Uncovering You 3: Resistance (7 page)

I walk toward the glassed wall and come up to it. I kneel down so that I’m on the bird’s level.

That’s when I notice something off about it. Its feathers are puffed up, and while it’s moving its head around, it doesn’t seem keen to take a step anywhere.

Then, right as it turns its head away, I see that one wing is crooked. The bird takes a small step forward, and starts to open its wings as if to fly up—and stops. The ruffled wing does not cooperate.

Immediately, I realize that it must be broken. How? Maybe a hawk? I look up at the sky but don’t see anything up there.

My heart goes out to the poor bird. It makes another attempt to take off. This one ends just as fruitless as the last.

What happens to birds that can’t fly? Where do they find food? They can’t, can they? And whatever attacked it is still out there. The little white bird is, for lack of a better term, a sitting duck.

That seals my decision. I need to help. I look at the glass door. Even if I open it and reach out with one arm, I won’t be close enough. And I can’t just grope around with one hand to try to pick the bird up. It’ll get scared and probably hurt itself even worse trying to get away.

I have to get Rose.

“Stay right there,” I whisper to the dove. “I’ll be right back, and I’ll take care of you.”

I run to the main house with a newfound purpose. “Rose? Rose! Rose, where are you?”

The elderly woman bustles out of one room. “Yes, Miss Ryder?”

“I need your help,” I say quickly. “Hurry!”

Without waiting to see if she’ll follow, I turn away and rush to the sunroom. I smile when I hear her footsteps right behind me.

“What’s the matter, dear?” she asks, anxiety tinging her voice. “Is something wrong?”

“You’ll see,” I say, picking up my steps.

We enter the sunroom. My heart sinks when I look at the spot I’d left the dove and find it empty. But then I notice the bird a few meters to one side. Its feathers look even more ruffled, now, as if it had just fended off another attack.

“There,” I say, pointing to the dove. “I saw it fall from the sky. I think one of its wings is broken.”

“Oh, dear,” Rose murmurs. She follows me to the window. We stop in front of the dove.

It looks so vulnerable. So unprotected. So… alone.

It’s all-too-easy for me to identify with its situation.

“See?” I ask, pointing to the wing. “I think it’s broken. Doesn’t it look that way to you?”

“I’m no expert on animals, Miss Ryder.” Rose presses her nose to the glass as we both squat down. “But I think you’re right.”

“We have to do something, don’t we?” I ask. I look at the door. “I can’t—you know I can’t go outside.” I motion at the collar in a vague sort of way.

Rose looks at me as if seeing me for the first time. She does not break eye contact for so long that it starts to make me uncomfortable.

“Lilly.” She lowers her voice. “Tell me the truth. Are you here because you
want
to be?”

The question shocks me. I nearly fall back off my heels. “Excuse me?”

Rose makes a small motion with her head toward the ceiling, as if reminding me of the cameras hidden there.

“Are you staying with us of your own free will?” she asks. Her voice is so soft it only just reaches my ears, and our heads are practically pressed together.

I hesitate. This is a dangerous question. I know I have to tread carefully.

I search her face for any sign of insincerity, but all I find is that kind, motherly expression.

I decide on the spot that I can trust her. Rose is
not
complicit in my capture. She’s not in on it with Stonehart. I don’t know what their relationship is. But, I
cannot
believe that the woman who has shown me so much kindness can be conspiring to hold me here.

After a long, drawn out pause, I shake my head.

Her expression changes immediately. Something akin to resolve lights up in her eyes.

“I knew it,” she says, under her breath. “I knew it ever since Jeremy first told me about you.”

The break in formality by addressing Stonehart by his first name surprises me. It must be a measure of Rose’s discomfort with the revelation.

She starts to get up. I grab her hand. My eyes are pleading with her as I say, “Please. Don’t tell him I said anything.”

Rose considers me for a moment… then gives a curt not. “I wasn’t overstepping myself with you before, was I?” she asks me softly.

I shake my head. I feel tears welling up in my eyes. “No,” I say. My voice breaks. “No, you were wonderful.”

