to be sure, but hardly beyond the scope of a creative architect. Why anyone would want to build a round house was beyond her, but it had certainly been done before.
Otherwise, the room was quite bare. It was clearly meant to only be slept in. She did notice that there were no windows, making it very much a prison to her. That made her very suspicious of his claims that this was a “home,” rather than someplace he took his kidnapping victims to. She had to admit, his explanation was creative. It was a bit unnerving, however, to realize that the alien psychopath might also be delusional. Odds were they hadn’t gone anywhere that a car couldn’t get to. He might be…different, but that was not proof that he was being truthful.
The only question she had, as her exhaustion caught up with her and began to drag her back under, was whether Kenya was really nearby and if she was truly okay.
When Asia awoke later on, she had no concept of how much time had passed. All she knew was that she was awake, able to move like normal, and starving.
As if he had read her mind even before she had awakened, Julian came in bearing a tray of very unusual foods. She recognized only half of the things there. French fries and corn on the cob. Strange combination for an alien menu, she thought, looking up at him questioningly.
“I got attached to certain Earth foods,” he explained almost bashfully. “It’s frowned on to bring them here, but it’s not illegal, so I stock up on my favorites. They are very unique to your realm. I thought you might find a little comfort in their familiarity. The other two dishes are called htinni and yogu. Both are local fruit and vegetable dishes. They are among the most flavorful of this culture.”
He set the tray down on the bed beside her, and the look she shot him was positively scathing. “If you think I’m going to eat anything you give me, you are out of your freakin’ mind.”
“It isn’t drugged,” he assured her, taking up a liberal clump of fries and eating them with obvious enjoyment. “Salt. I think it is the salt that makes both of these things so delicious. It is a shame it is so bad for human health. And yet, salt is a key part of your makeup. Is that not curious?”
“Yeah. Fascinating,” she said, not sounding the least bit intrigued.
He ignored her sarcasm, spooning up one of the two stranger dishes for himself. It was orange in color, steaming and fragrant like spice and curry was fragrant, but looked a bit like baby food. It was probably exactly that. Baby food spiced up to seem strange and alien.
Julian did not avail himself of any more of her food to prove it wasn’t poisoned. She wouldn’t eat either of those untouched dishes, if she considered eating at all. He looked for a moment like he wanted to say something more to her, but then he simply turned to leave. It wasn’t until he reached the beaded curtain that he finally spoke up.
“You have the run of the house. I must leave for a short time, but you need to remember not to go outside as yet. I will take you out when I return. Please heed me at this if nothing else. I only ask a little patience, and then I will show you my world. I would stay, but I have to…I have things to attend to. If you need anything, Ariel will be here.”
He hesitated again, his pause quite pregnant with things he wanted to say but did not. It only served to irritate her. He left her wondering who the hell Ariel was. Figuring there was only one way to find out a lot of the answers she needed, she pushed the tray aside and slid cautiously to her feet. She tested herself out for aftereffects of drugs, but she felt quite normal. She wasn’t unusually thirsty, weak, tired, or even hung-over, which supported his claims that he had not drugged her in the first place. But it was clear he had done something to her. She had gone on a hell of a trip, as though loaded up on Ecstasy, and it had been disturbingly out of character. She brushed a hard hand at her cheeks as they flushed red in anger and embarrassment. He would pay for stripping away her dignity like that. She would see to it.
She waited a few minutes before she cautiously inched up to the curtained doorway. She hadn’t heard a door close, so she couldn’t be certain he had left as he’d claimed he was going to. He could be testing her to see if she would attempt escape. He had to know she would. He seemed able to intuit a great deal about her, so she had to assume he would anticipate her desires to go against his command and try and break free of him somehow. She slid quietly through the curtains, for the first time noticing she no longer had shoes on and that the floors were woven tight and hard beneath her feet. There was no splintering to the webbing beneath her, despite the fact that it looked almost like a layer of braided vines. The surface was treated, making it silky smooth while providing traction with its meshed texture.
As she crept through the house, she realized that the woven material made up all the solid surfaces: walls, flooring, ceilings, and anything of substance to the architecture of the home. It was just weird enough to make her stomach clench with doubt and questions, but it wasn’t enough to convince her. As she searched slowly and quietly around her would-be prison, she encountered two bedrooms besides the one she had left. One had a decided feminine touch, the other was more dark and masculine. Not so much the color differences to the bedding, but also the nature of the décor. Julian had a history of taking rather posh, showy apartments in his travels, so it was hard for her to picture him in this more rustic environment. She did not step into the room, something inherent in her telling her to keep far from his bed and his belongings. She already knew him intimately enough, thanks. But she did take a moment to notice there were no photographs or artwork of any kind, not that she could figure how to mount such things on round walls. It was not absent of personal touches, however. There was a kind of personalization just in the way the bed and a slung-up chair in one spot were obviously designed for the specific comfort of one man. It was strange, however, that she saw no tables and no lights in any of these rooms. If there was recessed lighting, she couldn’t find it.
She was wasting time, Asia lectured herself sternly. It was time to find out just how far Julian would let her go before bringing down the hammer. Would he let her make it all the way outside? It would be easy enough to explain away a suburb or remote cabin to fit his delusions, but it would be easier for him to leave her questioning. As yet, there was no sight of any windows. She found it curious that the place wasn’t pitch-black. In fact, it seemed warmly and diffusely lit from just about everywhere, although for the life of her, as she moved on through the house, she could find no switches, lamps, or bulbs to account for any of it. She quickly denied the idea that it was anything but some designer’s clever trick of technology and architecture.
Things got really peculiar, however, when she reached the end of her search at a central circular opening in the floor. But where anyone else would have a spiral staircase leading down to the next floor, this was a wide, spiral, and gently graded…slide. Or ramp. It depended on how you looked at it. Perhaps it was designed for someone in a wheelchair? But wouldn’t an elevator be easier? She carefully stepped onto the slide and realized the mesh material provided much better traction than she had given it credit for. It made for a smooth, quick descent. When she reached the bottom, though, she looked back up and had sympathy for anyone who wasn’t in decent shape and sporting a good sense of balance when it came to the climb back up.
Turning her attention to the newest floor, she became instantly aware of the presence of another person nearby. It was hard to miss, actually. The sound of feminine sniffles and softly hitching sobs was rather hard to overlook. Unable to help herself, fearing someone else might be in trouble in this surreal situation, she followed the sounds to the nearest room. Stepping through another beaded doorway, she found herself in what had to be a kitchen, although it wasn’t like anything she’d ever seen before. It seemed a strange cross between modern and primitive. There was an open fire pit, the shape and size of which reminded her of a normal-sized sandbox in a child’s backyard. It was roomy, about waist-high to the woman who was removing a pot from the grill set over the flames. She turned and threw the pot angrily into
