Page 32 of Cain
I grab his wrist in an attempt to loosen his hand on my face. He’s strong. Way too strong. Air rushes in harder, my nostrils flaring as I try to steady myself.
“I hate you.”
“Get in line.” He lets go of me and takes two steps back.
“Mr. Manson.”
“Eleanor, prepare some tea for my guest. She needs to calm down.”
“Yes, sir.” She nods. “Come with me, sweetie.”
“Eleanor?” he interrupts her. “Don’t forget to try it before you serve it to her.”
She nods again. “Of course, sir. I know the rules.” Try it first? Why? What is he suspicious about? “Come, dear.”
Cain puts his hands into his pants pockets and gives me an intense stare, waiting for me to follow Eleanor.
I guess I don’t have much of a choice.
I followher into the kitchen. It feels like this woman lives in this room. She feels trapped as well.What if she is?
“Take a seat, dear. The tea is already ready,” she says with a sweet tone, stirring the pot.
I take a seat, darting my eyes all over the place. I need to watch my back. She pours the tea into two mugs and offers me one. “It’s chamomile.”
Hesitantly, I take the mug in my hands. It’s warm. She takes a sip of her mug, just like Cain commanded her. “It’s good,” she exhales. “Would you like some honey in it?”
I love honey in my tea, but if Cain suspects something about her, I should watch my back. Maybe she didn’t poison the tea, but the honey.
“I’m fine, thanks.” I smile awkwardly.
I take a sip from the chamomile and let it spread in my mouth before I swallow it. It tastes really good. How I wish I were in my bedroom in my old apartment in Czechia, sitting on the ledge near the window with a mug of tea in my hand, watching people walk down the cobblestone streets.
Normally, it’s exactly what I’d need this time of year. November is one of my favorite months—mildly cold, not quite winter yet, but far from summer. It’s also close to Christmas, when we always gather as a family.
I never got along with my family and always felt the need to oppose them. Dad never loved me; I know that. He never loved me for who I am. He always wanted me to be someone else, someone who fit his prudish mindset and wouldn’t be an embarrassment. I don’t know if he’s incapable of loving in general or if it’s just me he has a problem with.
But I guess this Christmas will find me all alone in this huge place, being hunted down by a psycho.
Tears well in my eyes, but I need to stay strong. I need to stand my ground and steel myself.
Abruptly, she rests her hand on my forearm. I look at her. “It’ll be easier in time.”
“Does he keep you here against your will, too?”
She swallows. “No. Here is my home. Right next to Mr. Manson.” She sips her tea again.
“Why does he keep me here?”
She glances at me, understanding my despair. “I don’t know that. He doesn’t allow us to know more.”
She looks so apathetic. How can she be so calm, knowing what her boss is doing to people? And forcing her to try her food first? That means I can’t trust anyone here.
“Has he taken other hostages?” I ask.
“Never. You are the first one.” She takes one more sip and stands to wash the mug immediately. It’s as if she doesn’t want to reply.
“Is he a killer?”
