Page 2 of Room Ten: Praise Times Three

“I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

The woman’s eyes narrow on me. “Oh my God, you’re such a fucking brat you don’t even know why I’m angry. I knew you were self-absorbed, but I had no idea your narcissism ran this deep.”

At this moment, I realize this isn’t about me. It’s not about my father’s money. They think they have Pip and have no idea who I am.

Nobody would ever call me self-absorbed. Half the time, people don’t even know I exist, and the other half, people think I’m some wallflower to be walked on and taken advantage of—and in some ways I suppose that’s true. I’m certainly a wallflower, and I’ve been hiding from people most of my life. Where my sister is the first one to jump up on a table and dance for the cameras, I’m the one standing behind the curtains, trying to make sure nobody sees me.

Quiet as a church mouse—that’s what they say.

The woman’s eyes scan my face, as if she’s cataloging every freckle, every imperfection, and then her eyes grow wide. “Epi?”

I steel my facial expressions so as not to give away my little secret. “Yes?”

“Say my name.”

Doing everything I can to channel my sister’s bratty, sarcastic, beautifully unafraid persona, I click my tongue and say, “Kidnapper.”

She stares at me for a couple of seconds and then looks at the man, giving him a chin tilt.

He flashes me a greasy, gut-churning grin and then put his hands on my hips, bunching up the tops of my yoga pants and shoving them down past my knees.

The woman stands up to look down at me. “Spread her legs.”

All the bravado I attempt to muster masquerading as my sister flies out of me as he slides his hands between my thighs. “God, please no! Please don’t!”

“Is that a birthmark?” Her eyes come back to mine, anger simmering in them. “Who the fuck are you?”

My only response is to cry. In addition to whatever drug they gave me wreaking havoc on my brain, a series of bone-cracking sobs only make my head pound harder.

“Son of a bitch!” The woman stomps out of the bedroom, screaming profanities as she goes.

The man leers down at me, his eyes creeping, touching, and violating every inch of my skin. He slides his hand in between my thighs again, squeezing hard enough to leave a bruise. “I’ll be back for you later.”

Then he does something unexpected and loosens the straps on my wrists. “There’s a bathroom, and as long as you keep quiet, I won’t gag you. Besides, it gets me hard when my prey run and fight.”

He’s laughing as he walks out of the bedroom and slams the door shut behind him, a series of locks turning from the other side. I don’t take this opportunity to dawdle, immediately pulling my yoga pants up and removing the straps on my legs. I curl into a ball and take in my surroundings. They think they have Epi, or at least they did, and now that they know better, my sister is in even more danger. I hop off the bed and check the window, only to find that it’s boarded up inside and out. Then I run into the bathroom, finding there’s one small window above the shower that I couldn’t even fit my foot through. I rifle through all the vanity drawers to find them empty. Not even a toothpick or a spool of floss, not that I would really know what to do with either of those. I come back into the bedroom and look around. Besides the dirty mattress on a rickety frame and a chair in the corner, there’s no furniture in this room. No drawers to rifle through, pictures to pull off the wall and smash over somebody’s head, or sheets to wrap up in.

True despair settles in my chest as my adrenaline wanes. I crawl onto the bed and pull my knees up to my chest as I listen to the distorted voices beyond the door.

Ten, maybe fifteen minutes later, I hear the series of locks being re-opened. Jumping off the bed, I sit in the chair and curl myself up into the tightest ball possible.

The man walks in first, grinning when he lays his eyes on me. I had no idea a man’s smile could be so sinister. The woman walks in behind him, shaking her head. “A twin. Epiphany Krushner’s fucking twin! How did I not know about you?”

I shrug, but I know how. I’ve spent my entire life living in the shadows, doing everything I can to not draw attention to myself. Even though we are mirror images of each other, I am my sister's polar opposite in every way. We are absolutely nothing alike. She’s everything I have never had the courage to be. She’s loud and proud and in front of the cameras, smiling and flirting and talking — everything people gravitate to.

Me? Not so much.

“Are you worth any money to your father? I mean, I couldn’t find anything via a casual search for you online. It took my technical skills to dig you up. Why is that? What are you hiding from?”

I don’t answer her. Instead, I stare and keep my mouth shut, like I have my entire life.

“Answer me!”

“I’m sure my father will meet whatever ransom demands you make.”

She sighs. “We’ll soon find out. You’re going to be our guest for a couple of days.”

Another man walks into the room, tall and thin, but covered with the sinewy muscle models or swimmers have. He’s attractive by high society standards and nothing like the other man who scares the absolute shit out of me. He drops a box on the floor. At the same time, the woman walks out of the room.

---