3. Hostage
"And this," River said, opening a door to a large room with many stoves, ovens and fridges, "is the kitchen. I had the electrical work put in a few years ago. You should find everything you need in here."
"Am I cooking?" I asked, my voice toneless.
"Yes," River stared back at me, his facial expression blank. "What else did you expect?" I didn't answer. What was I supposed to say? River moved on. Apparently, most of the rooms I needed were on the first floor of the east wing. Cleaning, cooking, etcetera. Though River said I was allowed in any area of the house I wished. Except the south wing. The south wing was off limits. I wasn't sure why and honestly I wasn't interested. All that registered was no south wing for me. Tick, got it, move along. I was okay with that.
"You will eat dinner with me, in the dining room, every night at seven," River said, licking his lips with his black tongue. The dining room was in one of the doors off the corridor that led to the ballroom, I vaguely remembered.
"With you?" I asked.
"Yes," he laughed. "I do like the company."
"Really?" I replied, sarcasm dripping from my voice. "Even with the whole I-never-leave-my-mansion thing." I thought River would be angry at what I'd said, and I bit my tongue, not really meaning to let that last comment slip out.
River laughed softly. It sounded so mesmerising it didn't deserve to belong to that body. "I stay in the house out of necessity, not want. If were able to go out more often, I would. It is simply that I do not deal well in the sun. Or with more than one human at a time."
"Right," I nodded. River led me on. He took me up a few flights of stairs and past many doors until he reached one with a tiny knocker. He opened it slowly and motioned for me to enter. I did.
"This is your room," he said, obviously pleased with himself. "You may do with it what you wish." It was beautiful room, no doubt about that. The marble still surrounded me, but I didn't mind so much because this marble had a slight tinge of blue. How, I wouldn't have known. There was one window on the back wall, slightly opaque. Something about looking out of this window, seeing the world through a fuzzy haze, seemed vaguely familiar, but I couldn't work out how it was familiar. Inside the room it seemed to be slightly warmer than the rest of the mansion. It was furnished with a large chestnut wardrobe to one side, a dresser and mirror next to it. On the other side of the room was my huge four-poster bed made of shiny mahogany timber with overhanging pieces of soft blue fabric, like the gothic beds seen in old style movies. Next to the bed on either side were matching bedside tables with some of my things already arranged.
"My room," I echoed.
"Yes, I have already put your things in the wardrobe and drawers. I had to get rid of the evidence from your house."
"Naturally," I said indifferently. River looked at me, checking to see if I was making fun of him.
"That door," River pointed to a door that stood at the back of the room on the left sidewall beside my dresser, "leads to your own bathroom. I also had plumbing installed when the electrical was being put in. You have hot water for anything you wish." He said it as if he had done me some great favour. I shuddered to think of both the electrician and plumber who had done the work. Were they human? Had they been disposed of when they had completed their job? Or had River just erased the memory? "Well, I will leave you to get settled. Remember, dinner is at seven, and is a formal occasion. Dress nicely. Tonight I will fetch something to eat, but tomorrow you will need to go shopping and collect some food. I will not be cooking again."
"Seems fair," I answered.
River searched for any sign I was making fun of him. When he decided I wasn't, his tone became softer. "Some of the girls found that they enjoyed my company after a while."
"I've heard of that. It's called Stockholm syndrome. And it's simply out of necessity for survival, not a particular liking of character. And personally, forming a bond with my captor is not all that high on my priorities right now."
"You truly are such a treasure. Very intelligent," River said with laugh. I was shocked. I thought he'd be angry, or upset. Apparently he was neither. "Now, I am fairly sure you will not be foolish enough to create some sort of elaborate escape charade and try to win back the minds of your family, but in case you do, heed this warning. Firstly, there is no way to retrieve memories. Human minds are weak and fragile. Easy to break. Harder to fix. Like a badly made toy. And secondly, if you try to escape, I will kill your brother. And I know how fond you are of him. Each escape attempt, means another life. The same rules apply for suicide."
"I'm not allowed to leave the house?" I asked. I wasn't panicked; I just knew that River was laying down ground rules.
"Oh, no, of course you can leave the house. How are you supposed to shop? And in any case, the land my mansion is harboured in is very pretty, and I noticed how you fall for pretty things." River chuckled. "We will talk more at dinner. For now, freshen up, rest. I will see you in little less than an hour." And then, River was gone with a whooshing sound – the same I had heard when in the ballroom, and on the way to my house, and when I saw Mix. A sound I knew I'd come to dread.
As the sun began to go down I sat on the bed – my bed – and watched it through the softly opaque glass. It gave the whole view a more surreal look. As if I were seeing the world through an abstract painting. That was when it hit me. The paintings on the walls in the corridor to the ballroom. They had all been painted looking through this window. Things became clearer. Some of the pictures had been of women looking out into nothing. Others had been of a landscape, as if looking down. It dawned on me that River was the artist. He'd painted his previous maids by looking in through the window from outside, and painted different landscapes by looking out from this room. Amazing how one window could have so many different pictures in it.
