Page 62 of Monstrous Urges

The man shakes his head. “Of course not. There’s actually nowhere to run to.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“It means you’re on an island, Ms. Crown.”

Milos and Yaelle leave me with the tray, which holds a pot of coffee with a cup and saucer, cream, and sugar, along with some toast, a bowl of olives, and another bowl of cherries.

Sure enough, they leave the door not only unlocked, but wide open when they go.

I wolf down the food and the coffee. Then I head out of the room, and the moment I do, my jaw drops.

Holy shit.

Wherever I am, it’s palatial. Airy hallways with the same sandy limewashed stone, terra-cotta tiled floors, and Mediterranean or Moroccan throw rugs lead to huge, vaulted rooms filled with gorgeous furniture, more potted ferny plants, and modern and classical art. I stagger to a halt in one room, staring at a framed painting on the wall.

A Van Gogh.

I wonder—even hope—for a second that it’s a very, very good forgery. But something tells me that’s not the case. Not in this house. Not with that man.

My eyes are wide, my mouth open as I drift from one room to another, until I lose track of how sprawling and massive the house is.

I gawk when I discover an airy, open hallway with one whole side open and overlooking the sea below. Further down, I step out of another hallway and into a stunning open courtyard filled with lush flowering plants, hanging Moroccan oil lamps, and sumptuous couches.

I start for a moment when I spot a black-clad armed guard when I step out of the house through a side door. But the man barely nods at me before turning to face forward again.

…Apparently, I can go wherever I want.

So I head directly to the cliffs I saw from the windows inside. Sure enough, the edge of the world drops away in dramatic, rocky shards down to the frothing surf below.

You’re on an island, Ms. Crown.

Let’s find out.

I follow the rocky cliffs away from the house. In some places, they drop away less dramatically, more like little hills sloping down to sandy beaches. I keep following the edge of the ocean, past a mound of rocky ruins that sends a shiver up my spine, and then a little glade of trees—curiously, with a tall stone wall around them, and a locked wooden gate.

Odd.

I continue walking for maybe another half a mile or so before I spot a white gravel road—or driveway?—that looks to be coming from the house. I veer away from the coast and follow the road, going away from the house, until suddenly I freeze.

In front of me, the gravel drive hits a huge wrought-iron fence. Beyond it, the road becomes paved as it crosses a fairly short—maybe fifty-foot—bridge to what, if Milos is to be believed, is the mainland. Four armed guards stand watch on the other side of the fence, on this side of the bridge. Another dozen or so stand around multiple dark SUVs and another iron gate on the far side.

I’m about to turn away when my brain suddenly short-circuits. I falter, my vision glitching as something flashes behind my eyes.

A half-remembered dream.

A fleeting image.

A flickering memory…

Come play, Annika.

Play with me…

I gasp as I jolt out of the…episode, or whatever it was. My breath catches as I tense, my pulse thrumming in my ears as I stare through the gate at the bridge.

I continue around the perimeter for another few minutes until it’s pretty clear Milos wasn’t bullshitting me. I’m almost certainly on an island.

I pause, peering out at the turquoise ocean. Then I frown slightly, shielding my eyes from the sun as I focus on something a little ways out from the beach coast below: a buoy, with a small little rowboat tied to it.

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