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Wefollow Amos inside. The place definitely needs some work, but all I can see arethe possibilities. It’s an open floor plan with plenty of light from largewindows overlooking the lake. The living room carpet needs to be replaced, butthe tile in the kitchen looks good. Agnes and Amos chat while I check out therest of the house. Three bedrooms is more than I need, but one could easily beconverted to an art studio. The one downstairs with a view of the lake wouldwork perfectly.
Ithink I’m in love.
Amosgrins at me when I return. “All the furniture is included. Aggy says you’relooking to rent. I was hoping to sell, but I can let you rent for a year ifyou’d like.”
Ishake my head. “I’ve changed my mind. I’m interested in buying. Did you have aprice in mind?”
Whenhe replies, I can’t believe what he’s asking. I’d have paid twice that.
“It’swhat I paid for it, plus the money I’ve put into it over the years.”
Iwalk over to Amos and shake his hand. “You’ve got yourself a deal.”
#
Thepast two weeks have flown by. My days have been filled with shopping, whichisn’t my favorite thing in the world, but when you’re starting over withnothing, it’s a necessity. The rest of my time has been dedicated to cleaningout my new home.
It’snot nasty, but years of sitting vacant and neglected have taken their toll.I’ve had workmen in to check the big stuff, and fortunately the foundation,furnace, central air, wiring, and plumbing are in good shape. Although the roofwill need some work before the snow hits, the repairs needed are mostlycosmetic.
Forthe first time in so long, my artistic side is awakened.
I’mpainting my studio walls a calming, pastel green when I hear a loud motor andpeek through my curtains. A moving truck pulls in, and two large men carryfurniture into the house next door.
Didn’tAmos say some rich family owned it? They must’ve decided to stay for a while,because there’s only about six weeks of summer left, and they’re moving in awhole house worth of stuff.
Itdoesn’t take me long to grow bored watching the movers, so I get back to mywork. After I get ready for bed, I can’t resist a quick peek at the house nextdoor, but it’s dark. Maybe the family will show up tomorrow.
Aftertwo weeks of solitude—other than a few dinners with Agnes—I wouldn’t mindmeeting some new people.
AsI do most nights, I fall into bed and crash from exhaustion almost instantly.
Thenightmare begins as it usually does.
I’mrunning through the blackness, trying to make it to the tree line before I’mspotted. The battered slippers on my feet are no protection from the sharprocks and twigs, but I ignore the pain in my feet because I’m almost there.
It’shard to find the path at night, but I’ve walked it a thousand times during theday, so as soon as I step onto it, I know where I am. My buried treasure isonly a few feet away. Soft, muddy ground gives way under my fingers as I diglike an animal until I feel cloth and yank it from the earth.
Unwrappingmy prize, I get a quick glance at what four years underground has done to mybank card and driver’s license. No matter. It may not seem like much of atreasure to others, but the two plastic cards in my hand are my lifeline to theoutside world I was kept away from.
Itisn’t until I shove them in my pocket that the real nightmare begins. His laughfills the air around me, echoing through the trees, and I jump to my feet,goosebumps lining my skin. I can’t tell where the sound is coming from.
“Lissa.You can’t leave, Lissa. No one leaves.”
Panicked,I run down the path, toward the one lane road that leads to the highway. I’malmost there—close enough to see the full moon glinting off the pavement—whenI’m jerked to the ground.
Hetowers over me, made ten feet tall by my twisted, nocturnal imagination. Hisvoice exudes cruelty and power as he repeats the words that haunt me every day.
“Youcan’t leave, Lissa. No one leaves. This is your True Life. Everything else isonly existence.”
Asusual, I sit up in bed, breathing hard, my hand clamped into a fist as if I’mstill trying to hold tight to my treasure. Once the terror passes, I flop backon my pillow, frustrated and disappointed in myself.
He’sdead. He’s been dead for weeks.
I’mno longer a captive of True Life, so why can’t I leave them behind?
Mysister’s image flashes in my brain, reminding me of the horrible truth. I lefther there. She’s still under their control. Maybe my brain insists on making merelive my escape every night because of my selfishness.
Toshow me I’ll never really be free.
