Page 39 of Fear Me, Love Me

A few minutes later, I hear a grinding noise from within the maze, and I freeze, waiting with bated breath for a door to swing open, showing me the way forward. Nothing happens. Tyrant told security that the gates should change configuration every fifteen minutes, but if there isn’t a gate here, how am I supposed to get inside? Unless he tricked me and made it impossible for me to proceed.

With a sigh of frustration, I turn and head back to the garage, wondering if I missed something there. The door Tyrant disappeared through is still firmly locked, and it doesn’t seem like that’s the way I’m supposed to go anyway.

I’m hesitating by the black Cullinan when a voice speaks, making me jump.

“Can I help you with anything, miss?” The man washing the car is watching me with an expression of concern on his face. He wrings out the sponge and shakes the water off his hands. He has friendly eyes and a trustworthy beard. I’m not sure how a beard can be trustworthy, but his is. Neat but bushy and a glossy brown color.

If someone doesn’t help me, I’ll probably be stuck out here forever. “Hello. Um. Maybe you can, if it’s not too much trouble. I’m Vivienne, by the way,” I add hastily, realizing I haven’t introduced myself.

“Pleased to meet you, Miss Vivienne. I’m Mr. Mercer’s driver, Liam Summers.” He offers me a polite nod. “Is there something you need?”

I point toward the mansion. “I’m trying to reach Mr. Mercer’s house. He said that the path up there is difficult, but I can’t even seem to find the path so I can begin.”

Mr. Summers glances up toward the house, and is it my imagination or is there a worried flicker in his eyes?

I back away, holding up my hands. “Wait. Never mind. You shouldn’t help me. Mr. Mercer will probably punish you.”

The driver snorts. I can’t tell if it’s in amusement, derision, or agreement. “Go back.”

“I’m sorry?”

The driver dunks his sponge into the bucket of soapy water and applies it to the car once more. “Go back.”

“I’m not giving up.”

The man shrugs and keeps soaping Tyrant’s car.

I stand around for several more minutes, waiting for something to happen. The only thing that happens is Mr. Summers finishes soaping the car, rinses it with a power hose, puts it back in the garage, and disappears back through the locked door.

A cold wind sweeps across the driveway, making me shiver. I wrap my arms around my body and realize that I left my coat back at the house. I’m freezing, and I’m hungry as well. What am I going to do, stand here waiting for my forty-eight hours to be up? Maybe a better idea would be to escape the grounds and fetch help for Barlow some other way. I’m not sure calling the police is a good idea, but maybe Dad or Samantha have thought of something by now. I don’t want to give up. I hate giving up. I don’t tackle fiendishly difficult sewing projects just to throw them aside when they get challenging.

I go back to the stone wall and explore it with my hands as well as my eyes. I do it again. And again.

Nothing. No doorway. I can’t get into the labyrinth. Tyrant tricked me by making it seem like it was possible, and he’s probably watching me right now through a CCTV camera and laughing at me.

Disappointment is a cold stone in my belly, and I turn and head down the driveway. If there’s a way in, I can’t find it. Tyrant wins this round, but I’m not giving up Barlow. I still have a week to find some other way to get him back.

I don’t know what makes me glance to my left when I’m halfway down the driveway, but I do.

And I stop in shock.

There, between some slender cypress trees and surrounded by rose bushes, is a metal gate, standing open. Beyond the gate, I can see hedges, ornamental stone pots, and a water fountain.

A garden. Tyrant’s garden.

I can barely believe my eyes. For a second I don’t trust the way the gate seems to be beckoning me to enter. It doesn’t seem safe. But ofcourseit’s not safe. Passing through that gate means getting closer to Tyrant, but it’s also one step closer to reaching Barlow. Before the fifteen minutes is up and the gate closes on its own, I dash through it.

The temperature seems to change once I’m in the garden. The wind doesn’t blow so hard, and I feel a little warmer. A shade more hopeful. I walk slowly through the gardens, admiring their moonlit beauty. Who would have imagined that a man like Tyrant, with his heart full of darkness, money, and violence, would own a garden as beautiful as this. I’m reminded of Renaissance paintings. The Pre-Raphaelites. Classical Rome. I make a left by a hedge, the vista opens up, and I get my first real look at Tyrant’s house. It’s as beautiful as the grounds, with white columns and long windows through which I can glimpse gilded mirrors and chandeliers.

Someone is standing in one of the second-floor windows. A tall figure with broad shoulders, lit from behind. He appears to be holding something in his arms.

Anger races through me when I realize that it’s my brother. I can’t see Tyrant’s face from here, but his smile is probably gloating as he watches me.

As I’m glaring at Tyrant, a gate to my left grinds open. I dart through the gate and jog along the garden path, unable to stop a satisfied smile spreading over my face. Two gates down, eleven to go.

I don’t know why I was panicking. This is too easy.

14

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