only reminded me of the terror I’d run away from.
Jay follows the dog, leaving me watching and forcing my legs to move forward.
The hall is small and short, and all of the doors are closed, but they have character. The house is old. Although the fixtures are new and the paint fresh, it’s designed like an older home. The doors are carved and made of hard maple. My fingertips glide along the wall and then dip to a door and back up to the plaster wall.
“Whose house is this?” I ask Jay to change the subject.
“Mine,” he answers without turning around and steps into a door at the very end. A door that’s closest to the end of the hallway and the opening to the living room. I grip the inside of the doorway, partly to keep me from running, but also to make sure Jay knows I’m not leaving as I lean out and take a look.
The ceiling is tall, taller than I imagined for the hallway being so small. A large ceiling fan whirls and the small gust makes the floor to ceiling curtains sway. They’re thin fabric with an organic quality to them.
Lots of browns. Dark brown floors, the tab top curtains and dark wood furniture are everywhere. The only hint of color is the dark blue sofa and matching love seat that sit in front of the large windows. With the curtains being so thin, I can see all the surroundings. Even through the gray of the sky and the slightly blurred view from the rain, it’s picturesque, with the field of green and mountains way back in the distance.
But it sends a chill through me. I decided I’ll stay, but I never really had a choice. The realization is sobering.
I focus on the furniture, on the living room itself. It’s almost like a cabin, but modernized with a comfortable feel to it. It’s homey, but barren in every other sense. There’s no artwork. Nothing hanging on the walls. There are no candles or knickknacks. No books or magazines. No throw pillows or blankets. There isn’t even a TV.
“Do you live here then?” I ask him, leaning back and looking over my shoulder to Jay. I still haven’t stopped gripping the doorjamb.
He looks at me hard for a moment, as if debating on telling me and finally he nods once. “It’s beautiful,” I say just above a murmur.
I look down the hallway again and gesture with a nod. “Which is your room?” I ask him.
His voice is empty of every emotion when he answers, “The basement.” My heart squeezes in my chest, and I have to tear my eyes away from him. All this time, I’ve been moving forward, trying to have a normal life. And Jay’s merely been holding on to the past.
I have to close my eyes as the German shepherd rubs against my leg, the feel of his wiry fur sending chills through my stiffened body as he pants and leaves the room, laying with a loud thud in the hallway.
“He frightens you?” Jay asks me, and I whip my head to him.
“He bit me.” I grit my teeth after saying the words because it’s not quite true.
Jay takes three large strides toward me, closing the space between us and placing his hand over mine, still clinging to the doorway.
“Toby,” Jay says with his eyes locked on mine although he’s calling for the dog. He whistles low as the large dog rises and trots obediently to wait by his master.
I only resist slightly as Jay pulls my hand down, crouching and making me bend at the waist. I close my eyes, but continue to breathe evenly.
He won’t hurt me. Not Toby or Jay. He won’t hurt me. I repeat this over and over in my head, focusing on breathing.
The dog’s tongue laps at my hand, feeling like rough sandpaper and I slowly open my eyes.
“He likes you,” Jay says without looking at me, petting the dog and releasing my hand. “I knew he would,” he says and pats the dog’s head before standing up. The moment he does, Toby stops licking me and sits, waiting for another order.
“He won’t let you leave,” Jay says as he shoves both of his hands into his jeans pockets and stares down the hall at the door to the basement. He takes in a heavy breath and looks at me. “He’s a good boy, but he won’t let you leave.”
I nod my head once, searching Jay’s eyes