It scared me to think that I should end up becoming one of those still maids, standing by the window with nothing more than a hideous monster as a companion, staring out at the back garden of their own pathetic existence. And how many maids had their been? I just remembered the many paintings. Too many. I didn't even notice the tears before they hit my hands, which were folded in my lap, and dried, leaving salty trails. I shuddered and realised I was cold. I got up slowly, noticing I was very stiff. I'd been sitting for a long time. It also occurred to me that it was dark. I really should have known that since I had been staring out the window, but I guess that that detail had slipped my mind.
This sort of stuff wasn't meant to be real. This stuff didn't exist, not in real life anyway. How? Why couldn't this be a dream? Maybe I was dead? No, I didn't want to think that because then I would be stuck in this place for the rest of my deathly existence. This was real. Magic was real. Faeries were real. I'm crazy. I glanced at the beautifully made clock on the bedside table and it took me a while to actually interpret the numbers. My brain seemed a little numb. Maybe I was in shock. Maybe I was normal after all. Or not.
The clock said it was five to seven. The words, dress nicely, echoed in my head as I opened the huge wardrobe. I found that most of my clothes had been packed away, along with a few things that weren't mine. The first thing that caught my eye was a beautiful midnight blue silk dress hung up. I took it from the hook and held it against me, looking in the mirror. It had been hand sewn, that much was obvious. It fell around my feet with a soft fluttering effect. It had a low cut V neck with thick straps that fell off the shoulders and a sash around the centre. There was subtle silver embroidery that wound from the bottom of the dress, up and around the waist till it reached the left shoulder and continued around the back. Beads were sewn within it, making them look like tiny stars against the fabric of the dress.
The corset looked as thought it were made with real bone, the laces thin soft ribbon, delicate enough to look as though they would break at a touch. The petticoat made the dress fall out at the waist. It looked like a ball gown from the seventeen hundreds. It probably was.
It was so amazingly exquisite I knew I could never wear it. I placed it back in the wardrobe and found a plain black skirt and light green top to wear. I studied myself carefully. My mind wandered back to the story of Giselle – the ballet. Somehow, I had the illusion that my fate would be similar to hers. Trying to escape or kill myself was no good – he'd just kill my family. So what did I do now? Just do what he says? Live like his maid? Would he try to… would I be used in other ways? More than just housework? Would I become the ghost of Giselle?
After too long wandering the marble walls of the mansion I finally found the dining room. I walked in quietly, closing the door softly behind me. The room was long and thin, no windows, marble walls, roof and floor, with brackets around the room, harbouring light globes, looking out of place. As a substitute for windows, paintings were placed at even intervals along the walls. That same style of paintings from the corridor to the ballroom. The corridor that also led to this room. I shuddered looking at the timeless faces of girls – girls like me – standing by their window. At the far end of the room was a large fireplace with a mantle surrounding it. On the mantle were tiny figurines. I could hardly see them from where I was standing. They looked like… faeries. Stereotypical faeries with pretty wings and floaty dresses. I was confused immediately. I put the thought out of my mind and turned my attention to what I was about to endure. In the centre of the room was a long granite table – cool grey and black stone, a change from all the white – with chestnut coloured chairs adoring the heads and sides. Surprisingly, River didn't sit at the head, as I would have expected him to. He stood when I entered, giving me a sharp pointed smile and gestured for me to sit opposite. I obeyed. His looks still shocked me. The infinite blue eyes that looked like startlingly bright marbles, the black tongue that clicked too often, the scaly, callused wan skin and deathly look to his lips. He honestly did look more like a corpse than a real person. He belonged on a cold metal table with a scalpel being dug into his chest, not at a dining table, smile on his face, plate of hot food placed in front of him, unnaturally normal clothing. This didn't fit. I was startled by my notion to hurt him. Never had I ever wanted to hurt or kill someone, yet that emotion had washed over me so quickly it made me ill. I sat before I could think of anything else disgusting. Still, if made we wonder if the ghosts from the paintings ever wanted to kill River. Maybe they just lost all hope. What was the point of trying to kill someone who was immortal?
"Glad you did not have too much trouble in finding the room," River said as I pushed my chair in, inspecting my food.
"I did," I answered blatantly.
"Oh," River said, seemingly surprised by my irritation. "That is fine. Dinner should still be warm." I stared down at my food. It looked like something exotic. Rice with a brown coloured sauce and meat chunks. "It is a curry. Just left overs from what Grace cooked a few nights ago. I can not cook at all." River chuckled at himself. I felt sick. Another maid had made this meal. Another me. Another ballerina Giselle. I pushed my plate away and shook my head. A dead woman had made this meal. I couldn't eat it. I watched River's face. He looked at me strangely, something looking like anger flashed in his eyes before he shook it off.
