Page 47 of Mind Maze

This time, Caius doesn’t save me.

No one does.

I sit inside the empty tub, the contents of the bag Eva gave me strewn around me. A lot of these pictures Dad ordered her to throw out have Vivienne in them, but many are just of me. I am grateful not to have found any disturbing photos. It had been what started my frantic search after Caius left. I was just sure the pervert had pictures of what she did to me. To my utter relief, there were none.

Just happy pictures.

The photos must’ve all belonged to Vivienne because some had been written on the back of.Me and Ro-la, Halloween.A picture of Vivienne holding my four-year-old hand, both of us dressed as matching Dalmatians.Me and Ro-la and Santa, Christmas.The two of us with Santa at the mall, her grinning and me red-faced and screaming in terror. I was no more than two or three in the picture.

Mom had clearly left by that point. I remember vividly the betrayal of her affair on my father and then her leaving us. I still can’t make sense of when Vivienne came into the picture. Was she my nanny while Mom still lived with us or did it come after?

I hate how murky those memories are.

Seeing these pictures, though, shed new light on my past.

Like one would gape at a gruesome car accident, I can’t take my eyes off the monster who haunted my dreams. The one everyone told me wasn’t real. Not only was she absolutely real, but there is photo evidence of her.

And the journal.

I’m still trying to hype myself up to open it.

Getting inside that woman’s head terrifies me, but I’m also desperate to understand what could make someone want to do that to a child. I’m smart enough to know I didn’t ask for it. Nothing I could’ve done would have provoked it.

So why?

Are some people like her and Gareth and Solomon just born evil?

The journal is a plain, leather one with faded pink stitching. It’s so unassuming at first. When I crack it open, I smell the familiar scent of old paper. It makes me wonder about the last time it had been open. Did Eva open it, read it, and then never look at it again?

I like it here.

No one forces me to do anything.

Her cursive handwriting is legible but barely. There are also no dates listed. It’s just a random blurt of thought. Below it are some hearts in another color of ink. Beneath that in red, the writing is more chaotic.

Gideon is cold most days. Nearly as cold as his home. Sometimes I miss my old bed. It was warm. Did I really think he would love me?

She’s not wrong about Dad. Why she would care, as his daughter’s nanny, though, is troubling. It’s clear she was looking for love in all the wrong places.

I love her. She’s the only bit of warmth in this house. The way she looks at me as though I’m her savior melts my heart. Her name is Romy. I call her Ro-la because it makes her smile.

My stomach revolts at reading that. I’m imagining the young, innocent, trusting me. So vulnerable. It’s heartbreaking.

Gideon had sex with me. It was nice. There’s warmth inside him.

I cringe at the thought of Dad sleeping with my nanny. The same nanny who was abusing his little girl.

Could we be a family? I’m safe here. Gideon is an excellent provider. Bastian is his pride and joy. When he holds Romy, there’s a softness in his eyes I don’t usually see. And when in bed with me, he’s a doting lover. I want to be his wife.

My father has always been a hard, serious man. I can’t imagine him the way she describes him.

He locked his bedroom door. Why would he do that? Does he not want me anymore?

Without any dates, and Vivienne’s use of multiple pens, markers, and pencils, it’s difficult to tell how much time has passed between each entry.

I put Romy in the stroller and followed him. He was on a date with a woman. It could have been someone from his work, but they seemed so intimate. My heart is shattered.

The thought of being pushed all through the city by this unhinged woman as she stalks my father is alarming. What if she did what she did to punish him?

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