Page 121 of Destined for the Devil
Nothing. There was justnothing.
Fuck. I had no idea what to do. No shoes, no phone, no purse. Not even water. Water. I was so fucking thirsty. But just as I’d fantasized about a cold glass of water, keys jingled in the door.
I backed away quickly, pressing myself into the opposite wall right by the foot of the bed, deathly afraid of whoever was on the other side.
The handle turned, and the door swung open slowly to reveal…John.
John fucking Clemens. My father’s work partner and lifelong friend, the man who served me birthday cake in his backyard, stood on the other side of the door, a small and calm smile on his face.
I was shocked. Stunned. Floored. Flabbergasted to have my tiny suspicions proven correct.I got in his car.
“I know you’re scared, Isla,” he said softly, like he was trying to soothe me. “But I’m not going to hurt you. I’m sorry I had to do this.”
What. The.Fuck.
I couldn’t move. There were no thoughts in my mind anymore, and I had no idea what to say. My tongue might as well have been glued to the roof of my mouth.
"You're probably hungry and confused. I brought you some food andsome clothes. Take a shower, have breakfast, and I will come in a few hours and we will talk. Okay?"
With a small smile, he wheeled in a little table with a tray of food on top and a bundle of clothes on the bottom. But the only thing my eyes latched onto was a bottle of water. A cold, large, sealed bottle ofwater.
As quickly as he came, John backed out of the room and shut and locked the door, leaving me alone once more. I snatched the bottle off the table and, like a feral animal, gulped down the cool and delicious liquid until there was nothing left.
So…John, then. John? The kind man whose house we would go to for dinner? His wife made the best tiramisu in the world. Why the fuck would John do this? What did he even do? Obviously kidnapped me and locked me up in a tiny room. We weren’t in New York anymore; that was obvious by the landscape.
I paced the room and eyed the food and clothes on the table. I was starving, yes, but what if it was poisoned or laced with something? Instead, I pulled the clothes out—a pair of olive green silk pajamas and white fluffy slippers.
The outfit didn’t put my mind at ease in the slightest. Was he expecting me to relax? Settle in?
But I showered and changed into the pajamas…a tiny bit grateful to have a change of clothes.
God-fucking-damn it, why did I get in his car?! First rule of safety—never get into anyone's car! What the fuck was I thinking?!
But then I thought about how I saw him. He was merely coming out of a convenience store, surprised to see me. It was an accident that I ran into him…unless that’s exactly what he had planned.
I left the food untouched, but through the bars, I unlocked the window and pushed it open, letting in a warm and fresh breeze. It was beautiful outside. Too bad that I was in prison.
Right then three soft knocks sounded again. I approached the little hallway and looked toward the door, genuine fear creeping into my limbs. “Come in,” I spoke quietly, and there was John again, just as promised, keys in hand.
"Come.” He nodded. “Don't be scared." He turned and started walking. Anxiously, I followed him out of the door, like a bird finally set free from a cage. I walked out into a cold and dark landing, following him down a small set of stairs, which led to a much wider and longer hallway.
Stone floors, ancient chandeliers, and paintings of landscapes accompanied us down the hall until we reached a large staircase, opening up to the main floor.
Everything was grand and luxurious in this place, but old, like it had lost the luster of its true beauty. It was freezing, and the silk pajamas did nothing to keep me warm, but I trudged behind John until he walked into a sitting room with two plushy couches and an ornate Persian rug. The biggest stone fireplace I’d ever seen warmed the room but not enough to still my internal shakes.
“Drink?” John pointed to the couch and picked up a decanter. Apprehensively, I slowly sat down on a soft cushion and shook my head to decline his offer, but he passed me a glass anyway.
With his own drink in hand, he walked over to a large armchair and took a seat. His kind smile was back, but this time I could tell he was playing a very well-rehearsed role.
“Don’t you have any questions?” he asked, amused, swirling the caramel-colored liquid in his glass.
Fuck, yes, I have questions, John!
"I have a million questions, John. Just start from the beginning. What—what on earth is all this?” I tried and failed to sound unbothered. He scoffed, taking a small sip of his drink, but never looking away from me.
"Life is mysterious, Isla. There are certain things that happen in your life that seem truly unbelievable, like they're not a coincidence."
Couldn’t argue with that...
