Free Misery by M. Garnet Page B

traffic. She wasn’t sure what she had expected in a safe house but it was not what she was driven to. They turned to a high rise apartment complex, then down into the parking area. This parking area was enclosed with heavy metal gates. But something in the two vehicles triggered the gates as they swung out of the way for the SUVs to enter.
    They parked together near the elevator banks. She watched as Deck took their luggage. She took her purse, grabbed the bag of garbage and followed. They went past the first two elevators to one that had no buttons. The doors opened as they approached. When they entered it closed and began to ascend. She looked around — no buttons, no floor indicators, just two arrows, one pointing up, which was lit, the other pointing down.
    When the doors finally opened she saw that they were on the top floor, in the penthouse. Yep, she could handle this type of safe house.
    The suite was beautiful. The entry was marble, leading to the deep carpet that was lush and white. The furniture was low rich leather. The back wall was all glass with a balcony that looked out over the city. In the distance she could see the mountains topped with snow.
    She saw the kitchen behind the dark black marble bar. That was the first place she went. She found that she was really hungry. The small kitchen was a work of art. All the appliances were black, with black tiles behind the black marble counter top. As she entered, a low light came on under the cabinets. She found that all the cabinets, even the refrigerator, had dark glass fronts.
    She was really hungry, so she was surprised to find the fridge fully stocked. She pulled out sliced turkey, lettuce, tomatoes, even mayo. She looked around to find the bread, the good kind, whole wheat. It took her two minutes to whip up a great sandwich. She found fruit juice in small bottles. She took her small hoard with her into the main room to sit on the floor by the coffee table.
    The coffee table was large enough to seat a football team around. She munched away, watching the two men — no, get used to the name, the two nightwalkers — talking. Trump was sprawled on the couch. Deck was pacing, having his usual conversations. Yes and no . He took a look at her, which brought him to a halt, leaving him standing like a statue. So what was new?
    Trump was doing most of the talking. That made sense, as she knew Deck. But it was getting worse. They were talking about people she didn’t know. They were also slipping into another language frequently. Also, it was obvious that Trump was subordinate to Deck. He might talk more, but he was looking to make sure everything was approved by Deck. She also knew they were talking about her as she saw Deck’s eyes turn to her every now and again.
    So her temper, which either got her in trouble or got her through troubled times, took over. “Hey guys,” she stood up and yelled. “The lady in question is in the room. She is getting a little pissed that for the last couple of days she has had no say in her life. Enough is enough. So tell me, now, what is going on?”
    There she stood, feet apart, hands on hips in a room with almost five hundred pounds of bloodsuckers, but she really was pissed.
    Both men looked at her. It was quiet in the room. Finally Trump spoke. “Okay, Decimus, you have your hands full. I am going out for a snack.”
    Trump got up and went to the elevator. He left as the hiss of the doors took him down.
    “Going out for a snack? Does that mean he is going out to find someone to drink some blood from their neck?” She was so shocked she still stood with her hands on her hips.
    Decimus tilted his head as he looked at her. “That is the normal routine.”
    “Shit, will it kill them?”
    “Trump does not kill to eat.”
    She looked at him a long time. “You need to eat also, don’t you?” Her voice broke a little.
    He waited to answer, but didn’t look away. “Yes.”
    He felt her emotion but he had no name for it.