8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8

-Alison-

I was determined to uncover the mystery within that locked room. Who was Louis hiding, and what was the reason behind it? Initially, I assumed I was his sole captive, but doubts crept in. Could there be others, besides Jared, whom he was trying to corner? Was there a possibility of another spouse being kept hidden, and if so, what prompted such secrecy?

The more I dwelled on these questions, the greater my curiosity swelled, exacerbated by Louis's escalating peculiarity. With each passing day—only four in total—his drinking habits became worse. Nevertheless, I made productive use of my time, meticulously observing the securely locked door and the comings and goings of staff members.

The urge to unravel the truth gnawed at me relentlessly, yet my vigilant watcher never stayed far away. Even if I managed to obtain the key, his watchful presence would thwart any attempts to breach the barrier.

Frustration brewed within me, and one afternoon, I made the decision to station myself before the enigmatic door in the hope of glimpsing its inhabitant. As a staff member entered, I strained to discern any clues within the room, catching a fleeting glimpse of what appeared to be either a bed or a desk before the door closed, muffling the sounds within. My watcher remained nearby, his body leaned against the wall, while I remained seated on the floor.

Time dragged on until the sound of approaching footsteps broke the silence. I turned my head to find Louis approaching, likely emerging from his office. He froze upon seeing me before the door, his gaze flitting between me and the barrier.

"It seems you've taken an interest in exploration," he remarked, a hint of amusement lacing his words, accompanied by a faint slur.

"I assumed it was permitted," I retorted evenly.

"You are," he acquiesced.

"And who occupies that room?"

"How can you be certain it's a ‘who'?"

"Food enters, yet only empty plates emerge," I pointed out.

"Hmm," he murmured cryptically, revealing nothing.

"So, who is in there? Another spouse?" I prodded further.

A sly grin spread across Louis's face, his silence speaking volumes.

"Why won't you tell me? Does it truly matter?" I inquired. "After all, I'm your prisoner too."

"And?" Louis responded tersely.

"Well, perhaps having someone to converse with could alleviate the boredom."

"I doubt this particular individual can provide any interesting conversations."

"Oh, really? And why is that?" I retorted, folding my arms defiantly. However, our exchange was interrupted as a staff member emerged, tray-less.

"Ah, there you are, sir," she addressed Louis. "It's time for the weekly outdoor walk. May I escort her outside?"

"A weekly walk?" I muttered to myself, while Louis simply glanced in my direction, his smile unwavering.

"Yes, take her outside," Louis instructed the staff member, then motioned toward me. "And bring her along as well."

"Me?" I whispered, pointing at myself in disbelief.

"It appears your curiosity is about to be satisfied," Louis remarked casually before turning and strolling away.

Eagerly, I rose to my feet, the young woman who typically delivered the meals casting a curious glance back at me.

"Wait here," she instructed.

I obediently remained in place, my heart pounding with anticipation. Finally, it seemed I would glean some answers. As the door was left slightly ajar, I strained to listen as the staff member entered, catching fragments of conversation from the other side. It seemed the young woman was the only one speaking, leaving me to wonder if the other occupant chose not to respond or simply couldn't. I could understand if, after being locked up this entire time, they weren't interested in having a conversation, but I fervently hoped this person might aid me. Perhaps we could even help each other, but first, I needed to meet them.

I held my breath as footsteps drew nearer, my heart pounding in my chest. The door creaked open, and then... My gaze first landed on the young woman, but then slowly descended, fixing on something standing below her. I blinked, stunned, as I beheld the sight before me—a young girl, perhaps around nine or eight years old, her blond hair neatly braided, her eyes a striking shade of light blue.

She was swathed in a thick coat, appearing diminutive for her age, yet I knew they provided her with daily sustenance. When she caught sight of me, a flicker of fear crossed her features, causing her to press against the woman behind her.

"It's okay. She's just here to see your father," the young woman reassured the little girl.

I continued to study the child, and she returned the look, both of us grappling to comprehend this peculiar encounter. Then, shaking myself from my reverie, I offered a small smile and approached her. Though my watcher and the staff member grew visibly tense, I simply crouched down in front of the girl, extending my hand.

"I'm Alison," I introduced myself.

The girl remained silent, her gaze fixed on me. I turned to her caretaker, meeting her eyes.

"Does she speak?" I inquired.

"She mostly chooses not to," came the reply.

"I see." I turned back to the girl, but she averted her eyes. "Well, it seems we're both fortunate today."

She met my gaze once more.

"We're permitted to go outside," I informed her.

She scrutinized me, appearing somewhat puzzled, as I rose to my feet and addressed her caretaker.

"Does she have a name?" I queried.

"Julia," came the response.

"What a lovely name," I complimented, turning to Julia with a warm smile. She responded with a timid grin. "Shall we?"

Julia's caretaker took her hand as we made our way toward the stairs, swiftly descending before reaching the front door. Although my watcher tensed slightly as the door opened for me, I had no intention of attempting an escape. Instead, I followed them outside, relishing the sensation of fresh air against my skin.

Fortunately, the sun was shining, adding to the pleasantness of the moment. Julia and her caretaker descended the small steps, and I trailed behind them. Meanwhile, my watcher remained vigilant, his intense gaze fixed on me, silently cautioning against any notions of defiance. Yet, my focus was elsewhere today—I had a different agenda.

