Free Enticed:A Dangerous Connection (Secrets) by Melody Carlson Page B

here, I will need a plan.
    The first part of my plan is to somehow get Tatiana — or anyone else who lives in this house — to trust me. Somehow I’ve got to make them believe that I’m not going to run. If I can convince them that I’m trustworthy, it’s possible I will get a little freedom. And if I can get a little freedom, it’s possible that, with God’s help, I will discover a way to escape.
    However, to get people here to trust me, I will have to pretend to be like them. Which means I will have to be dishonest. I will have to hide my real feelings, my real reactions. Is keeping a secret like this deceitful? Or is it simply a clever means to escape from corrupt people?
    Once again, I ask God to help me with this, and suddenly I feel compelled to pray for the others in this house. I start with Tatiana and then I pray for Jimmy, someone I’ve never met. And as I’m praying for them, my attitude starts to change. Yes, I may have to pretend I’m something I’m not, but now I care about the others. I’m curious as to how they came to be here. And I’m hoping and praying that as much as I help myself, I might be able to help them, too.
    It’s late afternoon when Tatiana comes into my room. She’s holding out a paper plate with a couple pieces of pepperoni pizza on it, and grateful tears fill my eyes as I stand to greet her.
    “I’m so glad to see you,” I say as she hands me the grease-soaked paper plate.
    “Yeah, yeah.” She runs her fingers through her hair, making it look even spikier than usual.
    “Thank you so much for this,” I gush at her. “And please, don’t go. I’m so lonely. Can’t you stay and talk awhile?”
    “Yeah, right. We have so much to talk about.” She rolls her eyes and I notice she’s changed her clothes and is wearing makeup. Instead of her gray tank top and cutoffs, she has on a short, strapless red-and-black striped dress — and my red heels.
    “You look really nice,” I tell her, containing my irritation that she’s wearing the only shoes I have. “Big date tonight?”
    She laughs with cynicism. “Yeah … several.”
    “What day is it?” I try to prolong this encounter.
    “Last I heard it was Saturday.” Without turning her back on me, she reaches for the doorknob. “Later.” And then she’s gone.
    I try to process how long I’ve been gone now. I went to the appointment with Marcia and Bryce on Tuesday. I was drugged that night in the truck … and several days here … I count the days on my fingers: five days. But it feels more like five years. The only encouraging thing is that the police must be looking for me by now. But would they have any idea where I am? Do I? Based on the greenness of the backyard and trees, I suspect I’ve been taken up north. But I have no idea where. Oregon, Washington, Canada, Alaska?
    I look down at the pizza and, once again, I thank God for this meal and I ask him to bless it and keep me from food poisoning, since, like the McMuffin, it’s just room temperature and for all I know it could’ve been sitting out for days. I sniff it and my stomach rumbles so I go ahead and take a bite.
    As I slowly eat, I must admit my faith is wavering a little. It’s hard to believe it’s been five days. I truly expected to be out of this mess by now. But at the same time I am extremely thankful that nothing worse than solitary confinement has happened to me. And I’m thankful that I can keep crying out to God, and I’m still trying to trust that he’s going to rescue me.
    Throughout the day, I have heard the sounds of what I first thought were guns and then later realized were actually fireworks. The frequency of the noises seems to increase into the night. And then it hits me: Today’s the Fourth of July. Of course, the irony of this does not escape me. I am celebrating Independence Day by being locked up and held prisoner. Surely this is a Fourth of July I will never forget.

    Late in the night I’m awakened by a lot of door