All morning, I’ve been sitting on the sofa, flipping through the channels on the television, feeling increasingly claustrophobic. I would love to go outside and take a walk, but Graham made it clear this morning that I couldn’t go outside alone. He said it wasn’t safe.
That woman Camila is upstairs, doing God knows what. Supposedly, she’s cleaning, but I haven’t heard any vacuum noises or running water. Something about Camila makes me uneasy. I don’t quite trust anyone. It’s obvious from the scar on my head that there’s some grain of truth to the car accident story, but it feels like there’s something I am missing. A missing piece of the puzzle.
To hell with Graham’s warnings. I’m going to go take a walk.
I’m already wearing a pair of sneakers I found in the closet, so I head straight for the front door. I’ll just walk around the block. Nothing bad is going to happen if I do that. I’ll probably be back home before Camila even notices I’m gone.
I reach out to turn the lock, the same way I did when I left the house yesterday to go to work. Well, it wasn’t really yesterday. It was seven years ago. But it feels like yesterday. In any case, the lock looks different than it did the last time I remember. Instead of the dial that I used to turn to unlock the door, now there’s a keyhole.
Oh my God.
The door is locked from the inside.
Pushing back a surge of panic, I make a beeline for the back door. I can hear my dog, Ziggy, barking from the backyard, but I can’t get to him. Because there is a lock on the back door as well.
I slam my palm against the back door in frustration. Are they kidding me? How could they lock me in here? I mean, yes, I was trying to leave without permission, but for God’s sake, I’m an adult. I wasn’t going to do anything dangerous. I was just going to take a walk around the block!
And I still can. There are other ways to get out of this house. They can’t keep me prisoner here.
I return to the front door, my hands shaking. There are two picture windows on either side of the door. I might not be quite as nimble now that I’m thirty-six instead of twenty- nine, but I think I can climb out of a first-story window. I have to try, anyway.
I grab onto the grooves at the bottom of one of the two windows. I yank upwards, but the window doesn’t budge. Not even a centimeter—even when I throw all my weight into it. That’s when I notice there’s a switch at the base of this window as well, keeping it locked. I try to turn it, and that’s when I discover that the window lock has a keyhole on it also.
The blood is rushing in my ears as I go from window to window, confirming that each and every window has an identical keyhole in the lock. It takes me less than five minutes to verify that all the windows and doors on the first floor of this house are locked from the inside.
I’m trapped here.
I stand in the middle of the living room, the panic rising in my chest. I feel almost dizzy. It wasn’t so bad when I was just sitting on the couch and watching television, but now that I know I can’t leave even if I wanted…
This can’t be legal. You can’t keep a person hostage in their own home. I don’t care if I have a brain injury. This isn’t right.
But who can I tell? I’ve been through the entire house and I can’t find a working phone. No wonder Graham refused to give me a phone this morning. And Camila won’t be sympathetic to my plight. He’s paid her to be here.
A noise at the front door gets my attention. I swivel my head in the direction of the door, just as a few letters slide through the mail slot. As the letters clatter onto the welcome mat, my heart leaps. The mailman!
I race to one of the picture windows, just in time to see a middle-aged man wearing a postal worker uniform with a blue baseball cap on his head trudging down our front walk, dragging along his mail cart behind him. It’s not Sid—the mailman who used to deliver our mail when it was me and Harry living here—it’s a new guy I don’t recognize. But that’s okay. He’s a government employee—he has to help me.
The mailman isn’t looking my way, so I bang a fist against the window as hard as I can. He still doesn’t turn. So I bang both fists against the window, trying desperately to get his attention.
The mailman stops. He tilts his head to the side, then he turns around. He spots me standing there and I wave both hands over my head. He waves back, then turns around and continues on his way.
No. No!
I bang my hands against the window again, but the mailman doesn’t turn again. What is wrong with this guy? Can’t he see I’m in distress?
I slam my fists against the window so hard, the frame rattles. “Help!” I scream, knowing it’s unlikely he’ll hear me through the thick window pane. “Help me please!”
But he doesn’t turn. He continues on his way, moving farther and farther away from my house. Wrecking any chance that he’ll be able to save me.
“Help!” I scream one more time. “Please!”
How did this happen to me? The last thing I remember, I was living in this house, engaged to the man I loved, and running a successful business. And now… this. Something has gone horribly wrong. I need to figure out a way to get
out of here. Maybe if I make a sign, I can get the attention of someone on the street and—
“Tess?”
Camila is standing by the sofa, staring at me. That’s when I realize tears are streaking down my face and my shoulders are shaking with sobs. I’m crying so hard, I can hardly catch my breath.
“Please help me,” I gasp. “Please… I… I need my life back…”
Camila is quiet for a moment. I can see the pity on her face. I wonder how much she gets paid to babysit me. She’s so beautiful. She could be a movie star if she wanted. Or a pop star. I’m sure my husband notices how beautiful she is. I wonder if that’s how she got the job.
I want to tell Camila to stay away from me, but it’s obvious she has other ideas in her head. After a beat of hesitation, she crosses the room to the window and comes right up to me. And before I can stop her, she wraps her arms around me.
For a moment, I am completely rigid, but gradually, I feel myself melt. I can’t help it. Even though she is a stranger, there is something comforting about the way she holds me. Something familiar. I sob into her shoulder and her hand rubs my back.
“It’s okay, Tess,” she murmurs. “You’re going to be okay.
I promise. I’m here. It’s okay.”
“It’s not!” Snot from my nose stains her shirt, and she doesn’t seem to be the slightest bit bothered. “It’s not okay! I miss my life. I miss Harry. Please…”
Her hand moves in wide circles on my back. My mother used to do that when I was a kid and I was upset about something. She used to hold me and rub circles on my back with her palm. After she died, I never quite felt that anyone could comfort me the way she could, even Harry. But as Camila holds me and rubs my back, it’s like I’m a child again… and maybe everything is going to be okay.
“You’re going to be okay,” she says again. “I know it can be scary not to remember anything, but I promise you, you’re going to calm down. And also, I have a surprise for you.”
I pull away from her, wiping my swollen eyes with the back of my hands. “A surprise?”
She smiles at me. “Lucy is visiting this afternoon.”
For the first time since I woke up this morning, I feel a seed of happiness. Lucy is coming. My best friend it’s going to visit me. And I might not trust my husband, but I can trust Lucy. She would never do anything to hurt me.
