Page 6 of Hensley Manor
But I heard nothing as I lay there. A blissful quiet.
And my bed was outrageously comfortable.
That’s when I recalled drinking myself into a stupor last night and crashing on the couch. I didn’t remember going to bed. Had I woken up in the middle of the night and went to my bedroom? The sheets were cool beneath me and the cover was heavy and warm. With my eyes still closed, I stretched out my legs and flipped to my back.
Either I was still kind of drunk or my bed didn’t feel like my lumpy bed at all. It was soft, like one of those memory foam ones. I had wanted a new mattress for a while but hadn’t gotten around to buying one.
Opening my eyes, I found myself in a large room, one much fancier than my dingy bedroom in the apartment. Instead of the small window with clouded glass, I saw a huge window with red curtains on each side, held in place by gold rings. The light streaming in was bright, and I groaned at the flakes falling from the sky. It wasstillsnowing. When would it fucking stop?
Nonstop snow was the least of my worries, though.
I wasn’t in my room. I wasn’t even in my apartment. Had I hooked up with someone last night after getting wasted? Pretty sure I would’ve remembered waking up and calling someone, and there was no way I’d driven anywhere in my drunken state, so they would’ve had to come pick me up.
No one else was in the room, though. The spot beside me was cold, without a trace of anyone having slept there. I sat up, preparing myself for one hell of a headache caused by all the whiskey I’d downed…but I didn’t feel a thing. I didn’t feel nauseous, either.
“Thank you, hangover gods,” I said with a rasp. I had lucked out on this one.
Where am I?
The furniture in the room was much nicer than anything I had ever owned before. I looked at the plushy armchair and the skinny table beside it, the antique cabinet in the corner, and the small fireplace. A clock ticked on the mantel above it. Christmas decorations were thoughtfully placed throughout the room, not gaudy and ridiculous like some decorations were. A strand of green garland was draped on the mantel, poinsettia leaves were on each side of the small clock, and there was a glass bowl filled with decorative ornaments.
It didn’t look like Lance’s house. He was a rich boy, but he wasn’t the best decorator.
Footsteps sounded in the hall, and I froze, waiting for someone to enter the room. But no one did. The steps retreated, followed by a door shutting. I was confused, and honestly, a little nervous.
I didn’t think I drank enough to black out, but I couldn’t remember anything after falling asleep on the couch. I was afraid to leave the room. However, I couldn’t stay in the super comfy bed for forever.
Time to get some answers.
Getting out of bed, I noticed the red pajama bottoms I wore and ran a hand down the leg of them, my confusion soaring to new heights. They definitely weren’t mine. I was shirtless, so I looked around for something to put on. I didn’t have an overnight bag anywhere, so I checked the dresser. Nothing was in the drawers.
“Fuck.”
Clothes were folded on the chair in the room, and as I neared it, I saw a note on top.
Mr. Wiley,
These should fit you. We look about the same size. I put the clothes you were wearing in the wash, so they should be ready for you soon. Come down for breakfast whenever you’re ready.
-Ian Hensley
Who the actual fuck was Ian? And why was he lending me his clothes?
I picked up the sweater and held it up to me. Maybe a bit long in the arms, but a decent fit nonetheless. I tugged off the pajama pants to step into the jeans. They were a little loose but not by much. At least I had my own shoes. I put them on before standing back up.
A mirror hung on the wall near the door, and I checked myself out, wondering what the hell I’d gotten myself into.
The scar on the right side of my head caught my eye, and my chest tightened at the memory of how I’d received it. It was faded now, but still visible. Less than an inch showed on my forehead. The rest of it was hidden under my hairline on the side of my head, and the raised texture disgusted me every time my fingers grazed it by accident.
Stop thinking about it.
I patted my hair in place, using my bangs to cover the scar, before sharply exhaling and opening the door.
I wasn’t expecting what I saw on the other side. A beautiful chandelier hung from the high ceiling, and a set of bay windows were across from me. In the center of the floor was a round opening where a spiral staircase wound down to the bottom floor. I looked down the hall, seeing doors on each side of mine, as well as a long corridor that led to only God knows where. It was bright and cheery and so fucking strange.
The house reminded me a lot of Lance’s parents’ house, but older, as if it was from the early 1900s.
An older man and woman walked out from one bedroom, and the man tipped his hat to me as they passed me in the hall.
