Page 3 of Red Lace Manor
The door widened, this time silently, and in steps what I assumed to be a man. He wasimpossiblytall, so much so that he had to duck when entering. His frame completely hid the door behind him, as if telling medon’t even think about it.He was clothed nearly head to toe in a black jacket that fit too perfectly to be off-the-rack. The whole thing might be kind of suave, if it weren’t for the mask.
I recognized the style from internet thirst traps, but something about the long beak of the Plague Doctor was unnerving. Silver etches crawl across the black leather, drawing my eyes to his cheekbones rather than the sharp-looking beak. The man shifted his head to one side, causing the light of the nearby candles to reflect off the dark lenses covering his eyes.
It was impossible to tell what he was looking at, but I couldfeelhis gaze on me. I clutched the fabric of my robe tighter, trying to protect myself as I envisioned what I looked like from his perspective. Probably weak, or maybe scared. Both felt true, but I didn’t want to seem helpless, especially not until I knew what was going on.
“It’s nice to see that you’re awake, Lux.” He stepped closer, his steps all too slow. It was like he had nowhere to be, like he wasusedto being feared and wanted to be as non-threatening as possible.
It’s not working.
My words failed me, so I pulled my shoulders back and stood tall as I watched him meander around the room. His first stop was the vanity. He dragged his fingers across the dusty surface before lifting his head to the mirror. I heard a brief sound of disapproval as he ran a gloved hand over the mirror.
“I could have sworn I made a note to have this glass replaced,” he murmured, seeming completely absorbed in the imperfection rather than,you know, the strange woman standing five feet behind him.
“Where am I?” The question slipped before I thought better of it.
He turned on his heels, crossing his arms behind his back before strolling to me. The heavy soles of his boots echoed off the wood, and I found myself stepping back, trying to preserve the distance between us.
He matched my strides, ending with my back against the wall as he stood unbearably close. He leaned down, leaving the tip of his beak to nearly touch my nose.
“Red Lace Manor,” he said, as if that explainedanything.
My pulse jumped to my throat, nearly choking me as I tried to heave in another breath.
“And, who areyou?” I crossed my arms over my chest, trying to hide the shaking of my hands.
Another sound of disapproval left him, and he stood straighter.
“Names aren’t really somethingyouneed,” he said.
I pushed back further into the wall, desperate for an extra inch between us, but the crown moulding in the middle bit into my spine. I fought to conceal my discomfort as the moment between us turned too silent.
I felt like an animal in the zoo being studied.
My captor cleared his throat and straightened his coat.
“If youmustsummon me, which I don’t believe you’ll want to, you can call meReaper.”
My stomach bottomed out at the sound, and my mind shot to the Grim Reaper, leaving me to wonder if that’s an actual nickname, or a promise.
“W-what are you going to do to me?” My voice was soft and breathy.
Reaper turned away, arms crossed behind his back as he started to walk away.
“Come, Miss Rhodes. The others would like to meet you before the gamebegins.”
For safety reasons, I should probably follow him, but the fact that heknewmy name kept me firmly anchored in place.
“How do you–”
“Let’s cut this conversation short.” He stopped walking and looked at me over his shoulder. “I knoweverything. Your address. The way you like your coffee, typically a S’more Mocha if you’re affording yourself the luxury of a six-dollar coffee, and hidden under Vanilla-Caramel creamer if you’re trying to hide the acrid taste of the instant stuff you use to get you through the day.” He paused as if testing to see if he was right, which, unfortunately, he was. “I know that you cry in your car after shifts, and all your credit cards are not only maxed out, but currently delinquent in payments. To top it all off, I know you haven’t been touched by someone, man or woman, inmonths. And, if you were to only consider those able to make you orgasm, well, that leaves you withyouand the barely functional vibrator you keep in the bedside table that you stole from your last roommate.”
Suddenly, I felt dizzy, and not in a good way.
“Once again, I knoweverything.” An almost animalistic growl stole the last word. “And, I am notaskingyou to come, I am telling you that you must. So, please do.”
I suppressed the world's mostpathetic, desperate, whimper. It was probably some fucked up sign that I needed therapy, or even maybe locked up in some sort of fucking mental institution. Having Reaper know so much about me should have been terrifying, and it was, but something in the knowledge that someone had been paying so much attention to me feltgood. In a weird, maybe kind of concerning way. Like I was the love interest in one of those stalker romance novels my friend liked to gush about.
So, while I should have probably thrown myself out the window and called the cops, I complied with my captor's demands. Did he smile as I followed? Or, was he more the stoic type? Probably the latter.
