HUNTER

9

The hot water soothed my aching joints as the floating bubbles tickled my skin. The mixture of the heat and sudden zen I felt, despite my predicament, cleared my head giving me space to think. From what I'd seen of the house so far it wasn't all that shabby. It was bigger than it appeared on the outside, with four bedrooms each with its own bathroom. The kitchen could make Gordon Ramsey jealous and with its open plan layout the downstairs had very few places to hide.
Lathering up my sponge with rose body wash I start massaging it into my skin, contemplating what the hell I was going to do to get out of this fix. The code. Where would he hide a code? His laptop, maybe? Bit obvious but worth a try. His sock draw, perhaps? Worth a rummage. My mind kept taking me back to how afraid I was the first night. I'd been so terrified I hadn't slept a wink and even soiled myself. Now I was in a bathtub wearing a shock collar I was suddenly thankful was waterproof, as it hadn't crossed my mind to ask. I'd been so angry I'd just left and jumped in the steaming water without a second thought. Risky move, Angie, risky move.

After washing the dirt from my hair and pinning it up out of the way I wrap a fluffy white towel around myself. Tip toeing out into the creaky hallway I decide to go in search of Hunter's room. It wasn't long until I found it. Each room I'd already checked was bare. There wasn't even sheets on the beds. So the room I'd stumbled upon must be his. It was as clinical as the rest of the house. Closing the door gently behind me I hold on tightly to my towel. Taking baby steps into enemy territory. The floorboards creaked painfully beneath my wet toes but I kept going trying to focus on my surroundings, not that there was much to look at. The place was minimalistic, with plain white bed sheets, one pillow, and a black silk throw hanging leisurely off the bottom of the bed. The shelves were scattered with old books like War and Peace and Gone Girl. I didn't take him for a reader, I thought as my fingertips ran across the glossy smooth cover of Gone Girl.
The walls were painted white but a couple of small paintings catch my attention. These must be the only paintings I've seen, I think as I move closer to examine them. There were four in total, and arranged in a family tree style spread against the wall opposite the bed. They were beautifully painted with splashes of colour which made the figure pop. The figures themselves were dressed immaculately in suits and dresses for the special occasion. As I looked closer, my nose almost touching each of the canvas's, I stare at each face in turn. The features were a little blurred but I could make out the general likeness of him. He stared back at me with cold eyes and that smug expression which made me want to kick him in the balls. But it was the woman which intrigued me. She sat in the frame beside his, all prim and proper in an elegant violet summer dress trimmed with lace daisies. Her hair hung around her blurry features highlighting the glow from her eyes. Eyes that seemed so familiar to me. I'd seen them somewhere before, I was sure of it. Those eyes haunted me as I continued my search, only flitting from my mind when I opened a hardwood draw to find an in-built safe. My heart leaped at the prospect of freedom, but withdrew as I saw the keyless lock. Fuck! I almost sobbed as I begin to close the draw of my broken hopes.
The draw was halfway shut when I paused. A small, dark box was in the other corner of the draw. Attempting to open it I find it was actually the lid of a container inbuilt into the wood - a container which concealed a silver switch.