Airel: The Discovering (Airel Saga Book Two)

Chapter XIV

Somewhere in the Mountains of Idaho—Present Day

          

COOL MORNINGS IN THE mountains, with rain on some nights, made the earth smell so good that it invaded the mind. I sat up and drank it in, feeling better than I ever had up to this point. For the first time in a long time, I felt like I’d had a good night’s sleep.

I took stock of my situation: One, I knew Michael was alive and well. He was off his game, but at least he was breathing. Two, my host was disturbingly generous and wealthy. Either that, or he was working for someone who owned an entire country.

I let my feet fall to the floor and shuffled into the bathroom. I wasn’t going to think about my parents and how they were doing. Let’s at least wake up and clear the cobwebs before we burst into tears.

A pink sticky note looked at me from the mirror. The handwriting had to be Michael’s. The killer’s hand would have been in cursive. I pulled it free and read what it said.

Went for a walk. Don’t worry about me— I was assured I was being watched, so I won’t go far. See you at breakfast—8 AM sharp.

- Michael Alexander

I looked outside, down the lush green valley, but did not see Michael. The grandfather clock against the wall was reading… little hand on the seven, big hand on the nine… quarter ’til. I was experiencing culture shock, full-on. Literally nothing digital in the entire place, unless it was numbers themselves. “Man.” What could I say? I decided to get ready and head downstairs.

I found a hair band, pulled half my hair back. and tied it tight. Smoothing out the rest with my hand, I looked in the mirror. On second thought, I pulled the band out of my hair and let it run wild, hiding part of my face, providing cover. I decided that was better, and pulled on a black shirt and my favorite jeans, trying hard not to think of how they had appeared here in the middle of freaking Narnia.

I opened the door and stared straight into the dark eyes of my captor, which prompted a sharp gasp and a long, “Shhhhhhhhh—” aborting the rest of the curse.

He smiled, his lips drawn thin. “Morning,” he said. “I hope you’re feeling well.”

I recovered quickly, rebuilding the wall by reattaching the mask to my frightened face, glaring at him. “Well, actually, I’m feeling pretty good. Better than I’ve been, since you asked.” He turned to walk down the hallway and I followed. “But I think I may need a doctor to find out what’s wrong with me. I started getting sick a month or so ago.” I didn’t know why I told him, but somehow I felt I must.

“You will be fine. You need a good breakfast. There is much to talk about. It will become clear in time—and try not to think of me as your captor or kidnapper.” He looked at me. “I only did what I had to do.”

He stopped short when he saw the look on my face. I had no interest in being his friend or buddy, if that was what he was looking for. I remembered something from a movie where victims actually started to like their captors, building a sick version of a relationship. I was not afraid of that happening to me.

“I don’t want to be your friend. I don’t want to know you, and the first chance I can find to escape, I will. I’m trying to make the best of all this, but don’t pretend anything’s normal.” I didn’t care if he had tried to nurse me back to health or any of it. He was a murderer and a kidnapper. And that was just the stuff I knew about him.

His eyes grew hard. “Have it your way. But know this: you cross me or try to escape … I will kill you. Do not mistake my generosity for weakness.”