Gathering my ingredients from the fridge, I started to prepare, aware I couldn’t hear a sound.
Silence wasn’t usual.
Earl sometimes came and found me when I was making breakfast.
Still nothing.
I wanted to call out.
I was tempted to stop making breakfast, to go and find him. As I dipped the bread into the bowl, letting it soak up the mixture, I headed toward the kitchen door but stopped myself.
If Earl wanted me, he’d have come and found me.
Maybe he needed space.
Last night had been intense.
I knew because even as I tried not to think about it, I couldn’t seem to stop. Each action seemed to remind me of last night.
My body ached in places I didn’t know were capable. Drawing my focus back to breakfast, I pre-heated a skillet, added a tiny bit of butter, and then layered the two drenched slices of toast, turning the heat down. I wanted it to be lovely and crisp on the outside.
I stood at the stove and couldn’t help but sense someone was watching me.
Glancing over my shoulder, I looked left, then turned to look right. Nothing. I got the same sense wherever I went. When I didn’t allow myself to think and to just feel.
It was an odd sensation to have. One I knew that meant I must be going crazy. No one was around.
There was no way anyone was watching me. I checked to see if one side of the bread was lovely and golden. It was, so I did a nice little flip to toast the other side.
Cooking was my therapy.
I loved being in the kitchen and had often fantasized about having my own cooking show. Crazy, I knew, but it was what helped me get through when Emily had her really bad days.
With my toast done, I slid it onto a plate, grabbed a knife and fork, poured myself a cup of coffee, and dug in.
I ate alone. Still with the lingering sensation of someone watching.
The hairs on the back of my neck seemed to rise. I finished my breakfast and rather than linger indoors as the house made me a little nervous, I headed out to the garden. I passed the pool and kept on moving until I found a shaded area with lots of trees providing shelter. I stood beneath them. I hadn’t gone too far because I could still see the house.
Crossing my arms beneath my breasts, I stood and waited, wondering what the hell I was doing.
It was stupid to be afraid of a house.
Earl wasn’t too far.
Annoyed with myself, I went back, but I didn’t enter.
Lowering into one of the chaise lounges, I sat back and tried to relax.
Boredom hit me hard. My need to go into the kitchen built with every passing second.
The fear hit me hard, and I hated myself for being so afraid.
There was no way Earl would allow anything to happen to me.
I stood up.
Sat down.
Stood up.
Sat down.
Angry, I released a groan and stood the fuck up. I wasn’t going to be beaten by a feeling. A feeling had no meaning to it. My imagination was running wild.
I walked slowly back to the house.
I hadn’t cleaned the breakfast dishes this morning, but entering the kitchen, I see they were already gone. This made me pause. Maybe those were the eyes on me? The people who worked here, they needed to know when to come and go, right?
I had yet to see anyone else besides Earl.
He’d told me they were around, knowing how to do their job. They had to be the ones I’d felt watching me.
Feeling stupid, I turned the stove on. Just the sound of the oven firing up brought me a sense of calm.
With that on, I was ready. I pulled out some ingredients from the fridge that were necessary for baking, and then checked to make sure I had the relevant pans.
There weren’t many, but I had enough.
I even spotted some yeast in the fridge. I checked the date and was happy to notice it hadn’t been opened.
Some cinnamon rolls were in my future, providing I actually had the key ingredient to make them all work.
Going to the pantry, of course, I found it.
I didn’t know how Earl knew this was what I’d want to make.
I got to work.
Pouring out some milk, sprinkling in some sugar, then the yeast to allow it to bloom.
I hummed to myself as I worked.
No knowable tune, just a sound.
I was happy.
Even with the feel of someone watching me. I tuned it out and focused on baking. I measured out the flour, then some salt as the yeast started to work. I included some more sugar, melted some butter, and then some vanilla.
Again, I was shocked by how many ingredients he had that I could use.
I loved baking almost as much as I loved cooking.
With the yeast ready, I poured the mixture into the bowl and started to knead it with my hand. I couldn’t find a mixer, but a little handwork was no problem.
Once it was all mixed, I poured it out onto the counter and got to work, kneading the living daylights out of it. Pushing my palms in, drawing the dough back.
The moment it was springy, and I’d built up a bit of a sweat, I swiped my arm across my brow and then oiled the bowl. Dumping the dough inside, I covered it with some plastic wrap and left it to rise.
Cleaning up my mess didn’t take any time at all.
The oven was still on. While I waited, I made a batch of sweet scones. Everyone liked a scone with a cup of tea.
They were in the oven, and the dough was nearly ready after just an hour. I got back to work, making the cinnamon filling.
I’d finished assembling them and allowed them to proof for a second time when Earl arrived.
I put the tin in the oven and gave him my full attention.
He was in a suit.
In his hand was a piece of paper.
I’d already cleaned all the mess.
He slid the paper across the counter to me.
“What is this?” I asked.
“Look at it.”
I didn’t know if I want to.
My heart had already started to pound. Lifting it up, I saw they were a list of names, followed by locations. Turning it over, I counted fifteen female names on the list, and then looked over at Earl.
The sickness swirled in my gut.
“I didn’t back out of my dare.”
“You had them waiting?” I asked.
When it came to his life, I shouldn’t question it. This was his work, not mine. Had I saved these women? Put them in more danger?
“Yes.”
Earl turned back to face me. “An auction was scheduled in three days. It gives the men enough time to get them in line.”
“You mean beat and rape them?” I didn’t miss the tic in his jaw.
He was pissed off. I made him that way.
“I’ve told you to not ask me questions you don’t want answers to.”
“I’m not asking you anything I don’t want answers to. Your men beat and rape the women into fear. So they don’t fight. So they stand obediently for others to pick over them like cattle.”
“This is the end of this discussion,” he said.
“I will pay you back all the money that you’re saving for me for company.”
He’d turned away, heading toward the door. My words made him stop.
His hand reached out, touching the doorframe as he turned toward me. “You’re serious?”
“Yes. Every single penny. I don’t want it. In return, you never take women again.”
“You’re a fool, Ashley.” He left the kitchen, and I rushed to catch up with him.