Page 53 of Resting Grump Face
“Still that slow death we talked about the other day. It’s really taking its time.”
“It might go faster if you come with me now.”
19
SIENNA
Reluctantly, I do as I am told and exit the car. We must be somewhere on the outskirts of town because there aren’t any skyscrapers close by. It’s mostly well-maintained townhouses. I have never been to this part of the city before.
The building we’re standing in front of looks a little different from the others, and I absolutely love it. It’s not too out of place, but it’s by far the most recognizable. It reminds me of a baby castle that dressed up for Halloween. It’s as if they took it apart black brick by black brick back in Europe or some other fairytale place, sent it over here and reassembled it one by one. Trap doors, a firefighter’s pole, and marble floors so shiny Narcissus would be happy living here all seem like reasonable assumptions. There’s no arguing that it’s beautiful in a somewhat what-am-I-even-looking-at way.
“Is this where you live?” I ask, maybe a little too enthusiastically as we approach the entrance.
“Sometimes.”
“Interesting,” I say and follow him inside.
“How so?”
“I guess I would have expected you to have a less fascinating house.” Stepping inside, I glance around the lobby with its heavy curtains, oversized chandelier, and oil paintings. “This doesn’t feel like it would beyourhome, you know?”
“That’s because it’s not. Or rather, it wasn’t. I inherited it from my grandparents when they passed. Just never got around to redecorating.”
He leads me inside, orders me to take a seat in what I assume to be one of the living rooms (there’s probably several), and then leaves me to myself. So, naturally, I stroll around a bit. The eye-catcher of the room is a cozy fireplace with two adorning grotesques on top that are presenting their butts. Two rocking chairs sit next to it. On one of the rocking chairs lies a basket with knitting utensils. Someone started knitting socks and never finished them. It reminds me of the ugly pillows I still keep around at home.
Ryker Grayson never struck me as particularly sentimental, but maybe Olivia wasn’t entirely wrong after all. Maybe we do actually have a thing or two in common. Like memorabilia from our grandmas.
Curious about what else this place holds, I walk from one room to the next one. The doors are open so it doesn’t really feel like I am intruding and sneaking around, which I guess I am, considering that he told me to‘Sit your ass down and wait here’in as polite a manner as he can apparently manage after using up all his charm for the TV show host.
By now he should know that’s not how you get people to do the things you want them to do. So I don’t feel particularly bad when I enter what appears to be his bedroom. The walk-in closet gives it away. There are too many expensive suits that look almost identical, plus, on the other side of the closet, there are numerous colorful costumes. I sift through the garments and imagine what Ryker would look like wearing them. Then Iimagine what Ryker would look like not wearing them. Then I imagine what I would look like underneath Ryker not wearing them. Then I intentionally bump my head against the wood panel next to the wardrobe.
Ouch.
It sounds hollow. Not my head, the wall behind the panel. I wish my head was as hollow though, so it wouldn’t be filled with pictures of Mr. Whom I Really Should Stop Thinking About. I knock on the wood. Definitely hollow. So I check for a handle to see if it opens, but there is none. I step into the closet and check for another way to open it. Just when I am about to give up, I discover a hidden button on the side that releases some kind of mechanism. The wood panel creaks as it swings open, and I’ve never been more jealous of anything in my entire life.
Back in the living room, I can hear Ryker cursing. I guess he noticed I am not where he’d like me to be. And now I am not entirely sure if I want to be in this house in the first place. What if I have just discovered a secret passage to his dungeon where he tortures and murders people?
When his footsteps come closer, I quickly step inside and close the hidden door behind me. It’s dark, so I pull out my phone and turn the flashlight on. A few steps in, there is another panel that I can open from the inside. Quickly, I step into the next room.
It’s empty. Entirely. There’s nothing on the walls, no furniture, no nothing. If it was cushioned all around, one could assume this was a room in a mental hospital, or maybe in a mental hospital in a horror movie. Who knows if mental hospitals have those rooms in reality.
I close the door behind me and watch as it seamlessly slides into the wall. If I didn’t know there was one, I wouldn’t be able to see a door. A row of windows let in some natural light fromabove, but they’re too high for me to properly look out. The whole thing is a little creepy.
I should probably head back. There doesn’t seem to be anything here, and he doesn’t need to know that I know about this place. I can just say I went to the restroom and then got lost. It’s plausible enough. The only issue is that I don’t know how to get out of here. I look for another hidden button to reopen the door I had just closed, but can’t find any. Trying not to panic, I slide across each wall, looking for things to press or pull. I consider scaling the wall and exiting through one of the windows when I hear something pop open behind me on the other side of the room.
Slowly, I turn around and discover Ryker standing in another secret doorway. He’s brandishing a knife, which makes my heart skip a beat.
“I’m making dinner,” he says nonchalantly and wiggles the knife between two fingers. “Do you have any dietary restrictions? Allergies?”
“Are you going to poison me because I found your little kill room?”
He raises one of his eyebrows. “Why would I go through the trouble of poisoning you if I had a dedicated kill room?”
“Well, I think we already established that you’re a little slow up there sometimes.”
“I guess every once in a while, we’re more alike than either of us would like to admit, Miss de la Vega.” Ryker turns around and walks out of the room. “I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t thought about it,” he adds, “but for now, I am just going to feed you.”
“Ah,” I exclaim and quickly pursue, “kind of like the witch in Hänsel and Gretel?”
