Page 19 of Beautiful Deception

“I’ve never been treated like this,” she sneers, affronted. “Mr. Morgon. Oh, that old man. He’s off my list of everything.”

“Just two more days, and we’re out of here,” I remind softly so as not to draw attention to us.

“I’m sleeping with you,” she says, shuddering as she rubs her arms in disgust. “I need a shower.”

“My clothes are in my bag,” I say when she stomps away.

Junnie will most likely not wear her clothes since she is afraid of a rat burrowing through them. I wouldn’t put it past her to abandon the clothes and her car if she doesn’t need them to leave.

I count three ways this mini vacation can end. We walk to the nearest civilization, two people go find help and get cell reception to call for help, or we wait in the villa until someone notices we can’t be contacted or located.

I’m for the second option. I’m not built for walking miles in the snow with no guarantee of finding help. But the idea of staying here after such bizarre experiences already makes my skin crawl.

Oh, wait. Didn’t Dr. Kian say his car broke down when leaving the hospital? They’ll have phone lines. Hopefully, it’s not too far away.

“How are you feeling?”

Flinching at the sudden voice, I turn to Dr. Kian and force myself to return a brittle smile.

“I’m fine,” I stutter, my voice stretching from shock. “How’s Peter?”

“He’s sedated,” he answers after hushed mutters from the other two guests by the crackling fire.

“I heard them talking about his tongue,” I prod. Morbid curiosity, it seems.

He nods, and I’m glad he refrains from sharing details. Joe and Kimberly wiggle in their seats, and their lack of self-control oozes through their tense limbs. It’s clear that they want details, a type of thirst for knowledge, and they can’t contain their nosiness anymore.

“Any idea who cut off his tongue?” Joe practically exhales out the words.

Dr. Kian is calm and collected, discerning the fascination on their faces as they inadvertently shuffle closer to him. He plasters on a strained smile and distances himself from them.

“No,” he replies curtly.

Unprompted, the two guests reveal their tasteful speculations based on no evidence, but they’re so committed that they start accusing the house staff and Remo.

“Just look at him,” Kimberly jeers, her hair spilling over the jut of her hunched shoulders. “He has scars on his arms. What if they’re from his past, or worse, felonies?”

His scars are white and faded. They looked like knife slashes, and I can only imagine the insane criminals he deals with on the job.

“Does anyone know if he’s who he claims to be?” Joe guzzles on the oxygen when he tugs on the hoodie’s drawstrings.

I had my reservations about Kimberly pushing her partner down the stairs, but not anymore. A voice in the back of my head scoffs, wondering why she didn’t stab him in the back with her knitting needle and make it look like an accident.

It fits her image.

Why doesn’t the butler recognize her? Unless she wasn’t invited and sneaked in with the help of her lover?

“He had hallucinations,” Dr. Kian reckons, the gold-rimmed glasses distorting the glint of rapt indulgence in his eyes. “He bit his tongue off during an episode.”

The wash of disappointment on their faces is ungodly sadistic. They recover swiftly, finding the balance of solemnity and sympathy.

“Hereditary?” Joe suggests as his lips twitch. “But don’t the symptoms come around mid-twenties? He’s about fifty now.”

I wish these two would go back to their seats and talk among themselves. I want the rest of my stay to be as peaceful as possible; I could sleep for hours on the same bed as Junnie, but my body won’t be entirely comfortable with someone so close to me.

“Drugs?” Kimberly comments, her opinion as strong as her tone suggests.

“Maybe he’s a patient that escaped from the hospital?” Joe’s shoulders convulse violently as he follows Kimberly’s thoughts.

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