She extends a hand to me and helps me up. “Come on,” she says. “I think I can find a shoebox that’ll make a nice home for our little friend.”

Chapter Six

An hour or so later, I’m sitting cross-legged on my bed, looking at the little bird in the cardboard box. Rose lined the sides with soft towels, and we put a makeshift cage on top to allow air and sunlight in while making sure the dove does not escape.

I decided the dove is a “she.” I don’t actually know what wild birds eat, so I had Rose sprinkle a bunch of different seeds from the kitchen on the bottom. In one corner is a shallow water dish. Since the dove’s not fully mobile, I don’t want to give her anything that she might fall into and drown.

On closer examination, I discover that her wing was not broken, only sprained. Or at least, I think it’s sprained. It’s got nothing to do with the bone in either case, and that makes me happy because it means a faster recovery.

I don’t know how Stonehart will react when he finds out that I’ve sheltered an injured bird. I hope he doesn’t take it as some egregious transgression of his authority. My mantra, at least in this situation, is that if it’s not explicitly against the rules, then it’s allowed.

Besides, I need something to keep me sane. I have no mental stimulation otherwise. Taking care of the bird gives me something to do. It gives me a purpose more definitive than defying Stonehart.

I put down the scissors that I’m holding and look at my creation. I took a long sock from my closet and cut a hole in the top. I figured if I place it over the dove, it’ll stop her from disturbing her wing as it heals.

I reach down, lifting the metal top, and catch the bird gently with my hands. She’s obviously frightened of me. I can feel her shaking under my fingers.

I bend close to her and whisper, “Shh. Shh. It’s okay. I’m not going to hurt you.”

I don’t know how much use my words of reassurance are, but they make
me
feel better, in any case. I cup the dove in one hand and fit the sock over her body with the other. She struggles against the confines a little, but when the sock is firmly fitted, stops trying to fight.

“There you go,” I say, gently placing her back on the soft towel. “I know you don’t like it, but it’s for your own good. You’ll heal faster, this way.”

I look up. The sun is still shining outside. I figure the dove would probably prefer to stay in the light, so I move the box to the armchair and then drag the chair closer to the window.

“You’ll be free again, little bird,” I say wistfully, looking out at the expansive ocean. “You’ll be free again soon, unlike me.”

Chapter Seven

Having nothing else to do, I decide to go down to the basement gym. It’s only early afternoon. But, I make sure to tell Rose where I am, so that she can relay the information to Stonehart in case he shows up earlier than expected. The look Rose gives me tells me she completely understands my caution.

Halfway there, I remember my earlier desire to see if I had any bathing suits.

I turn back to my room, go to the closet, and find exactly what I’m looking for. It’s a skimpy thing made of white fabric that’s a lot softer than anything I’ve ever encountered in swimwear. I see the Norma Kamali tag and immediately it makes sense.

I change into it. It’s a perfect fit. Surprise, surprise! I throw a t-shirt on top and head downstairs.

I lower myself into the water. It’s warm and clean. The smell of chlorine takes me back to the public pools my mother sometimes took me to when I was a girl.

I was never the greatest swimmer. I never liked the water much, in fact. But something about defying gravity appeals to me at the moment.

As I wade into the deeper end, I find myself enjoying the sensation of being nearly weightless. I doggy-paddle to the other side. Then, remembering last summer’s Olympics, try a breaststroke on the way back.

It’s a little frightening at first, especially when I accidentally choke on a little water. However, I get the hang of it after a few attempts. Pretty soon, I’m swimming laps, and finally providing my muscles with some much-needed exercise.

I lose track of time. Exercise provides a blissful relief that lets my mind go blank. When I eventually climb out, my body feels tired, but good. Relaxed, even, in a way.

I guess those are the endorphins people always talk about.

I dry off on a towel I brought with me, wrap it under my armpits, and start for the stairs. Only after I open the glass door do I notice a dark figure watching me from above.

“Jeremy!” I exclaim, heart racing. “I didn’t see you there. How long have you been waiting?”

“Not long,” he answers. There’s a cold inflection in his voice that I don’t like. “Did you enjoy the water? I didn’t know you liked swimming.”

