Page 18 of Cain
Emily has probably gone crazy by now.
What am I supposed to do? No one has knocked on the door or come to see me. Is he living alone after all?
I can’t live like this. I need to take action.
Hesitantly, I walk closer to the two other doors on the other side of the room. They’re right next to each other, and they look identical. I choose door number one.
It’s a bathroom. Damn, it’s massive, with walls in soft beige-sand tones. It has both a shower and a bathtub, along with a large vanity, a deep sink, and a huge mirror stretching across the wall. Nice touch.
Now let’s see the door number two. I open it, and the sight takes my breath away.
In front of me is the most enormous, luxurious closet I’ve ever seen in my life—and I’ve seen plenty lately.
It’s packed with clothes for every occasion, neatly organized. Formal dresses, evening gowns, shirts, pants, jeans, sweaters, heels, boots, sneakers, coats, and more. Every single piece is more stunning than the last, radiating elegance and class. Anything I could possibly want, all here, waiting.
“Whose is this closet?” I mumble to myself, unable to stop my eyes from darting all over the place.
The way it is organized reveals a man who cares about order and takes pride in maintaining it—and this thought confuses me even more. I need to go out and search for clues. I can’t stay locked in this room forever.
I step out, and a vast corridor stretches before me, painted in near-black tones. Doors are scattered on either side, each one leading to God knows where.
I follow my instincts, passing them and heading straight ahead.
I reach the kitchen, where a middle-aged woman stands, preparing something on the counter. There’ssomething about her, like the witch from a fairy tale, preparing a meal where I might be the main course.
“Hello, dear. You must be starving,” she says, her voice disturbingly warm.
“Hey,” I barely whisper. She must be the maid he mentioned.
“I’m Eleanor.” Yep, that’s her.
“I’m Katerina.”
She turns her back and continues to stir the food in the pot before she has a taste. Gosh, it smells so good and fruity, like clementine, and damn, I love clementine. Is she making clementine jam? That sounds smart, actually.
I haven’t eaten in almost a day, and I’m starving.
“Enjoying your stay here, dear?” she asks without turning to look at me.
“Are you kidding me?”
She chuckles and adds a pinch of salt. “Take a seat. I’ll get you something to eat.”
Without a second thought, I slowly sink into the black chair beside the table, staying silent. The table is perfectly set. Spoons and forks are laid out, along with two glasses—one for water and one for wine.
She opens the oven and takes out a shepherd’s pie. Oh, it looks so delicious.
She cuts a generous piece of it, puts it into a plate, and offers it to me.
“Here. Let me know if you need more.” She smiles brightly, making the corners of her eyes crinkle. Her hair is completely gray, worn in a high and neat bun. She must be in her fifties.
I hesitate. What if she poisoned it?
As if reading my mind, she grabs a bite of it herself. “It’s delicious!”
Nah, it can’t be poisoned, and I’m far too starved not to take my chances.
I grab the first bite. Damn, it’s delicious indeed!
