Uncovering You 4: Retribution (7 page)

The light that’s coming in from under the lower part of my blindfold fades. Now, I’m truly left in the dark. I listen to Stonehart and the girl murmur sweet nothings to each other.

We never did that.

Soon, they’ll be asleep. Or maybe up for another round. Who the hell knows?

All I know is that I’m not going anywhere for a long time. I curl up on my side, trying to find a position that exposes the least amount of my naked flesh to the cold floor. I try not to think what being here reminds me of most.

A bright light and a loud gasp jerks me from sleep the next morning.

I open my eyes, terrified for one frantic moment when my vision doesn’t immediately show me anything. Then I remember the blindfold, now gray with light. I hurry to untie it.

When it falls from my face, I find Rose standing above me, her features frozen in a grave expression of horror.

“Hi, Rose,” I mumble, pulling the gag from my mouth. I can imagine my surprise if I found
her
naked on the floor, the only thing on her body a sleek black collar with a leash attached.

I don’t want her feeling sorrier for me than she already does. Besides—honestly—things look much worse than they really are. Aside from the pain in my knees from crawling after Stonehart last night, the graininess in my eyes from an uneasy sleep, the growing bruise on my side from where he kicked me into this enclosure, and the soul-consuming sense of cold that seeps into all the bones of my body, I’m fine.

Really.

Rose rushes away as I blink through the bright sunlight. At least the light sensitivity is getting better. I don’t get piercing pains anymore.

She comes back with a blanket spread wide in her arms and lowers it over me. She kneels down, smoothing my hair, and winces when she touches my cheek.

Oh yeah. I forgot about that. Stonehart slapped me, too.

“What happened to you?” she asks in a shaky voice.

“Jeremy did,” I reply. I take a deep breath and try to stand, only to find my legs unwilling to hold me up. “It was caused by my own stupidity, of course.”

“Oh, you poor thing,” Rose coos. She wraps her arms around me and holds me tight. “Mr. Stonehart left a note to come wake you this morning. I never expected to find you like
this
.”

“After the way you found me the first time we met, is this really so bad?” I ask, trying to inject a semblance of humor into the conversation.

Rose looks at me for a long time. She seems to be trying hard not to let the moisture in her eyes spill over into tears.

“Mr. Stonehart told me you put yourself in that condition as some kind of protest,” she says. “He was very worried about you the whole time.”

“Well, that’s not exactly untrue,” I mutter. “Can you help me up?”

“Of course.” Rose takes me under the armpits and, on a count of three, we rise together.

“Your skin is ice cold, Miss Ryder,” Rose tells me. “How would you like me to draw you a hot bath?”

“That would be wonderful,” I whisper, and allow her to lead me out of the room.

***

An hour or so later, I am soaking in water that has long since turned lukewarm. Rose is babbling away about all the things she has to take care of in the house to keep it to the exacting specifications that Stonehart demands.

I think the mindless chatter is her way of dealing with what she sees going on with me.

“Oh!” she suddenly bursts out. “I almost forgot. Mr. Stonehart left a small gift for you with the letter I found. He asked me to give it to you straight away.”

She starts to pull it out. I stop her with a hand on her wrist.

I don’t want to think about Stonehart and his double-meaning gifts. Not now.

“Can you just put it on my bed, when you have the chance?” I ask.

Rose nods solemnly. “I will.”

“Thank you.” I sigh and lean back. “Thank you, Rose. I don’t know how I would survive without you.”

“Miss Ryder?” She sounds unfamiliarly hesitant. “May I ask you… a question?”

“Of course,” I say, surprised at her reluctance.

“How did you… well, I mean… uh… How did you and Mr. Stonehart, um,
meet
, exactly?” She takes a deep breath and rushes on, “If it’s not rude of me to ask, that is.”

I shake my head. “No, Rose, of course I can tell you.” I glance up at the ceiling where I know Stonehart’s cameras are recording every word of the conversation. “But, um, are you sure it’s such a good idea?”

“You’re right.” She bows her head. “It was an imprudent request. I apologize.”

