Angel’s Promise by Aleatha Romig

Emma

Before gathering a few things from the suite attached to Rett’s, I did as I should have done downstairs and entered the bathroom. My reflection reminded me that Rett had simply zipped his pants and buckled his belt to return himself to a less haggard state. I would need more work to accomplish such a goal.

I ran my hand over my mussed hair, no longer all contained in my braid.

Running a washcloth under warm water and applying bodywash, I found my thoughts somewhere between self-loathing and imagining possible forms of mariticide. That was if we were married. If not, it was simple homicide. As I washed away the remnants of our gratuitous afternoon dealings, my thoughts vied from one end of the spectrum to the other regarding our marital status.

Choosing to save the hot shower, possible bath, and changing clothes for once I was settled on the third floor, I began gathering cosmetics, clothes, and other items. There was the book I was still reading as well as the laptop. One of the few luxuries I lacked was luggage. That meant items were shoved in purses and piled in heaps. As the pile grew, Ian enlisted the help of others.

I recognized a few of the women as those who entered the suite to clean. While in the past they’d stayed silent, it was obvious by their shared expressions that this particular task had their curiosity aroused. Unsure of what to say, I left it to Ian to explain. I heard him say that my suite was about to have a transforming redecoration, and in the meantime, I’d reside upstairs.

“Thank you,” I said when we had a moment alone.

Ian nodded.

I reached for his hand. “I mean it, Ian. I’m sorry if this puts you in Mr. Ramses’s crosshairs. This is all my doing.”

“I’ve been there before, Mrs. Ramses.”

“Emma.”

“I hope this can be resolved.”

Without replying, I turned to gather more items, unsure if I shared his desire or his optimism. I wasn’t certain how things had gone so wrong in such a short period of time, but with each passing second, I felt the weight of my decisions and promises fall heavier and heavier upon my shoulders.

Entering the upstairs suite, I stilled for a moment in the threshold.

I’d forgotten how heavy the draperies were and how dark the rooms were without windows that opened.

Ian stood behind me. “You can change your mind. Your suite doesn’t really need redecoration.”

“It needs something. Just in case you think this is an emotional reaction, you’re right. It is. I also have good reason to be upset, and I am. As you know, Mr. Ramses is a bit...” There were so many words that would fit. “...overwhelming. Right now, I need some time to think, uninterrupted.” Dropping my armful of items onto the bed, I went directly to the library and opened the ceiling.

As the people Ian had enlisted came and went from the outer room, I stood for a few minutes, staring up at the late afternoon sky. It wasn’t until I returned to the main bedroom that I realized that not only had the ladies Ian called carried the items up from the second floor, they’d also put everything away. The exception was the worn leather bag containing the laptop.

As I took the laptop back to the library, I saw there was an older man with Ian. Despite his small stature, he seemed knowledgeable in completing my request. Nearly a half hour later, Ian called to me to see the finished product.

“Miss Emma?”

I stepped out of the library as Ian met me in the main bedroom. “Is it done?”

He nodded as lines appeared near the corners of his eyes. The other man had disappeared, much as all of Rett’s men did. Maybe they were Miss Guidry’s spirits instead of living beings.

I extended my hand to Ian. “May I have the keys?”

Ian placed two old-fashioned skeleton keys in the palm of my hand. I shook my head as I closed my fingers around them. “This isn’t enough.”

“It’s what you asked for, ma’am.”

“You’re right. I apologize for not being more specific. Let me ask you a question: how many keys exist to open the lock on that door?” I nodded toward the main door to the suite.

It was a bit ironic that after the week I’d spent in this suite contemplating escape, I was now facilitating an ironclad barricade. The difference between then and now was that at this time, I intended to be the one with the power of locking and unlocking the door.

“This is an old house,” Ian began.

“It is. Do you have an approximate answer to my question? Say ten keys? Twenty?” My eyes opened wide. “More?”

“May I remind you that I’m here when Mr. Ramses isn’t? He has increased the security around and within this house. Truly the use of such locks is more of a risk than a benefit.”

“Why is that?”

“You could become trapped.”

Holding the old key in my palm, I walked to the window and opened the glass pane, revealing the shutters behind. “These windows don’t look down into the courtyard, do they?”

“No, they face the south corner of the house.”

I had never been an east-west-north-south type of person. I preferred instructions that included landmarks: turn right at the pharmacy or take the second left. Not only that, I had been beyond the walls of this house only once, and those memories were marred with the terror of my abduction. “If I recall correctly, this house sits on a street corner with a single neighbor to one side. In relation to that...?”

“The windows face the street.”

I walked into the library. “These windows are facing a different direction.”

“West, toward the back of the grounds.” As if to clarify, Ian added, “Above the conservatory.”

“I want these shutters removed.”

Ian inhaled.

“I’m not going to climb down a drainpipe. You said the concern with my door locking from the inside is the fear I would be trapped. Remove these shutters, and I will have a means of being rescued if needed. Of course, there’s always the skylight.” I opened my palm and looked at the key before smiling at my ally, the unlikely one who we both knew would report everything to Rett as soon as this was done.

