Chapter 2

One, two, three and creak, four, five, six… Once again I counted the steps silently as I followed Vera downstairs; that was just one of the nice little neuroses I had developed during my captivity. I counted things and my social skills had almost disappeared since I didn't have anyone to talk to. Vera didn't usually talk to me unless she actually had something to say, but I didn't really talk to her either. She wasn't nice, but she wasn't particularly rude either, unless I was rude to her.

At first I had been, I liked to think that I have had the right to be, but now I didn't care anymore. After my first months in this house, I had been so lonely and hoping for any kind of human contact that I had tried to approach her, but that hadn't really worked out. To her I wasn't a human being; I was merely some kind of object she had been told to guard.

There were other people who came here to clean and cook, but none of them ever said a word to me, like I wouldn't even be here at all. Maybe it was some kind of spell, I really didn't know. Tristan came here from time to time; sometimes he had people with him, usually other vampires like a woman called Aya. She was okay, not nice, but not rude either.

I was nervous when I approached the living room; I hadn't seen other people except Vera for a while. I spent most of my time in my room reading, watching TV, listening to music from my iPod and running on the treadmill. I had always loved running; I had even made it into the team back in junior high. That had been in another life, too long ago to matter.

Now I was a neurotic hermit who talked to herself or to the TV. I continued counting my steps until I reached the living room, I wondered if I should have got changed, I was only wearing a pink Garfield t-shirt, which Vera had for some unknown reason bought for me, and pajama pants. Tristan was sitting on the big dark brown sofa holding a teacup; he really seemed to be in a good mood. How nice for him.

"There's my girl," he said smiling and stood up, placing his cup on the mahogany coffee table. "How are you, dear?"

"Fine," I muttered, what else could I say? I didn't react when he took my hand and kissed it, he was into that kind of old fashion stuff.

"Come," he said and made me to sit down on the sofa. "How are things? Vera told me that you have spent a lot of time in your room."

Oh great, he seemed to be in a rare "Uncle Tristan mood", which meant that he was acting like he would have genuinely cared about my wellbeing. Well, better that than his jerk mood, at least usually. I've had plenty of time to read during the last three years and psychology had been one of my favorite subjects, probably because often I was afraid of losing my mind.

I've read a lot about the twisted relationships between the captives and the captors, especially when someone had been kept as a prisoner for a long time. I didn't think that I had been brainwashed or manipulated, I simply didn't care about much anything anymore. I didn't have warm feelings toward my capturer and I didn't think that the lack of abuse was an act of kindness, but I didn't have any interest yelling at him and demanding him to let me go either. That would be completely useless.

"Yes," I muttered. "Is that a problem?"

"Not to me, sweetheart, if everything is alright with you."

"Sure, whatever."

He frowned.

"Alright, good. I myself am on my way to New Orleans."

"Oh."

I had always wanted to see New Orleans, I had never traveled much. When I had been 6 or 7, my dad had taken me to California with him to keep him company; he had got paid to drive some guy's car there. He had never really had a steady job; he had taken whatever small jobs had been offered to him. All of those jobs hadn't been completely legal, mom had sometimes complained about that, but she had still accepted the money dad had brought home.

To me that trip to California was one of my most precious childhood memories, even though we had had to sleep in the car; we hadn't had money for a motel. I remembered how we had listened to the radio and dad had sung along while driving, he had made me laugh by making up his own lyrics and adding my name into the songs.

He had been the best dad there was, buying me candy from the gas stations and letting me order whatever I had wanted when we had stopped to eat. After I had eaten, I always had to pretend that I was feeling sick and my stomach was hurting, that way dad hadn't had to pay for my food. He had explained that it was like a fun game and I had been too young to question anything he said to me. Of course now I knew better, but I still didn't think that my dad was a bad person. We had spent the whole day on the beach; that had been the first and the last time when I had seen the sea, but I still remembered what it smelled like.

"So… What's in New Orleans?" I muttered, although I didn't really care.

Tristan smiled.

"I have some business there."

"Right, okay," I mumbled carelessly, for some reason I was staring at my hands. I never looked him in the eye if I didn't have to.

"And there is something else," he added after a brief moment of silence.

Reluctantly I looked up, he was still smiling.

"Oh?"

"I am taking you with me."

I stared at him disbelievingly, I was sure that he couldn't be serious.

"Wha-what?"

"I am taking you with me," he repeated calmly. "So I would like you to go to your room and start packing, we will leave as soon as you are ready."

I still wasn't sure was he serious. The whole thing felt nothing but unreal, would I finally get out of this house? Was it cold or hot outside? Was it raining? Was it…

"Why?"

That was the only thing I managed to say out loud. Vera rolled her eyes, but Tristan didn't seem at all annoyed or impatient.

"Well… As I said, I have some business in New Orleans and I heard that an old friend of mine is also there. I would very much like to introduce you to him."