“Don’t,” I say as I exhale. “It’s not your fault. And at least I can count on you to care for me. That means more than you know.”

“I’m just doing my job, Miss Ryder,” she says, squeezing my shoulder, but I can see appreciation bloom in her sad eyes.

After my bath, I go to the powder room and apply all the makeup I need to hide the swelling on my face.

I’m getting quite proficient at this
, I think with a self-deprecating chuckle.

Next, I wander back to the sunroom and look at the package Rose told me would be in my bed. It’s a tiny yellow envelope, the kind in which I got my dorm keys at Yale.

I don’t really want to look inside, but I don’t want it weighing on my mind all day, either. I break the seal and upend the contents on my bed.

A single army tag falls out. A tiny post-it note flutters out after it.

The note reads:

A new decoration for your collar, so that you don’t forget your place
.

I crumble it up and chuck it across the room.

I can’t ignore the army tag, though. I pick it up and look at it.

On one side, it says my name: Lilly Ryder. On the other, there are two lines of text.

The top one says,
CEO, Dextran Technologies
. It’s crossed out with an angry knife slash. Below it are three letters etched in the steel:

DOG
.

I swallow against the nausea trying to take hold and thank my lucky stars that I haven’t had breakfast yet.

I put the army tag back in the little envelope. Stonehart is gone for two days. I’ll deal with this when he comes back.

I go to the kitchen and find breakfast waiting for me. There is also an unexpected surprise:

Beside it, rolled up with the elastic still there, is the unmistakable shape of a newspaper.

For a moment, I think somebody’s made a mistake. I’m not allowed to know of current events until I get five more TGBs.

“Rose?” I call out. “Rose, did you put that newspaper there?”

I wait for her answer, but it doesn’t come. She must be too far away to hear.

Even though hunger is digging a deep hole in my stomach, I don’t move toward the table. I don’t want to accidentally make a mistake.

“Rose?” I call out again, wandering away from the kitchen. “Where are you?”

I find her vacuuming in a large room halfway across the house. The floor is already spotless. It seems like wasted work.

She glances up and turns the vacuum off when she sees me, pushing a strand of graying hair out of her eyes.

“Rose, did you put that newspaper on the table for me?” I ask.

“On Mr. Stonehart’s request,” she says seamlessly. “He told me to give it to you in the note he left.”

“Oh.” I scrunch up my nose. That doesn’t make any sense. “Do you think I could see that note?” I ask, trying my best not to sound offensive but all the while knowing that it’s my skin on the line if Rose made a mistake.

“Certainly, certainly,” she assures me, patting her many apron pockets. “Let’s see now, where did I put it…?”

She trails off as her hand reaches into one and pulls out a small, pastel-blue post-it. “Ah. Here it is,” she says, handing it to me.

I take the note and look it over. Stonehart’s precise handwriting is unmistakable. I read it quickly, and, sure enough, see the line that instructs Rose to give me the newspaper that he left on his desk, in his office.

“Thank you,” I say, holding the note out to her. “I’m sorry I didn’t believe you. I just had to be sure.”

Rose’s eyes dart up, probably unconsciously, to where the cameras are recording everything we say. “That’s fine, dear,” she tells me quickly. Without looking at me again, she turns the vacuum back on. The roar of it fills the air.

I turn around to leave, but, just then, I think I hear Rose’s voice behind me.

I look back. Her eyes are glued to the floor, where she’s rolling the vacuum leg pointlessly over and over again on the same spot.

“Did you say something?” I ask, raising my voice to be better heard.

Rose does not look at me. But I can see her mouth move. I don’t hear what she says because of the vacuum.

Then it hits me. She is speaking quietly so that the video recording doesn’t catch her voice.

I walk closer to her on the pretense of suddenly finding the nearby armchair utterly fascinating. She mumbles something under her breath. It takes my brain an extra second to process it.

“…be very careful in what you do next. Something is bothering Mr. Stonehart, and I would hate for him to take it out on you.”

She does not look up once as she mutters the warning.