"I'm not hungry," I said.
"Is that so?" River asked, eyeing me suspiciously.
"If I may, can I go to sleep? I'm tired."
"I requested dinner. If you do not eat, then we shall at least talk," River said, pursing his lips. I nodded slowly. What could I ever have to say to him?
"What do you want to talk about? I have to warn you though; I'm not very experienced on the kidnapping-and-torturing thing."
"I have not – nor plan to – torture you, Giselle," River said, with a slight frown, as if he was unsure what I was getting so worked up about. It was the first time he had said my name. It made me shudder. River noticed this and the line his mouth was set in deepened further. "I must say, you are very different to the others I have taken in." The way he said taken in made it sound like he had done these ghost girls a favour. "You are not scared, nor are you particularly angry or defiant. There has been no escape attempts, or attempts on my or your own life-"
"You said you would hurt my family if I tried that," I interjected.
"That does not mean others have not tried," River smiled thinly. I shuddered again, to think of what girls had done change their own fate. I didn't want to know. Ever.
"Just another obvious statement of your overwhelming popularity," I said, my voice snide, almost childish.
"You are very clever with words too," River said. "I will enjoy your company," he repeated. I didn't answer. What was I supposed to say? River looked at me quizzically.
"Yes?" I asked when I was uncomfortable with him staring.
"Tomorrow," he began, shaking off whatever he had been staring at me for, "would you like me to show you the garden? Even though it is winter it is still very beautiful." Another challenge.
"Do you look after it?" I asked, purposely dodging the question.
"No," River laughed, his deep pitch echoing around the room. "You attend to the garden. Though, in the winter not much needs to be done. It rains enough to sustain it and you do not really need to trim anything. Just the occasional rake of leaves."
"Me? I don't know how to garden."
"Then find out," River said bluntly, the laughter in his voice gone.
"Do you have internet?"
"Excuse me?" River asked, looking surprised that I'd spoken.
"Internet. On computers. Connects you to the World Wide Web," I said condescendingly.
"I know what it is," River said, his anger flaring for a second, showing on his face, before all traces of it had gone, making me wonder if he really had been angry. "There is a computer in the library. But it is my computer. You are forbidden from using it."
"What about my laptop?" I asked. I had gotten a laptop for Christmas last year. If River had the right cords I could easily hook up to the Internet. For some reason this gave me a stupid hope.
"I put it in the second drawer of the left hand side bed table."
"Can I use that to go on the Internet?"
"I suppose…" River considered. "But only under my consent."
"Okay," I nodded. "How do you even get internet in a place like this?"
"The same way I got electricity."
"But what about the companies that supply it? Don't they wonder why they are providing electricity for a house that's supposed to be abandoned?"
"Over the years I have learnt many trades. I was able to connect my power source to the houses next door. Most of the houses in this neighbourhood are supplying me with my power. They do not realise it, but they are paying an extra ten percent on all their bills." River looked pleased with himself. I'm sure I looked disgusted. "Do not worry, I monitor all the houses, if they need extra funding, I supply it for them."
"Well, that's okay then," I muttered sarcastically, looking at the granite table. Something else occurred to me. "Over the years? How old are you?"
"I have not aged in many years," River answered looking uncomfortable. I thought of the many maids hung up on River's walls and shuddered. I decided I didn't really want to know how old he was. Because if I knew that, I could work out how many maids he had kept. How many innocent girls he had stolen. How many families he had broken. How many girls who never had the chance to get married, have children, live life. How many girls he destroyed so he could live his comfortable life, with a pretty garden, pretty food, pretty house and a pretty pet to contradict his hideousness. I didn't want to know.
"May I please leave the table?" I asked, feeling like a child who hadn't finished her vegetables.
"I suppose so," River said with a wave of his hand. "Tomorrow I will be in the library for most of the day should you like me to show you the garden. You will also need to go shopping for dinner. I will make my own breakfast and lunch."
"I thought you couldn't cook," I said, already standing, the mahogany chair sliding soundlessly over the smooth marble floor.
"Well, magic can have many uses," River answered simply, taking another bite out of his food as he watched me stand. "I ask you to cook because I enjoy a human cooked meal. They taste so much more authentic. It is a nice reminder."
"Reminder?" I asked, suddenly suspicious.
"Did you say you wanted to leave?" River asked in a tone that was obviously my dismissal. I nodded and walked the length of the room to the door, feeling like I was on death row, walking in chains down an echoing corridor, every set of eyes on me. In reality there was only one set of eyes on me, but the chains could be real enough. So could the death sentence.