Page 27 of Beautiful Deception

What Junnie needs isn’t consoling words or pity; she needs a void to vent and scream out her frustration. She never sought out professional help, but her boyfriend was always there for her and would go out of his way for her.

Although I’ve never met him, I’m glad he’s in her life.

I don’t know what will happen to Peter once we leave the villa or whether he’ll be arrested because there is no physical evidence, and his confession was never recorded.

It wouldn’t have been admissible anyway. He was not in his right senses, and he could argue he was under the influence of substances.

“Do you want to talk to Dr. Kian?”

The pad of her thumb clasps against the curl of my ring finger as she simply shakes her head. Stubborn, it’s what she prides herself on.

“I’m going to take a walk outside,” she mutters, “to cool down.”

The moment itself feels helpless, almost unwarranted, and the rage surging through her eyes catches an omen. She draws in cold air between clenched teeth and a tense jaw, the unspoken inkling merely thickening the air as we both know some sins need to be ironed out.

Stopping her would make me a good person and friend, but years of deep-seated virtue and integrity suddenly get a token of pettiness stuck somewhere deep in the cogwheels.

“To cool down,” I mull over the weight of her words with an empathetic squeeze on her hand, which she returns with love in her palm. “Hope you feel better after.”

And she’s gone with the traces of jasmine flowers.

***

Dr. Kian spent the entire morning with Peter, who was experiencing withdrawal symptoms since whoever drugged him wasn’t familiar with the dosage or that the adverse effects were too potent.

I assume Remo had made it to the hospital by now as I watch the sun setting behind the tallest tree, but the sky remains a gorgeous cerulean shade.

Raising a hand to rub inside the flap of my collar, I rub the tracking device up and down, a rocking motion that descends my boredom into the depths of a cliff.

I haven’t seen Junnie since she left or the other two guests. In fact, I haven’t seen a soul in the last few hours.

My thoughts consumed me and allowed time to escape through my fingers. Yet the early hours protected me from the silhouettes fluttering from trees.

As I step away from the window, the icy air pounces at me. It’s a nice contrast to the wrathful fireplace licking a sheet of sensitivity on my exposed skin.

As I pass the kitchen, there’s barely enough time to register the busy clanking and muffled voices behind the wooden door. Making lunch, I presume. I stand by the entrance, soaking in the liveliness after being shrouded in jarring loneliness for too long.

The two maids’ voices, giggling and chiming, squabble about the best flavor for pies. Their voices fit their youthfulness, reminding me of the ridiculous condition imposed by the villa’s owner of having mute servants.

I shake my head and continue down the hall, making the short trip to the sleeping quarters where Junnie should be. There is no entertainment around here other than snowboarding, which I guess the other two guests have gone to.

They did mention it during the cinematic vampire film showing.

A tingling noise, akin to a dropped coin, echoes from the dimly lit diverging hallway on the right side. Winter walls and persistent heat make weird but normal noises, so I don’t think much of it when I enter the hallway that leads to the guests’ quarters.

Squinting into the ridiculously dark hallway, I use the wall as a guide to find my way to the next lantern that flickers and flutters aggressively before extinguishing, along with my bravery.

The similarity brings forth déjà vu, and it feels adamantly repulsive. Memories stride into my heart like they own the heartbeats. I reel in the hummingbird in my lungs and stop the fidgeting twitch in my fingertips.

Am I just being paranoid again?

Dr. Kian is with Peter, so he can’t be here. He wouldn’t physically restrain his patients if they wanted to leave or get a bit hostile, but he could pin them down with a cold and commanding gaze. They’ll sit obediently and resume the sessions.

Don’t judge a book by its cover; its altruistic warning is written for Dr. Kian.

I suck in a breath, my feet tapping off the heaviness, and run down the hall as the air in my lungs weighs down with lead. At the end of the hall, a small light on the wall propels my speed much faster as I push through the burning in my knees.

A ghostly sparkle beckons my eyes to the floor, and the flicker of silver spider silk stretching across the path snags my ankle. As I collapse against the robust wire, searing pain stretches nimbly on my ankle where it meets the resistance.

---