The Castle

Chapter One

Chapter One

Pandora was the first woman to be created by the gods. Zeus ordered that she be formed from the earth, her creation a punishment for Prometheus’s theft of fire.

In that way her curiosity was foretold, part of her fate.

I pause with my hands on the keyboard, studying my words. Like taking a breath after too long underwater, I’m back at school. I have two correspondence classes, this one Gender in Classical Greek Literature. An analysis of the first reading assignment is due tomorrow.

The woman signifies more than the punished; she’s the punishment itself, retribution for events that occurred before her conception. Blame without agency is a central theme for women in Greek literature.

The other class I’m taking is Subjectivity, Individualism, and the Crisis of Morality. At first it seemed like a stark contrast to study the breakdown of traditional customs while studying an ancient civilization.

Then again, who better embodies nihilistic randomness than the Greek gods?

They acted on impulse, creating lives and destroying them, rewarding and punishing on a whim. Vengeful and cruel, without the inherent gifts of morality imbued on other modern deities. Gifting humanity with a beautiful woman only to condemn them for her eventual curiosity.

At ten o’clock Gabriel still hasn’t returned. I wander to the window. A full moon lights up the maze of hedges, the line of trees beyond. Jonathan Scott might be in those trees. He might be anywhere. My eyelids are heavy, but I’m afraid to sleep.

A stream of cheery notes startles me. My phone.

Please tell me you’re having wild s*x right now.

Thank God for Harper. A reprieve from the nightmares.

And she’s one of my only links to the outside world now that I’m trapped here. I flop onto the large bed, plush and utterly cold without Gabriel. The estate is large and so very lonely.

Coursework is a good distraction from the fact that I can’t actually leave. After the fire and the creepy switched painting of my mother, I know there are real dangers outside these walls. But I also can’t help but long for a simple trip to a coffee shop, a walk in the park. How persistent is the danger? How serious is the threat to me, specifically?

I can’t shake the feeling that Gabriel isn’t telling me everything.

I type back. Why would I be on my phone if I’m having wild s*x?

Lie to me. I need to live vicariously through you.

A snort. Good luck with that. I’m stuck in Gabriel’s fancy house.

At least you have a hot man coming to service you every night.

My cheeks heat. He certainly makes the most of the time we spend in this bed together. It’s almost enough. And then every day he leaves before it grows light. It’s like he’s a dream, something I made up to ease the loneliness of this prison.

What about your harem of frat boys? I ask.

Dry spell.

I’m not sure how she can run out of boys with two different colleges within driving distance. There are parties every night, some huge and boisterous, some private and exclusive. And Harper always goes.

I send her a long line of question marks, nothing else.

There’s a pause when I think she might not respond. Our conversations sometimes end this way, fading and then starting where we left off the next day. I try to imagine her in her dorm room with its small desk and the WWII poster of Rosie she hung above her bed. If she’s not heading to a party, she would be dressed in pajama pants and a sweatshirt, like most of the other girls on the floor. Not like my lace nightgown, one of many that magically appear in my drawer each day.

Gabriel loves to rip them off me, to literally rip the fabric with his bare hands. He ruins them with a ferocity I feel in my core, as if my flesh is made of satin, as if he’s tearing me apart.

I’ve grown addicted to ruin.

Another little bleep from my phone.

They seem so young, she says. Even when they’re grad students. What’s happening to me?

I want to tell her she’s in love with her stepbrother. Or in hate with him. I understand how thin that line can be now that I’ve lived it myself. It consumes you, leaving no room for other men. Definitely no room for boys. Instead I type, Maybe you’re growing up.

You’re right. It’s time I find a sugar daddy.

That makes me laugh. She’s richer than God, thanks to a daddy who ran Wall Street and a mom who married three other men like him. And her stepbrother, Christopher, makes sure her large room of gold keeps growing.

I send her an emoji of an eggplant and a pot of gold.

She replies with a stream of water droplets, a little pink bow, and what appears to be a judge’s gavel. I’m a little afraid to ask for clarification. We go back and forth for a while, which is a nice consolation for the fact that I’m basically alone. Somewhere Mrs. B will be cooking or cleaning. Guards will be guarding, but I don’t want them.

I’m alone all day and late into the night, when Gabriel always returns.

Good night, she types. Don’t let the bedbugs bite, unless his name is Gabriel.

My lips quirk as I set the phone aside, closing my eyes for only a moment. As prisons go, there isn’t a more beautiful one, a more luxurious one than this. It’s built like an old French chateau, but recently enough that it has every modern convenience. Unlike my mother’s house with its secret passageways and its hidden horrors, Gabriel’s mansion has state-of-the-art security.

Already he had the points of entry monitored—the windows, the doors. That was how he knew when Justin came to my window that one time. Now he’s added the human element, as he calls it. Armed guards that patrol the perimeter. It seems like overkill. Or it would if I hadn’t seen firsthand what Jonathan Scott is capable of.

I trust Gabriel. I believe that no one can get inside.

That knowledge doesn’t stop the nightmares.

Flames lick my skin. Smoke curls around me, stinging my eyes.

From far away I can hear my mother calling. “Avery! Stay there! Whatever you do, stay inside!”

I can’t stay inside. I can’t breathe here. The doorknob burns my skin. I yank my hand away.

“Little Avery James, all grown up.” The voice comes from behind me. It’s Gabriel. I whirl, but there’s nothing there. Only fire. Only smoke. I stumble back, hitting the door. There’s no way out.

A scream erupts from my throat.