Isabelle knew the probability that she would escape from this room was infinitesimally small. They were in a locked room being watched 24/7, it seemed. The arrival of the other woman, Andy, had momentarily given her some hope, but that had since evaporated.
It had been three hours since Andy had been dragged in here. It was clear she knew who’d taken them, but she wasn’t prepared to share that knowledge. In fact, the stubborn woman said nothing as she sat in the corner, head tilted back against the concrete, eyes closed.
Isabelle stood and walked toward the bed.
Andy shot to her feet. “No. Don’t sleep.”
“What? Why?”
Andy looked around her, fixing her eyes on the dinner table. “Let’s eat instead. You must be hungry. I’m hungry.”
“Eat what?”
Andy looked toward the mirror, her hands in a silent question.
Five minutes later, a different voice than before crackled over the speaker. Still female, it was lower and rounder, younger. “Stand against the opposite wall.”
Andy motioned Isabelle to step clear of the door.
“Hands in the air, fingers locked above your head,” the voice said.
They both complied.
Ten minutes later, the door opened and a chestnut-haired woman in an elegant red dress walked in. She placed a tray on the table, then nodded in Andy’s direction.
“Andy. Hi. You okay?”
“Claire. Tell her I’m going to kill her.”
“Tsk, tsk,” said the intercom voice.
“What’s going on?” Isabelle demanded, anger bubbling up inside. “Why am I here?”
“Ask Andy,” said the voice.
The woman—Claire—walked out and the door slammed shut.
Andy sat at the table and motioned for Isabelle to do the same.
Isabelle’s stomach rumbled. She couldn’t remember when last she’d eaten. She sat down. There was one tea, one espresso, two cups of tomato soup, and two roast beef sandwiches on the tray.
Andy handed a sandwich to Isabelle. “Whole wheat is for me. That means rye is for you.”
Isabelle looked at the paper covering the sandwich. “Jamie’s Deli is in New York.”
Andy nodded, somewhat despondently. “Good to know.”
Isabelle reached for the espresso.
Andy stopped her, her hand over Isabelle’s. “The tea is for you.”
Isabelle looked at the hand on top of hers. She felt a pull inside her to a place she didn’t know existed, a time beyond this one. Her breath quickened involuntarily.
Andy pulled her hand away as if it was on fire. “Sorry. But coffee is bad for you.”
Isabelle swallowed, her mouth dry. “I love coffee.”
“You shouldn’t drink coffee. It makes the dreaming…Fuck it. Please just take the tea.”
Isabelle wanted to argue, but then took the cup and tasted the light brown liquid. She pulled a face. “What is this?”
Andy drained the coffee in one gulp. “No doubt something with no caffeine.”
Isabelle licked her lips as if she wanted to wash the taste from her mouth. “It’s awful.”
Andy opened the tomato soup and dipped into it with a plastic spoon. “You like tomatoes, though.”
“Yes. How did you know?”
Andy opened the sandwich and studied it. “And red meat?” She frowned. “Rare.”
“I try not to eat meat, but yes. I get these cravings. Why?”
What the hell is this place? And who was this woman? The man and two women who’d grabbed her on the way to NYU had told her not be scared. In fact, they’d been almost reverent in the way they spoke to her, handled her. Then the man injected her with a clear fluid. When she’d opened her eyes again, she was inside this concrete room with its green steel door and green ceiling, as if meant to calm psychiatric patients.
She opened the soup and started eating. Delicious. As she cleaned out the bowl she surreptitiously looked at Andy. She wasn’t what people would call beautiful, but definitely handsome. Lean, muscled body with broad shoulders and big hands. Strong, angular jaw, dark eyes, prominent nose. A wide mouth that she somehow knew produced a magnetic crooked grin that promised “trust me.” Not that she smiled much. The lines around her eyes said she was more prone to frowning.
She could do with a haircut, the black wavy hair was a bit messy, especially around her eyes. There was a small scar under her right eye. Every time she was angry—and she’d been angry ever since she’d been here—she’d touch it, as if it reminded her of something that had happened a long time ago.
Isabelle realized Andy had caught her in the act. She blushed slightly and looked to her feet. She’d always hated it that her face betrayed her like this.
“Sorry.” She put the sandwich down.
A smile, barely noticeable, played around Andy’s lips. “No, please. It’s okay. I’d also worry that I’m locked up with a mass murderer.”
Isabelle liked the smile. It softened Andy’s face, ratcheting the anger down to something more palatable. “Well, are you?”
“A mass murderer? How many people do you need to kill to be one?”
Isabelle frowned.
“It’s a joke. Well, half a joke.” Andy pushed the soup in Isabelle’s direction. “Have mine too.”
“Thanks.”
Andy wiped her hands with a napkin, then poured water from the pitcher for both of them. “What else do you like?”
Isabelle chewed, swallowed. “Food-wise?”
“Yes.”
“Strawberries.”
“Just like that? Nothing else thrown in there?”
How did Andy know to ask that? Isabelle blushed again slightly and pointed at the sandwich in her hand. “I like to make a sandwich with mushed up strawberries, beef, and tomatoes.”
“Ah.” Andy nodded. “Could have been worse. At least it’s not anchovies.”
Isabelle managed a smile, then said softly, “How do you know so much about me? Who are you? Why am I here? Please tell me.”
Andy’s mouth regained its hardness. She pushed her chair back from the table and stood.
“Please don’t make me beg. I’m also…I also don’t want to be here.” Isabelle also stood. “Please tell me what you know.”
The world around her tilted suddenly, her head swimming, her eyes unfocused. What was happening? Was she that tired? No. This was all wrong…
“Isabelle?”
Andy shot around the table, catching her just as she sank to the ground.