Total pages in book: 59
Estimated words: 55282 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 276(@200wpm)___ 221(@250wpm)___ 184(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 55282 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 276(@200wpm)___ 221(@250wpm)___ 184(@300wpm)
Still wearing flats—because it’s all I own—I walk to the bedroom door. I don’t care what Louisa says. I think they’re pretty, and I’m going to believe what Christina says—that I’m in style. When I go to open the door, I can’t.
It’s stuck.
I jiggle the handle, trying to force the door open, but nothing I do is working.
Is it stuck? Or is it locked?
Who would lock the door?
I was in the bath for a long time and wouldn’t hear the click….
No.
Who would purposely lock my door?
I knock on the door and call out, “Hello? Can anyone hear me? Hello?”
There’s laughter and music downstairs, and I know no one can hear me from there, but maybe Louisa is upstairs, or Ms. Evans. I jiggle the handle harder this time, feeling a sense of panic. I don’t like feeling… trapped. Locked away. Helpless and unable to flee.
It’s just like the cellar.
It’s just like the cellar!
I can scream; maybe I will be heard then. But I don’t want to make a scene. I don’t want to embarrass Christopher. What if it’s just as simple as the door being stuck, and I overreact over nothing? They all already see me as fragile. I want to be strong and brave. I’m in the rose dress that gives me courage.
“Hello? Can anyone help? The door is stuck.”
Nothing.
I walk over to the window and look down at the people below. I see guests dressed in gowns, furs, and suits entering the house. It’s a blur of faces, and I blink away the building fear that something is wrong. Why am I locked in the room? Is someone coming?
Is Papa Rich coming for me?
Does he know Christopher’s gone for the night, Louisa is preoccupied, and the security is distracted by all the people? He’s smart. He could be watching. Planning. He could have known about this party days ago when the invitations went out. Maybe he’s been watching Christopher’s every move and has learned his schedule, even as chaotic and unreliable as it is.
Maybe I can bang on the window and the people down below will see me.
But as I get ready to pound on the glass, I pause. If they see me looking out the window, wide-eyed and in need… I will forever be the ghost looking out the window of the schoolhouse. I will never be free. That’s how they will see me. That’s who I will be.
Deciding to try one more time, I go back to the door and shake harder than before. I even throw my weight against the wood, hoping I can free it. The laughter and blending of voices on the other side taunt me with where I should be.
Maybe Louisa will notice I’m missing and come up looking for me.
I smirk and walk to my bed. Who am I kidding? The woman is grateful I’m not down there. She’s probably pleased thinking I got too scared or worked up to attend. Instead, I’m holed up in my room, hiding out. Yeah… she won’t come looking for me at all.
Looking at the cell phone on the side table, I consider calling Christopher. I don’t know his mother’s number or Ms. Evans’s. Maybe he does and can call them to have them let me out of the room. But I know he’s on a shoot, and I don’t want to bother him with something as embarrassing as being locked in my room somehow. I definitely don’t want to tell him I’m afraid Papa Rich could be part of it, as I’m pushing my luck already with my “irrational” fear. I don’t want to be that wife. The crazy wife who calls in a panic.
Whatever. I didn’t even want to go to the party to begin with.
But then, I did.
I do.
I’ve always had to watch from afar all my life. Families smiling. People laughing while having a fun day out. I was a spy on their time, and as I sit in the room on the edge of my bed, hearing the excited energy below, I’m still the same freak from Hallelujah Junction. I can hear them having a good time without me. I can listen on and do nothing, just as I had to watch from the schoolhouse without being able to be part of the crowds.
Feeling sorry for myself, I pull back the comforter of the bed to crawl in and try to forget this night all together. And then I see it.
I blink away the madness, but it remains rooted in place.
Straw.
There’s straw in my bed.
They were here. Scarecrow. Papa Rich.
I know they were here.
It’s their way of saying hello.
My eyes dart around the room as if I’m going to find them standing right before me. Oh my God. They’ve come for me. I knew they would. I knew it.
I bolt off the bed and run to the bathroom, needing to confirm they aren’t inside waiting for me. Seeing the empty room doesn’t make me feel better. It just means they are toying with me as my cat Pine Cone would toy with a field mouse that snuck in the house. I inhale deeply to see if I can smell onion and body odor but smell nothing. Yet…