Page 63 of Collateral Claim
When Endo heard that Marquis wouldn’t rest, I thought he would brush it off, but he got mad at Marquis and confined him to the dungeons. He, his husband, and Connor again, for handing over the suitcase to Marquis.
Endo disciplined grown-ass men. It tells me he’ll follow through for his brother, and if he senses someone is getting in his way or jeopardizing his mission, he will end them.
If I remain here, I’ll fold under Endo’s rule just like everyone else. I’m old enough and self-aware enough that I know this about myself. I’m attracted to him, and honestly, his actions make sense. That’s the worst part. I understand why he’s doing what he’s doing to me. I don’t like it, but I get it.
I have to get out of here.
I escaped Endo once before, and I’ll do it again. Since I’m on his turf, I need to become more familiar with the house and the grounds around it, and there’s no better time for scouting than around midnight, when everyone is either asleep or in the dungeons hanging out with Marquis.
I put on my slippers, even though if I walk barefoot, people won’t hear me. But I don’t know the layout, and slippers will protect my feet from cold and any sharp objects, so I keepthem on. If anyone asks what I’m doing, I’ll say I’m hungry and searching for a midnight snack.
I expect to see Declan outside my bedroom, but find an empty hallway. I don’t know if he’s not assigned at night, if there’s a change of shift, or if he deserted his post. Either way, I’m grateful for the blessing.
The dreadful conversation about Donatella, who I presume is Endo’s ex, and the baby they lost festers in my brain like a pseudomonas infection. I squinch my eyes shut, willing away the woman’s name. Yet, if I don’t visit the nursery, the curiosity might kill me.
I doubt I’ll find escape clues there, but one never knows. Maybe Donatella was also trapped at the Keep, and she found a rope she could use to get down from the windows.
It sounds far-fetched, but here I am, a captive wanting a way to escape. One never knows.
The hallway is colder than it should be in the summer. A shiver runs down my spine.
I push the nursery door, wondering if it’ll open. I don’t know why I expected it to be locked, but the door opens with one of those creepy creaks. I look up and down the hallway as if someone will catch me in the act. No one does, so I enter the room, but leave the door open so it doesn’t squeak again.
Outdoor lights illuminate the inside of the room only enough so that I can see where I’m stepping. I make out a few pieces of furniture covered under white sheets. Probably the dresser, the reclining chair, and the crib. With the tips of my fingers, I lift the sheet from the crib, but then drop it when the mattress is revealed. If I find a toy or, God forbid, something creepy like a doll lying inside, I will freak out and end my mission hiding in my bed under the comforter.
We all fear something, don’t we?
Spiders, heights, the dark? I fear dolls, and I blame Charlotte for making us watch horror movies about deranged dolls going around murdering people. Yeah, no peeking in the crib. I lift the sheet off the object across from the crib.
It’s a rocking chair with beautiful hand-carved armrests and plush red-and-gold cushions. There’s a crest engraved into the wood at the top where one might lean the back of one’s head. I wish I could read what it says, but it’s too dark.
I run my fingertips over the crest. Closing my eyes, I try to make out what it says.
I’m pretty sure I feel a letter M, which makes sense. Endo’s last name is Macarley.
When I open my eyes, I catch the movement of the door.
I slap a hand over my mouth to muffle a scream and step away from the chair. The slipper slides off my foot and hits the chair, which starts to rock as if someone’s sitting in it.
Fuck. This.
I rush out of the nursery and head for my bedroom, but the door is open when I left it closed, so I run past it and down the stairs, praying the entire time that I don’t slip and that the person who was watching me can’t catch me.
At this point, I hope it’s a person and not the ghost of Endo’s girlfriend, who he murdered after their baby died a sad death in the crib.
Fear spins stories in my mind. I don’t even believe in ghosts. They don’t exist. But also, I’m never walking into that nursery again. Ever. Curiously killed the cat. I survived, so I’m good now.
At the bottom of the steps, male laughter and cursing drift from the direction of the dungeons. I hope my patient gets much-needed rest and doesn’t stay up all night with the other unruly bunch in the house.
The front door is right there. Exit. I can exit. Slip out quietly in the middle of the night.
I bite my lip. I could run to the forest. Unless he has dogs that are not like my terrier, Endo won’t be able to find me. I could cover my tracks.
But getting lost in the forest could be dangerous. Besides, I need provisions. At least a few days’ worth of food, first aid, water, a flashlight.
Tomorrow, I could research what hikers use and see what comes up. Oh, wait. Not tomorrow. It’s the weekend, and I could only research this at work for fear that Endo would uncover my escape plan.
I dare a look over my shoulder.
