Uncovering You: The Complete Series (Mega Box Set) (38 page)

Next, I wander back to the sunroom and look at the package Rose told me would be on 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 crumple 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.

He is gone for two days. I grit my teeth.
Dammit
! I should have done everything I could to spend as much time with him as possible when he was here. Not tried to avoid him like a scared puppy.

Well, I can’t change the past. But I can definitely control how I act in the future. When Stonehart returns, he will not only find a Lilly who is ready to please, he will also find one who has finally understood that proximity to him is what she needs if she has any hope of extricating herself from this situation.

Chapter Twelve

My natural inclination is to spend the next two days in the library, reading.

I don’t succumb to it. What good would reading do me now? Especially when I have the whole house to myself?

The door to Stonehart’s office is closed, but not locked. I know. One of the first things I did after Rose left was go there and push the handle down.

I turned it just enough to feel the latch give. Then I let go and stepped back. If there is any useful information for me anywhere in this house, it will be in that room.

But I need Stonehart to trust me. He told me not to go inside. I remember how he punished me the time I
thought
I had broken the rule. Now, going in, when I have no doubt that I
would
be breaking it, would destroy any sort of relationship I hope to build with my captor.

My captor.

Hah. I haven’t thought of Stonehart that way for a long time. Maybe I just avoided the title because I was afraid of the implication. I would be acknowledging the desperate reality of my situation.

But I’m not delusional. I have to be realistic about these sorts of things. Stonehart is my captor. No two ways around it. He is not my lover. He is not my friend. He is not my employer.

He is my
captor
.

If nothing else, seeing him with his secretary solidified that in my mind.

I haven’t given that night much thought. Is it an avoidance mechanism at work? Or is it just me knowing that dwelling on the negatives would weaken my position?

Maybe it’s a little bit of both. I’m not too proud to admit that, when I saw Stonehart fucking her, the feeling of betrayal nearly tore my soul in two. I had foolishly thought that he and I had something growing between us before that point.

I’m one hundred percent certain that that had been the first real manifestation of Stockholm syndrome. But after a day in which he offered me Esteban’s position, took me on a tour the grounds, made me laugh, smile—and orgasm—it was hard to feel bitter toward the man.

He capped it off by giving me access to the library. It was such a glorious gift that I could hardly believe it was real. Then, he left me alone for two days, not once interfering with my reading, giving me all the time and space I needed to start feeling comfortable…

Jesus Christ
. Listening to myself think, one could rightfully deduce that I’ve become infatuated with the man.

And maybe I’d started down that path… until I saw how little I meant to him when I peeked through the office window.

What if I hadn’t wandered out of bed that night? What if I had stayed in my room. What if I had never saw him and… her? Would I be eagerly anticipating his return as a chance to experience all those wonderful things he made me feel before he left?

Thank God I got up. Even the humiliation of being dragged after him on my hands and knees, naked, blindfolded, and gagged, had been worth it. It made me remember who I am to him.

And who he is to me.

Stonehart probably thought that making me hide in the room while he had sex would make me jealous or fill me with disgust. It did neither. In fact, it was probably the very reminder I needed of the reality of my situation. It made me understand what I should never have lost sight of: No matter what, I am very much a prisoner.

So, I spend the first free hours I have to my advantage, combing through every inch of the house to try to discover something about its owner. The search comes up empty, of course—just as I expected. But at least now I know with full certainty that there is nothing here for me to find.

Everything important is in his office.

***

The first night that I’m alone, I pick up the army tag and examine it more closely. Stonehart wants me to put it on my collar, presumably as a constant reminder of who my master is. The three scratched letters on the underside do not affect me as much as I thought they would. Perhaps I’m becoming immune to him.

I smile. Stonehart wouldn’t like to know that.

The next morning, I spend an hour in front of the mirror trying to figure out a way to attach it to my collar. That’s what Stonehart asked me to do. I want to have it on before his arrival.

Unfortunately, there is no way to do it, short of gluing it on. And I don’t have any adhesive.

That’s too bad. I wanted to use the army tag as a symbol of defiance. I would wear it proudly without letting it affect me, because it meant that Stonehart’s influence on my psyche was less than he wants.