“Yes, it was very nice,” I answer carefully, climbing the stairs and reaching his side.

He looks at me in a thoughtful manner. “And flying?” he asks. “What do you think of flying?”

“Flying’s… okay?” I say, unsure of how to take the question. “Why?”

“Oh, just idle curiosity.” Stonehart shrugs. With those words, I
know
he’s mocking me.

“I had an excellent day at work,” he tells me as we start down the hall together. “Can you think of why?”

Could he be alluding to last night?
He must be, but I don’t want to overstep myself by suggesting it. Neither am I particularly eager to let him see how much it’s been on my mind.

“No,” I say.

“No.” He chuckles. “And I took you for the intelligent type. But your hesitation is understandable. From what I gather, you had a productive day, too.”

There’s the barest hint of a threat in his words. Why, I cannot imagine.

“I don’t know what you mean,” I say.

“Oh, I think you do,” Stonehart responds. I have to almost run to keep up with his long strides. He does not look at me as he speaks; rather, he looks straight ahead. “Imagine my surprise when I came to your room and you weren’t there.”

“I told Rose to tell you—” I begin quickly. He speaks right over me.

“Oh, yes. I got your message. Don’t worry, Lilly. You haven’t displeased me. After all—” he glances at me for the first time, and his eyes shine with a menacing light, “—I know how
eager
you are to play your role.”

I stop and stare at him for a moment. Then, I have to rush to catch up as he keeps walking.

“In fact,” he continues, “I thought I should reward your good behavior with a TGB. You got my note this morning, I trust?”

“Yes.”

“Then you know how slim I think the chances are of you earning another twenty TGBs before the end of the month. Still, it wouldn’t do to just give up now, would it? I mean,” he smiles cruelly, “—we still have to try.”

Together, we enter the dining room. The clock on the wall shows forty minutes past six. The table is empty.

Stonehart pulls out a chair. “Sit down, Lilly,” he instructs.

I walk around him and lower myself into the seat. Intuition is telling me that something is wrong.

I know how important appearances are to Stonehart. He would never let me sit at the dining table wearing a towel.

“So,” he says, walking around to the other side. He pours himself a glass of scotch from the cupboard before turning around to face me. “You agree that striving to earn as many TGBs as possible would be good standard practice for you, do you not, Lilly?”

I squirm a little under his penetrating gaze. I don’t know where he’s going with this. But it seems like a dangerous topic of conversation.

“Yes,” I answer softly.

“I thought you might,” he nods. He swirls the liquor in his glass. “Now, humor me this, Lilly. Imagine I come home one day to find an infestation of vermin. I did not know it was there before. What do you suppose I do?”

“Vermin?” I ask, not understanding…

“Yes, Lilly,
vermin
,” Stonehart snaps. The glass in his hand hits the table hard as he slams it down. “Vermin in my beautiful, pristine home.”

“I.. I don’t know, Jeremy.” I’ve never seen Stonehart outright angry except the time I threw the wine bottle at him. Right now, I think he is very close.

Why? I didn’t do anything. I can’t think of a single thing—

Unless. He can’t be talking about the
dove
, can he?

No. Of course not. Nobody would call that beautiful bird “vermin”.

“Think, Lilly.
Think
. That fucking Ivy League education must have done you some good. Use it!”

Now he is definitely angry. I’m very glad for the table separating us. Wearing what I am, I feel more exposed than usual.

“You’d—you’d get rid of them,” I say. I can’t stop my voice from shaking. None of this is an act on my part. I am legitimately frightened right now.

Stonehart stops and looks at me. A growing smile forms on his lips.

He’s back in control.

“Yes,” he says. “Yes, that’s exactly what I would do, Lilly. Well done. It seems you do possess a semblance of common sense in that pretty head of yours, despite constant evidence to the contrary.”

Evidence to the contrary
? What does he mean by that?

I don’t get a chance to dwell on the question as Stonehart swings his chair around and sits on it sideways, one arm draped over the side.

“Rose?” he sings out. “Oh Rose, won’t you be a dear and come serve Lilly her dinner?”

A moment later, the elderly woman emerges from the kitchen. Stonehart watches her like a hawk.