As Julia was guided to a bench beneath a small tree, I hastened my pace. Her legs were so short that when she sat down, she couldn't even reach the ground completely. I wondered if she suffered from a condition that might have stunted her growth, or perhaps she wasn't being taken care of properly.

While her caretaker busied herself with gathering fresh flowers, Julia swung her legs back and forth. Initially, I had noticed a resemblance between us, but as I observed her small form and the distant look in her eyes, she seemed more reminiscent of Jared, evoking a sense of empathy within me.

Before I could utter a word, Julia spoke up, her voice barely audible, "Did he hurt you?"

Her question caught me off guard, her words hanging in the air. "Pardon?" I replied, uncertain if I had heard correctly.

Julia tilted her head back, locking eyes with me. Then she gently tapped her cheek, drawing my attention to the bruise still faintly visible.

Her gesture left me momentarily speechless, realizing she had noticed the lingering evidence of my ordeal.

"Um, yes," I responded.

"You're not here for a visit, are you?" Julia whispered.

I shook my head. "At least not... willingly," I confessed, seeing no reason to obscure the truth. She was confined to her room, secluded from the outside world, and permitted only these weekly excursions. It was evident to me that her confinement was not for her own well-being.

"Are you going to marry him?" she asked.

"What?" I exclaimed, taken aback by her question.

"Is that why you're here? Mom didn't want to marry him either," Julia explained matter-of-factly.

I recoiled slightly, stunned by her revelation. Glancing over my shoulder, I noticed my watcher observing me intently from a distance. Uncertain of how he would react, I took a leap of faith. Moving closer, I sat down beside Julia.

"May I sit here?" I inquired, and she nodded.

"You're going to be my new mom, so I guess so," she remarked casually.

"Oh, no, trust me, I'm not. For one, I'm much older than your father."

"I don't think he minds," Julia murmured, shrugging. "He didn't like my mom."

"Well, it's not possible for us to marry."

"Why?"

"Because I'm already married," I revealed.

She turned to inspect my hands, but my wedding ring was back home with Jared, resting safely on the nightstand. Instead, I showed her something else.

"Do you see this?" I asked, holding out my delicate necklace.

She nodded.

"My husband gave it to me," I explained, twirling it between my fingers. "Do you notice a lock?"

She shook her head.

"That's because when he placed this around my neck, it was symbolic of a ring—a way of declaring that I belong to him, and he belongs to me," I confessed.

Julia smiled faintly.

"But don't worry, he gave me a ring too. It's just at home," I assured her.

"Where he is?" she inquired.

"Yes."

"Are you going back to him?" she asked, her gaze searching.

"I hope so," I replied softly.

"Don't you want to be with him?" she queried.

"Yes, I do. I love my husband."

"Doesn't he hurt you?" she asked, her question striking a chord within me, as this young girl seemed to believe that pain was a natural part of spousal relationships.

"No, he doesn't. He never does anything I don't want him to. We love each other," I reassured her.

She contemplated it, seemingly struggling to grasp that Jared didn't inflict pain on me. Any pain he bestowed upon me was with my full consent and for my enjoyment as well.

"Does he have a necklace like yours?" she inquired.

I chuckled softly. "No, he doesn't. But do you know what a tattoo is?" I asked.

She nodded. "Mom had some. Dad too."

"Well, my husband only has one—a tattoo he gave himself," I explained, extending my arm and tracing my finger along the inner side of my forearm. "Right here, in his own handwriting, it says he belongs to me."

"He had that written on him? Why?" she wondered.

"Because it's the truth," I chuckled. "Because he wanted to show me, necklace or no necklace, that he knew where he belonged."

"And he really doesn't hurt you?" she pressed.

"No, he doesn't. He loves me, even though he finds it hard to say the words. Instead, he shows it."

"How?" she inquired, growing increasingly intrigued by our conversation. I smiled, pleased to engage her, sensing a growing connection between us.

"By doing things that make me happy," I replied.

"Like what?" she probed further.

"Well, he freed me."

"From what?" she questioned.

"My parents weren't the best of people," I confessed, noting her shock.

"They weren't?"

"No. My mother drank, and my father... well, he just didn't care. Later on, I realized he might not have treated others well either."

"He hurt other people?" she asked, seeking clarification.

"Yes, like your dad," I affirmed.

"What did you do?"

"Not much. I didn't realize it until later, and I just endured what my mother put me through. But that's where my husband comes in. He made me realize I didn't have to endure anything. When people tried to keep us apart, he fought for me. He did everything he could to ensure our happiness," I explained.

"He fought for you?" she whispered in awe.

"Yes, even against his own father," I confirmed.

"He really cares?" she marveled, struggling to grasp the depth of his devotion.

"Yes."

"But why does my father hurt you if he doesn't plan to marry?" she asked, revealing the distorted perception of love and marriage that clouded her young mind. I offered her a small smile, concealing the dismay I felt.

"Because your dad and my husband don't exactly see eye to eye," I admitted.

Julia sighed, her gaze fixed ahead. "My dad doesn't like me much either."