Be Descriptive

She awoke to the sound of too much quiet, and before she opened her eyes, she took a moment to process her surroundings. She remembered all too well the events of the night before, and she wanted a moment to brace herself for the coming day.

            Sunlight framed the curtains, but otherwise the room was barely lit. The four poster bed seemed to swallow her, and she wanted nothing more than to sleep for far too long and face her problems later.

            But Angela- poor Angela. The barbaric people who attacked her were so beyond Lydia’s comprehension that she couldn’t imagine being capable of such actions, and she took a moment to be thankful, for once, for her lack of understanding.

            A knock sounded at the door, and Lydia pulled herself from the bed. Wrapping the robe around herself tightly, acutely aware that she was wearing nothing underneath, she unlocked the door and pulled it open.

            Ethan stared at her, his eyes moving quickly down the length of her body and then back up to her eyes again in a fraction of a second.

            “Did I wake you?” he asked.

            “No, no,” she said, opening the door a little wider. “I was just thinking. I should’ve been dressed already but I-“

            “God, did I do this to you?” Ethan’s hand caressed her face, and something in her stomach fluttered in a not unpleasant way. He ran his finger down her cheek, tracing the bruise that was forming there like a half moon.

            “No, I think it happened when I hit the floor after those men tackled me-“ she stammered. In all reality, she didn’t know when it had happened, and it was very likely that he had been the cause of the mark, whether intentionally or not. The car ride had been particularly damaging, and her whole body ached. But she inexplicably wanted to protect him from that look that crossed his face- something like pain or guilt. She had no idea why she’d want to protect him at all, given their brief and violent history, and she didn’t even think that she should really trust him just yet, but something in her wanted him to not blame himself for any of the marks left on her body today.

            He dropped his hand to his side as if suddenly aware of himself, conscious that he was touching a complete stranger in an intimate way. Lydia felt the absence of his hand like a lack of warmth on a cold day.

            “Would it be okay if I borrowed some of the clothes in the closet? I noticed that there were several different sizes so I thought maybe you guys are some sort of firm with expense accounts to pay for the clothing for the people you’re trying to protect since they can’t always just go back home, but I didn’t want to assume.”

            Ethan laughed, and the shift in his serious demeanor was startling. “That’s a lot to infer but you’re not entirely wrong,” he said.

            She smiled and shrugged one of her shoulders. “Journalist,” she said by way of explanation.

            “Yeah, everything in the suite is at your disposal. Help yourself.” He smiled at her again, pausing a moment, and then said, “I’ll see you downstairs in a few?”

            “Yep, yes. Yeah.” Lydia stopped herself from muttering more affirmatives and closed the door as he walked away, his hands in the pockets of his jeans.

            She turned and rested her head on the closed door. In what world would it ever be okay to be attracted to someone she’d sworn was going to kill her only hours before?

            She padded over to the closet and took in the offerings in her size: without knowing what today might bring, she opted for a simple pair of jeans and a light gray sweatshirt, a basic white bra and underwear set with a delicate trim in lace, and a pair of white sneakers with ankle socks. This closet really was furnished with everything anyone might need, and Lydia took a moment to ponder the sheer expense of all of the items. How could companies like this exist under the radar, hidden from general media coverage to the extent that she’d never heard whisper of their existence, even though she lived within an hour of this gorgeous home?

            And was it a home? Or was it something more? A ground zero for creating plans and hiding people?

            Would other employees show up? Would there be meetings and directives happening even now, in the big office downstairs?

            She blushed at the thought of everyone gathered, wondering why she’d allowed herself to sleep in so late, but she rolled her sore shoulders and shrugged the feeling away. She’d been through an ordeal, and there was nothing normal about any of this. If she’d been offered a comfortable bed to sleep in, she’d use it, and she wouldn’t feel bad about it.

            But the questions were adding up, and Lydia headed out, determined to get some answers.

            Across the hall, Lydia saw the door leading to Ethan’s room ajar. He’d gone downstairs only moments ago; she’d seen him leave. She glanced both ways and, seeing no one in the near vicinity, she crossed the hall and rapped twice with her knuckles.

            “Hello?” she called, peering into the room. “Ethan?”

            The suite was similar to her own, a mirror image, only this one was decorated in shades of pale green. She glanced at the bed in the back, through the double doors that were left propped open, and saw the bedcovers thrown back on one side, a pair of pajama pants laying folded in half at the foot of the bed. There was no other evidence of anyone having been here.

            She backed out of the room and quietly walked down the hallway, trying to hear any quiet conversations happening behind closed doors.

            Nosey was a good quality in a journalist.

            She was left hanging, however, until she came down the stairs and found both sets of double doors on either side of the staircase thrown open. She loved double doors, and this house was full of them.

            The office stood empty, but across from the office, in the huge kitchen, there were people everywhere.

            Samantha stood at the sink, rinsing out a coffee cup and laughing with a man Lydia didn’t recognize, and Sandra sat at the table with Ethan and two other men, but there were no other familiar faces. The kitchen was twice the size of the office, and Lydia counted at least a dozen bodies, all drinking coffee and leaning on counters or heavy in discussion at the table or talking on phones. The atmosphere was one of excitement and business, anticipation maybe. There were no business suites or sunglasses, and Lydia chided herself for expecting everyone she encountered to look like an undercover security guard from an action movie. She was thankful that her jeans and sweatshirt fit the tone of the room pretty well.