I guess I found comfort in believing that Ian had yet to send that information. “Thank you for having the doorknob turned. I believe in light of the excessive number of keys wandering around and in the possession of God knows who, a dead bolt or latch of some kind on this side of the door is warranted.”

“Mrs. Ramses...”

“For the sake of argument, let’s say that name is accurate. Nothing that I’m requesting goes against what Mr. Ramses has stipulated. I’m in the house. I’m not leaving. I’m safe from my brother.” And from Rett. I didn’t say that part. “You’re simply complying with my wishes.”

Ian pulled out his phone. “I’ll have Thomas return.”

“Thomas is the man who switched the doorknob?” I asked.

“Yes, ma’am. He’s been employed by the Ramses family since before Mr. Ramses’s father passed. He will get this taken care of right away.”

“Thank you, Ian.”

I opened the closet to see the clothes I’d brought from downstairs. Turning back to Ian, I asked, “Are you to stay here? Outside the door?”

“Considering...”

He didn’t finish as I grinned.

“I’m going to take some time to relax in a shower. Will you please supervise Thomas for the dead bolt and the shutters?”

“Of course, ma’am. The shutters may take a little longer.”

“The dead bolt is the first order of business.”

After collecting my robe, I entered the gleaming bathroom. As I did, I had a fleeting thought, wondering why the bathroom was so clean if this suite went mostly unused. Since I’d left this suite weeks earlier, the towels were clean and fresh, and the bath beads I’d brought from downstairs were already in the crystal bowl where they’d been when I first arrived. As I shed the clothes I’d worn downstairs to talk to Rett, I felt a strange sense of familiarity with my surroundings.

With the skirt and blouse upon the floor, I wished for the fireplace of the downstairs suite. I imagined throwing the two pieces of clothing upon the logs and watching as the flames consumed them. My mind told me I was doing everything I shouldn’t do in the case of an assault. Then again, Rett said it wasn’t an assault.

As I opened the shower doors, I noticed the lack of my wedding rings. They were last seen as Rett put them in his pocket.

Turning the temperature of the shower as high as I could tolerate, I stepped inside the glass enclosure. Loosening my braid, I allowed the hot liquid to fall over me. Much like needles prickling my skin, the sensation was both painful and liberating. Generous amounts of bodywash replaced the scent of Rett with the overpowering aroma of a fresh sea breeze. I grimaced at the tenderness of my scalp as I applied shampoo and later conditioner. It was as I again cleaned my perineum, I noticed the tenderness of my inner thighs. Under the bright lights, a reddish discoloration of my skin could be seen.

Perhaps it was the visual and tactile reminders that I needed to come to terms with my thoughts and emotions.

My knees gave out as I slid down the glass wall and lowered myself to the shower floor. Pulling my knees to my chest, I gave in to the flood of emotions that had been building within me. The falling water masked the sound of my cries as sobs racked my chest. My running nose and tears mixed with the shower’s spray, swirling on the tile floor and disappearing down the drain.

There was no sense of time as memories intertwined.

I recalled a warehouse I couldn’t see and a cool breeze I could feel—everywhere. My arms and legs were bound. I opened my eyes as I looked down at the faint white lines around each wrist and ankle. In my thoughts, I tried to get away, but even my mouth was gagged. The tones of the men beyond the blindfold taunted me as their words degraded me.

Despite their presence, I was alone.

My eyes opened to the shower stall, seeing the bright lights and shiny fixtures. However, upon closing them again, the space around me shrank. I reached for the doorknob, but it wouldn’t budge. I screamed and rattled the handle to no avail. Smoke entered under the locked door as I coughed and gagged.

Again, I opened my eyes, gasping for oxygen.

The heavy, humid air of the shower filled my lungs. Around me was steam, not smoke. Pulling my knees tighter to my chest, I laid my head back against the glass wall.

The scene behind my eyes morphed to Rett’s inner office.

I quickly stood, no longer able to combat the memories. I replaced them with thoughts of aspirin or perhaps a sleep aid. Turning off the water, I stepped from the hot stall out onto the soft bathmat and into the cooler air.

Wiping away the steam on the large mirror, I noticed that my reflection was more unnerving than it had been when I entered the bathroom. My hair was wet and clean, but hanging in twisted knots. I reached for a towel and wrapped it around my head. I dried myself with the second towel. As I did, I noticed that the combination of hot water and crying had left my flesh red and patchy.

A quick look at the sunken tub and I determined that I didn’t have the energy for a bath. Instead, I chose to check on the progress of the dead bolt. Securing my robe, I opened the door to the bedroom and was met with the tepid air-conditioned air mixed with the warm breeze from the opened ceiling.

As I turned toward the library, standing in the doorframe was the man I planned to keep locked out. His cold, dark stare settled on my eyes as his demand echoed through the suite.

“Talk to me.”