Chapter 3

She nodded over and over, rubbed her palms against her thighs, and slowly pushed herself up off the floor.

"All right, all right, don't be upset, Sylvia, it's all my fault, I'll send everyone away right now, just don't call the police."

Then she lunged, snatched the phone out of my hand, and shoved me hard at the same time.

The push sent me stumbling backward, my heels caught on the wine cellar threshold, and I went down.

The back of my head slammed against the brick floor, and everything went black for a second.

Melanie backed out fast and swung the heavy iron door shut behind her.

The click of the lock was very clear in the silent cellar.

I forced myself up through the pain and pounded on the door.

"Melanie, open this door. Do you have any idea this is a crime?"

Her voice hissed back through the door, deliberately lowered.

"Nobody is going to stop my son from getting married!"

The pounding drew people over, and I heard a jumble of footsteps in the hallway.

"What's wrong, Aunt Melanie? What's that noise?"

"It's nothing, it's nothing."

Her voice slid back into that soft, helpless tone.

"Oh… she's having one of her episodes again. She always thinks this house is hers and goes around chasing people out, telling them to get lost."

"Poor thing, really. She had nowhere to go, so I let her stay. Just lock her in for the night and she'll be fine."

The blood rushed to my head.

"Don't listen to her lies. This is my house. She's the housekeeper."

But not one of them questioned it. They crowded up to the little vent window in the door instead.

A thick glob of spit came through the wire mesh and hit me square on the forehead.

"Gone crazy from being poor? Ungrateful piece of work. Worked yourself out of your mind and actually think you're some rich lady?"

"Right, doesn't even look at what she is, still trying to turn it around and bite the hand that fed her."

"What's there to make a fuss about on such a happy day? Taking you in was already generous. No gratitude at all. One night locked up is getting off easy."

A cigarette butt flicked in through the vent, still glowing, and landed on my shoulder. I flinched hard from the burn.

More spit followed, mixed with cigarette butts, coming through the gaps in the mesh again and again.

All I could do was dodge and back into the farthest corner of the cellar.

Melanie's voice came from outside.

"Leave her be. Go eat, have a drink. Turn the music up so she doesn't bother anyone."

The estates out here were already spread far apart, with good soundproofing and privacy.

With the music covering everything, my cries for help were drowned out completely. No one was coming for me.

And it was worse than that. On a scorching summer night, the cellar was kept at a steady fifties, cold enough to make my bones ache.

In a thin silk blouse, I shivered in that black, freezing space.

Listening to the housekeeper's son, Ryan Lambert, throw a bachelor party with a pack of his good-for-nothing friends in my own house.

My stomach trouble flared under the double push of cold and anger, cramping in wave after wave.

I clenched my fists tight and curled in on myself as much as I could to ease the pain, gritting my teeth through it.

I don't know how much time passed before the noise overhead slowly died down, with an occasional snore drifting through.

Before long, alarms went off one after another, and the crowd got loud again.

"Up, up, we leave at five to fetch the bride."

"Where are the car keys? Who's got the spare?"

"I've got it, dug it out of the drawer. Come on, let's go!"

The footsteps faded, and the sound of a car engine came from the direction of the garage.

Only my own heavy breathing was left in the cellar.

I slowly propped myself up, my eyes settling on the neat row of wine bottles on the rack.

Then I looked up, at that old ventilation duct opening in the ceiling.

The mesh had already rusted, and the screws were hanging loose in it.