I trace a finger over the armchair’s back, thinking hard. Something is bothering Stonehart? And Rose thought it important enough to tell me?

I decide that I really have to be on my toes when he returns. Hell, I should expect him to come back earlier than he said. I remember what happened last time he left on a ‘business trip.’

I look over at Rose, but she’s already moved far away. I linger for a moment, considering what her true relationship with Stonehart might be—and how far her loyalty to him runs—before turning back and walking out the room.

Stonehart seems to trust Rose completely
, I think as I walk down the long and empty hallway.
Why?

Why is he so sure that she will not report my presence to the police? But, if she hasn’t already, I doubt I can count on that in the future. Even if I do think of her as my friend.

A pang of longing comes to life inside me. I miss Sonja and Fey. I miss their voices, their laughter. I wonder how Fey is doing with her engagement to Robin. Probably still over the moon.

I miss Yale. I miss my classes. I miss campus, the professors, the tiny room I called home in the dorms.

I don’t have any hope of seeing any of that again for a very, very long time.

***

I eat breakfast slowly. As I chew, my eyes keep sweeping over the newspaper rolled up in front of me.

I pushed it aside as soon as I sat down. Something about finding it here this morning has me very uneasy. It doesn’t
fit
in the equation of my captivity.

I will look at it, of course. Ignoring it completely might be a bigger grievance in Stonehart’s eyes than anything I’ve done yet. I saw his handwriting on Rose’s note. He definitely wanted me to have the newspaper.

After I finish the last of my grapefruit, I slide the bowl to one side and reach for the paper.

This is it. The moment of truth.

It’s just a stupid newspaper
, I tell myself, wondering where my apprehension is coming from. But I know it’s more than that. Everything that Stonehart does has meaning. He wrote out the progression of my freedoms based on the TGBs I earn. Knowing about current events does not come until later.

Although
, I tell myself,
he hasn’t exactly shown the greatest adherence to the TGB distribution himself
.

TGBs almost seem like an afterthought to him. It’s never clear to me what kind of behavior will earn me one. And when I
do
do something to receive one, it’s anyone’s guess whether I’ll get one, two, three, or more.

I take a deep breath, and stretch my hand out for the newspaper.

The first thing I do is look at the date. It comes as a surprise:
April 25
th
, 2013.

So this is an old one,
I think.

I take the elastic off and unroll it. Another surprise hits me. This isn’t any random newspaper.

It’s the
Yale Daily News.

Of course, I should have recognized the print face right away. But I’ve been absent from that part of the world for so long that the association did not come to me. Besides, why would I expect to find the
Yale Daily News here
?

An uneasy thought occurs to me. The paper is dated April 25
th
. That is just around the time I won the Barker Prize. This couldn’t be…

Wait a minute. It could. I think it is!

I spread the paper open and rifle through the sheets, looking for the main story. I find it right away.

Five Finalists Selected for the Barker Prize
, the headline reads. Beneath it is a small picture of all of us. I pick myself out right away. It’s not hard to.

My face has already been circled with a thick, red sharpie.

Stonehart’s handwriting is scrawled over the photograph:

Lilly Ryder
.

Shit! I close my eyes and push the paper away. Now I understand why Stonehart gave it to me.

It’s not an early freedom. It’s him demonstrating that he has been watching me for far longer than I knew.

It’s the definitive proof, the ultimate confirmation. I need to understand that I am not a random victim. My kidnapping has been in the works for a long time.

A shiver runs down my spine.

Here I am, with full access to Stonehart’s entire mansion, plus his property, and not one step closer to knowing
why
than I was when I first woke up in the pitch-black sunroom.

Fine. I stand up. Fine! I understand that I cannot find anything that would explain why I’m here. The only person who has those answers is Stonehart. He is the only one who knows why I am here.

I’ve been going about this whole thing the wrong way. Stonehart wouldn’t just leave information lying around for me to uncover. That would be careless. And he’s anything but.

No, I understand now that what I have to do—what I should have been trying to do from the start—is to gain his trust. Perhaps, at some point, he’ll let something slip. Something that I might find useful in the future.