Uncovering You 9: Liberation Read Free Page A

sense. I haven’t pressed Jeremy for answers, only because I know he would stick to the same script.
    For all that, how do I even know that it’s March? How do I know that we’re truly in Colorado? All the information I have about my situation comes directly from Jeremy. And he is a master of twisting lies into truths.
    We could be anywhere in the world. It could be any week of the year. I haven’t had access to any outside information. We’re completely isolated here.
    I haven’t let it bother me yet because there hasn’t been anything I could do. And I needed to give myself time to enjoy being around Jeremy.
    Well, we’ve had that time. From Wednesday to now. If it was Wednesday when I awoke. Nothing I know can be taken as the absolute truth.
    Jesus .
    I bring a hand to my forehead and close my eyes. My thoughts are going round in circles. Paranoia is exerting its hold on me. I’m going to go crazy if I’m cooped up here for much longer.
    I set out to find Jeremy and demand he take us home.
    But he’s not where I would expect to find him at this time of day. I scour the entire first story, calling out his name. There is no response.
    I climb the stairs to the second level and try again. He’s not there, either.
    “Where did the dratted man get to?” I mutter to myself.
    Then I see a small doorway, expertly hidden in a nook in the wall. It’s been left slightly ajar. I never noticed it before.
    I push it open. There is a small set of dark, curling stairs leading up. I feel a tiny bit of radiant warmth, as if from a fire, coming from up there.
    “Jeremy?” I call out, one hand on the railing. “Are you there?”
    I don’t get a response but I head up anyway.
    The staircase seems to circle forever. As I climb higher, the heat becomes more pronounced.
    At the top, I emerge into an unfurnished hallway. There are no rugs on the floors, no paintings decorating the walls. Just a long, empty stretch of wooden floorboards and cedar walls leading to what must be the attic.
    I walk forward, curious yet cautious. “Jeremy?”
    I turn a corner, and see the source of the heat.
    There is an enormous fireplace on the far wall. It’s bigger, even, than any of the ones downstairs. By the looks of it, it was part of the original house.
    There is a single armchair in the room. It looks tattered and old. A set of closed French doors on the opposite side complete the scene.
    Jeremy is in the armchair. He does not look at me when I enter. He does speak.
    “Come here, Lilly. Sit in my lap.”
    I do.
    “What are you doing up here?” I ask.
    “Thinking,” he says solemnly. The flames crackle and burn before us. “Reminiscing.”
    “About what?”
    “Many things,” he sighs. He sounds both contemplative and morose. I’ve never seen him in such a state.
    “Do you know what’s behind those doors, Lilly?” he asks, tilting his head in their direction.
    “No,” I say. “How could I?”
    “It’s nothing frightening, I assure you. Come.” He stands and takes my hand. “We’ll face it together.”
    “Face what together, Jeremy?” I begin. But he’s already halfway across the room.
    He brings me in front of the doors. He places one hand on them, almost reverently. “These haven’t been opened for nearly twenty years,” he admits. His voice is so low I’m not sure I was intended to hear.
    “Why?” I ask. I’m not scared. Not really. I can read the situation, and I don’t think there’s a nasty surprise waiting for me on the other side.
    This is about Jeremy. Something about these doors, and whatever room they lead to, holds meaning for him.
    “Because,” he says, tightening his grip on my hand, “they lead to my mother’s sanctuary.”
    With that, his free hand falls to the handles, and he presses them down to push one door inward.
    Unlike the bare room behind us, this one is fully furnished. There are, however, large white sheets thrown over everything. The air is stuffy, yet somehow not stale.
    I see