            She walked over to the table- a long, sturdy wooden contraption that could seat at least fifteen people- and sat across from Sandra, in an empty chair next to Ethan.

            “Lydia!” Sandra’s eyes lit up as Lydia sat down. “How are you feeling this morning?”

            “Sore,” Lydia answered honestly. “But I’m alright. Just anxious to find out what’s going on and what the plan is.” She cleared her throat. “Thank you so much for your hospitality,” she said. She still wasn’t sure whether this building functioned as a home or a business, but Sandra had referred to it as her place twice, so in the very least she had some ownership over the enterprise. “I’m so thankful for the clean clothes. I think I might burn my old ones.” The pajamas crumpled up in the wicker basket upstairs had formerly been her favorites, but she knew the moment she took them off that she’d never be able to wear them again.

            Sandra nodded, understanding washing over her features. She was as expressive as Ethan was not.

            “That’s completely understandable,” Sandra said. She stood up and motioned to Samantha. “Any more coffee?” she called, and Samantha nodded, bringing two steaming cups to the table and setting them in front of Lydia and Sandra.

            “Thank you,” Lydia said to Samantha, and Samantha squeezed her shoulder before returning to the man at the sink.

            Okay, Lydia thought. Time to start putting some names to some faces.

            Not for the first time, she missed her cell phone. Her primary source of quick information gathering was still lying on her nightstand, or more likely bagged in an evidence bag and locked up with the local police.

            As if reading her mind, Sandra passed a phone over to her. The new phone was encased in a sturdy silver case, and Lydia noted with surprise that it was the most recent release from iPhone, something she wouldn’t have ever considered for herself. She did okay with her job at the newspaper, but only because she also took on freelance work every now and then. By no means could she afford this.

            “I know it’s not yours, but we can’t get into your place right now. It’s warded off and covered, and unfortunately it’s all over the news. No one would be able to recover your phone without drawing attention.”

            “I haven’t memorized anyone’s number in years,” Lydia said to herself, holding the useless device in her hands. Then she remembered that her older sister had proudly maintained the same phone number for almost two decades, and it was, in fact, the only number Lydia had ever bothered to memorize- and only because, when she’d first gotten it, Lydia herself had still been using a landline that needed her to dial each number individually. She’d called her sister so often that the numbers were still embedded in her brain.

            She immediately started to dial them now, but Sandra wrapped a hand gently around her arm, stopping her in her tracks.

            “We have to be very careful now,” she said. “People are looking for you. Good guys who would unwittingly harm you and bad guys who would very knowingly harm you. There are a lot of factors at play here. I know you must have friends and family who will undoubtedly be worried about you, but you have to be careful.”

            Lydia nodded at her. “Can I let them know I’m okay?” she asked.

            “Of course, you should definitely do that, but don’t tell them anything about where you are. Don’t mention how long it took you to get here, or who is helping you, or how you got here. Nothing. You aren’t the only one we’re trying to keep safe here, and this location is important to more than just yourself. Revealing it to anyone could be dangerous to everyone.”

            Lydia nodded her head and then finished dialing her sister’s number.

            Maddie answered on the first ring, and immediately sobbed into the phone when she heard Lydia’s voice.

            “Your house is all over the news and you weren’t answering your phone- where are you? Are you okay?”

            “I’m fine,” she said. “I can’t tell you much, but I can tell you that I’m fine, and I’m safe, okay?”

            “No, that’s not acceptable,” Maddie answered. “Are you crazy? Someone killed your coworker and until ten seconds ago I thought they’d killed you, too, and now you’re telling me you can’t tell me anything? What the hell is going on? Where are you?”

            “I can’t tell you that,” Lydia said, squeezing her eyes shut at the pain in her sister’s voice. “And I can’t talk for long, and I know it all sounds so weird. I can text you every other hour if you want, so that you can know I’m okay, but I can’t tell you where I am.”

            “Every hour,” Maddie amended. “I don’t understand this at all, but I want a text every hour.”

            “You know I’ll forget,” Lydia said, rolling her eyes. “And then you’ll panic and I won’t hear the phone going off and you’ll lose years off of your life stressing for nothing. I’ll just text you all throughout the day, as often as I can remember.”

            Maddie sighed and Lydia could picture her running her hand through her hair, her gestures so familiar and somehow comforting. “Fine,” she said after a moment.

            “Can you call everyone and tell them I’m okay? Just tell them I’m staying with friends for awhile because I’m creeped out, so that they don’t worry, okay?”

            “Yeah, fine, I’ll do all of the worrying for all of us then, since I know good and well you aren’t just staying with friends.”

            “Thank you, Maddie. I love you. So much.”

            “Oh, God, are you alright? Why would you say it like that? Are you literally dying? You never say my name-“

            “No, good Lord, I’m just- I’ve been through a lot and I’m not-“

            “You saying my name is, like, so weird-“

            “Maddie Maddie Maddie Maddie Maddie-“

            “Okay, okay, fine, stop, I get it.”

            Lydia could hear Maddie’s smile through the phone.

            “I’m glad you’re okay, Lydia,” she said.

            “Oh, you’re right. That is weird,” Lydia said.

            “Text me in an hour,” Maddie told her.

            Lydia told her sister goodbye and then glanced around the room.

            “So,” she said, directing her gaze at Sandra, the person who had given her direct answers to every question she’d put to her so far. “Where should we start? And please, be descriptive.”