Page 31 of Hell Breaks Loose

When I wake, the sun is bursting gloriously through my windows.

Margaret, always on call, enters shortly after, offering me breakfast, to lay out my outfit for the day. Like this is… normal.

So I treat it like it is.

I take my coffee and bagel at the table in my room by the window.

I ask her for something to read, and she brings me a tablet. It feels strange looking through headlines, looking at social media. Because the world went on without us, despite our struggles.

Which was always the point, wasn’t it?

Sanctum Harbor was supposed to be different. Separate.

Not a single news story references anything related to a disaster, a flood, a criminal enterprise attempting to take over a West Coast town. Like we don’t exist.

Like none of what I went through is real.

Once I’ve dressed, I decide to explore a bit, to test out how strict my stay in these quarters will be. Or if they’ll be permanent at all.

The simple pair of designer shorts and a flowing blouse, both extremely nice, are so far from what I would choose.

But it’s not like I have any clothing here of my own.

I’m just glad they fit. Never mind the fact that someone filled the room’s closet with things in my size. Maybe it’s just a coincidence.

Heading down toward the gardens, I pause just inside the double doors in a sort of viewing room. The entire space is filled with the oddest assortment of movie paraphernalia, posters, statues, props, all stacked along the walls. Must have belonged to the previous owner.

Stanger still, mixed throughout and scattered all over the house, are things that Marco and his men must have pilfered from Sanctum. I swear I even recognize a few of the decorations from some of the nicer houses near Tell’s family home.

Out through the open glass doors, the spread is more elegant and clearly kept up by a groundskeeper. I inhale, keeping my eyes closed until I’m ready to take it all in, the bright light and the simple aspect of being outdoors.

I haven’t been outside in…

The minute I open my eyes, I notice that I’m not alone.

He’s slim. Tall. His jet-black hair matches his black shirt, his black suit, cut to tailored perfection. Something in the angle of his chiseled features echoes of Japanese or Korean heritage. But like everything else about him, it’s subtle.

He stands perfectly stock-still. Only his eyes move, watching me from the shade of the overhanging second floor.

Maybe he’s a guard or some private security.

He’s absolutely out of place among the rest of the men I’ve seen patrolling the grounds.

They’re all thugs in suits, either tattooed from head to toe and forced to meet Marco’s dress code, or they’re ex-military, ex-mercenary, with that clean-cut style, used to wearing a uniform, a tie. And they all look just as appropriate carrying assault rifles.

This guy’s different.

He’s deadly, for sure.

But in a quiet, subtle way.

Calm.

Still.

“And fucking creepy. Quit looking at me already,” I mutter to myself as I cross the grassy expanse to inspect a stone path lined with flowers.

Water gurgles from somewhere ahead, several trees dotting what I am delighted to discover is a pond, more a lagoon by the size. A stone fountain constantly recycles the water into a cascade on the far side.

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