher, normally as frozen as an Alaskan mountain, softened as he listened. The sternness around his mouth melted away. He didn't look like the man who threw me inside a car or held me down on a kitchen table by my throat.
Asher looked … human.
'Miss, your bath is ready," Ollie calls out.
Moving from my bed to the bathroom, I meet the girl in the doorway. 'Thank you. I mean it." She beams at my comment. I've been trying to find a middle ground between instructing the house staff to do things for me, as Layla wants, and making sure whatever I ask doesn't take a lot of effort.
I'll never be comfortable bossing the staff around. But it's nice to have people who want to make my life easier. Once Ollie leaves, I shed my clothes, dipping my toe into the hot bubble bath. The suds tingle my nose as I sink in the water, releasing a burst of lavender scent that grows stronger the lower I go.
The heat pushes all the tension from my muscles. Sighing happily, I close my eyes, enjoying the luxury of the huge claw-foot tub. I'm wrinkled to my chin before I climb out of the water. Drying myself, I walk in a lazy daze to the kitchen for something to eat.
I'm alone, and I don't mind. I try to be as quiet as possible to keep the solitude going.
I'm able to find what I need this time. Ollie showed me where the bread was kept. It's in the same cupboard as the jars of peanut butter and rows of different jellies. Slathering stuff on two slices of plush bread, I slap them together. My first mouthful is so big that I can barely chew. I struggle to get the food down and hurry to fill a glass with milk to keep from choking.
One over-stuffed PB&J later, and I'm wandering back toward my room. While I'm licking peanut butter from my thumb, my attention travels to Asher's door. I haven't seen him since our talk. It's late now, past nine in the evening. Is he in there, sleeping? Or is he out of the mansion on some dangerous Bratva mission?
Something compels me to walk to his door. Putting my ear there, I listen curiously. Nothing. Dead silence. With a frown, I back away. Whether he's unconscious or not home, the result is the same. Fewer eyes are on me … which means less oversight.
The stairway at the end of the hall beckons. Peering over my shoulder to confirm I'm alone, I approach the bottom step. My hand rests on the slick banister as I gaze upward to the higher level. The fact Asher told me not to go up there has me more intrigued than ever.
If he doesn't find out, what's the harm?
My weight settles on the first step; the wood doesn't creak. This mansion is built solidly. Encouraged by my ability to be soundless, I creep to the third level of the house. Canvas paintings hang on the walls along the stairwell. The stretch of hallway at the top looks no different than the rest of the floors. The landing mirrors the one by my room. As I begin to explore, though, it's clear there is something unique about this place.
Turning my head from side to side, studying each closed door, it takes me a second to realize what it is. There's no one up here at all. I don't feel the sensation of eyes on the back of my head.
Asher told me not to come here … and I think he told everyone else the same thing.
I open a few doors, sneaking a quick peek inside. Nothing stands out to me; a few studies, an empty bedroom, a bathroom with the same color tiles as my own. Near the end of the hall, I open one more door on a whim.
Peering inside, I let out a tiny gasp.
Every place I've been in Asher's home has been immaculately clean. There's a conveyor band of staff constantly sweeping, scrubbing, collecting. But this room is coated with dust. That alone would've been enough to pique my curiosity, but it's what else is inside that draws me over the threshold.
In one corner is a half-finished crib, the covered window creating shadows in the wooden slats. There's a tiny dresser near me with teddy bears and a stuffed cow on top. When I brush my fingers over the animal, dust motes fill the air. A mobile dangles over the crib. Gently, I give it a push, listening to the off-tune music the birds and bugs create as they crank along.
Turning in a circle to get a full view of the room, I spot several pairs of baby shoes, all lined up in a row by the closet. Never worn. And there are even a few stacked boxes of unopened diapers.
What is all this?
Curiosity gives way to something else. I know I've stumbled on something not meant for me. This is a place haunted by awful, unfinished dreams. I know it in my bones. An abandoned nursery signals tragedy.
But for who? And what happened?
But I don't have time to ask questions as another thought bubbles to the forefront of my thoughts.
I'm not supposed to see this. I shouldn't be here.
Clutching the front of my shirt, I give a final look around the room. It's hard to breathe, and not just because of the dust. On quick feet, I exit through the door, closing it gently, and try to lock away whatever terrible memories still haunt the place.
I take long strides back down the staircase. It's silent in the hall, and the same on the stairs, but the familiar sensation of eyes watching me returns once I'm no longer on the third floor. Instinctively, I look behind me and find no one. But I'm not convinced.
In this place with so many watchers, how can I be sure I haven't been seen?
Each step makes me clammy. By the time I'm back in my room I feel like I sprinted through a jungle. There's a liquid, decaying sensation in my guts. I'm uncomfortable inside and out. The thought of a second bath is tempting, so I might wash off this rank terror and dread snaking its way through me.
But nothing will rid me of what I saw.
Ripping open my window, I thrust my head out. Gulping in fresh air, I slump on the sill. Look at the sky ... Smell the garden. Ground yourself here, in the present. You're okay. Everything is okay. Think of something ... anything ... else.
Like a bad prayer, those same names I found in my jacket come to me.
William, Margret, Rose, Brandon.
Stop it! Stop it! Stop it!
It doesn't work. I crouch there for half an hour before I drag myself to my bed and fall into it. Splaying on my stomach, I pull my legs up until I'm in a ball. I remain that way until the late hours of the night as the names and the images of the room continue haunting me.
I wish I could forget.
Because breaking Asher's one rule was a mistake.
