Page 17 of Striker

When he ties the blindfold, I know Delly is okay. It’s obvious they will not hurt us. They wouldn’t be so concerned with feeding me and taking me outside, much less storming into the room when I was overcome with memories if they planned to cut off body parts and send them to Rune.

As Striker shuts the bedroom door behind me, I really hope that the last part is true.

And I really, really hope Delly is okay because they looked dead serious about there being a next time.

Chapter 7

Delilah

The first day I’mhere, I scream and pound on the door. Pace the room. Kick at the tray of food and the pretty glass pitcher of water that magically appeared by the locked door while I was sleeping. Then regret it because I’m hungry and the tap water from the bathroom facet tastes metallic and old.

The second day, I know better, so I keep quiet and tear the room apart looking for any clues as to where I am. I find nothing and I’m left with the armoire drawers and their contents scattered around the room. The flowery vintage dresses and silky nightgowns all over the floor. All the bedding, a soft white coverlet and clean sheets, in a lump near the window.

Day three, I clean up my mess because it’s obvious I’m not going anywhere and I’m bored out of my mind, sick of trying to figure out what they want. Worried my father may not know where to look for us.

On day four, I shut the bathroom door and hyperventilate, but not a single tear escapes. Even as the hopelessness consumes my every thought, I can’t cry. All my tears dried up and witheredlike dead flowers that one awful day my mother was taken from me. Just like any hope I’ve clung to that my father may find us. When I can breathe again, I leave the bathroom and sleep the rest of the day.

By day five, I’m staring out the window, lost in thought. Hoping Zane isn’t dragging the company under in my absence or messing up the ledgers Cora and I kept.

Or just being Zane and trying to convince my father to buy another hotel chain from Snyder…. or whatever it was we actually bought. The sum Cora and I had to distribute and hide was astronomical for a chain of hotels.

On day six, I steep in my anger.

Several times a day, I tell myself that my father is coming. Clyde is coming. They have to. Someone, anyone, is coming to get us and return us home. Alive.

Even stupid, annoying Zane would be a welcome sight. He’d love the opportunity to be the hero.

By day seven, I’m boiling. A current of anger coursing through me as my mind spins, searching for answers, anything logical to hold on to while I wait for my father and Clyde.

Anger is easier to feel than fear.

Seven days is a long time to be alone, locked in a room with just your thoughts to keep you company. Seven whole days since Striker untied me. Seven days of pacing this room, suppressing the terror building inside my chest, squeezing my lungs. I don’t know where Cora is or if she’s safe. If they untied her too and left to her to her own thoughts, like they have me. If she’s in a room somewhere in this huge house, pacing back and forth, waiting for whatever comes next. If she’s scared like I am.

If she’s dead.

My sleep is erratic, and I’m only able to get a few hours at a time. At least I think it’s that long. Since I have no way of telling the time, I can only guess at the number of hours that pass. I’mlost without my phone and my watch. The two items I relied on so heavily every day.

I only think it’s been seven days based on the number of times I’ve seen the sunset and the number of times a tray of food has appeared while I was in the bathroom taking one of my quick, freezing cold showers. Every time I step into the shower, my heart races, stomach churning with black, oily fear. I had never thought about how vulnerable a person is in the shower before. But then again, I never had a reason to.

I’ve also never had a reason to care so much about how many days have passed. As I watch the sunrise on this seventh day, I place my hand on the cold glass, wishing they’d just let me see Cora. Outside my prison window, vivid splashes of orange wipe away the purply night and smattering of stars remaining in the sky as the bright sun rises over the water. It’s so breathtakingly beautiful, my heart pangs for home.

At least we’re still on the east coast.

The view outside my window has told me nothing beyond that the enormous house sits back from the short cliffs, with open greenery along the coast. At night, there are no other lights nearby, nor the pale halo of light pollution in the dark sky indicating a city close to here.

I keep calling it a house, but it’s really a vast mansion. Some late 18th century monstrosity, with massive wings jutting off to my room’s right and left, gables with ornate spindles, and a gothic feeling that reminds me of something a French vampire would inhabit.

During the day, I can’t see in any movement in other windows, but at night there are a few flickers of lights in the wing to my left and I think that might be where Cora is being held.

At least that’s what I hope.

I’ve tried signaling at night, opening and closing the curtains in some mangled form of morse code, thinking if it isher, then she must be looking out the window trying to find me too. But I never see anything.

The massive windows don’t open and no matter how hard I’ve tried, I can’t unlock the door to my room. I gave up once I realized it was a sliding lock on the outside. So I’m forced to sit and wait. Pick at the food on the platter they leave—hunks of hard cheese, dried fruits, crackers, and bread with a glass and a crystal pitcher of water—and then wait again.

Today, though, that is going to change. Whatever game they are playing, keeping Cora and me separated, keeping me isolated, is working and I’m going stir crazy, ready to get out of this room at any cost.

That’s why I have a plan. I know they have a camera on me in the bedroom. I hope not in the bathroom, because they only bring the tray of food while I’m in the shower or sleeping. The first time I came from the bathroom and found the tray on the floor by the door, I figured they were watching me. Then when I woke to find it replaced with fresh bits of food, it was confirmed.

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