Staying here and persuading Cassius that I wasn’t his enemy was my only option. I was determined for it to be on my terms.
Once I saw a member of staff, I’d befriend them. Then I’d give them a message to take to the outside world. Maybe they’d feel bad for me.
Making my way up the staircase. Following the turn of the hallway, glancing inside room after room and finding them all empty until. . .
I found his.
This was not what I’d imagined.
The room was simple enough with framed photos of New Orleans on the walls, from a nighttime shot of the French Quarter to another of the ceiling of the Orpheum Theater. Though there wasn’t a single shot with a person in them.
On his bedside table, he had an interesting selection of books. The kind I might want to read. Well, before I knew he liked them, that is. A football rested on a shelf, and it looked like one of the players had signed it in gold ink along the middle.
A tall lamp had been left on—maybe that meant he was forgetful? And there they were, photos of his parents and one of a pretty woman beside them. She had the same eyes as Cassius and the way she stood next to him, casually and with a big, relaxed smile, made me think he had a sister. These few snapshots of his life were more clues to add to the others.
Stepping into his closet and running my hand along his shirts and pants, my hand swept over the material as if that alone would reveal more of who this man was.
Discarding that musty towel, leaving it where it fell, I pulled a shirt off a hanger and slid into it. Buttoning it up and lifting the sleeve to my nose to take a sniff—it smelled fresh. Moving on to his chest of drawers and finding a pair of boxer shorts and sliding into them. It would do for now. I’d always walked around home barefoot—something my father scolded me for—so it wasn’t too uncomfortable to walk around without shoes here. Though when I explored some more, I found a pair of socks in another drawer, so I pulled a pair on. They didn’t fit right, but if I dragged them all the way up, they’d do. At some point, I’d ask Cassius for clothes and shoes.
Inside his bathroom, I towel dried my hair. Sliding his comb through my knotted locks to even them out; having not used shampoo, my hair felt wiry. A small leaf came loose in my hand to remind me I’d run through woods. I let it flitter to the ground.
A brand-new toothbrush sat in his medicine cabinet. I used it and placed it back where I’d found it.
I ambled off to look for a phone, still unsure where I was exactly, but maybe if I was able to hunt down a landline and call my father’s number, it could be traced? Mom and Dad would be frantic. I knew they’d be doing everything in their power to get me home. Maybe this might even make them realize how much they’d missed me.
Running my hand along the stone wall, I felt the past in this house, as though those who once lived and died here haunted its hallways. This city was known for its history, and it made me wonder about this house, too.
Plants hung here and there, and more plants rose high in regal pots to brighten the interior. Continuing on, I was careful to walk on the stone floor and not slip.
I halted abruptly.
The twang of strings came from down the hallway. The strum of uneven notes. I could keep on going but avoiding the inevitable would just delay it. I’d have to face off with Cassius at some point. If it was even him.
Nudging the door open, I peeked inside.
It was Cassius, and he sat across the vast space in an alcove, holding a guitar. His fingers were trailing along the strings. His focus on the window and what lay beyond—a well-tended garden. As I stepped in farther, I could see what looked like a giant hedged maze. Someone took care of all this land. Someone who might be able to get a message out for me.
The notes stopped, and long fingers paused on guitar strings. He’d sensed me. Or maybe heard my footsteps.
“Is it possible to get lost in it?” I asked softly.
He snapped his head to look my way.
I wasn’t going to let his steely stare unsettle me. “The maze?” I clarified.
“I suppose you could get lost in there.”
“How long have you lived here?”
He pushed to his feet, but he didn’t answer.
I made a gesture to say I’d borrowed his clothes. “Mine were wet.”
Dark ember eyes shimmied over me, recognizing his shirt.