Discarded by M. Hunter (fantasy books to read .txt) 📗

‘W-w-where were you?’ she asked, her sob stuttering the words.

He rested his cheek on the top of her head and gently kissed it, in the same way her father did. ‘I was working.’

He’d said he would be back quickly, but judging by the amount of light that had penetrated the gloom when he’d opened the door, it had to be morning.

‘All night?’ she asked.

‘We were doing a night shoot… It overran. I’m sorry. I thought I’d be back sooner.’ His head suddenly snapped up. ‘Speaking of which, what time is it?’

He checked his watch and she saw his eyes widen with something close to fear. ‘Oh shit! We need to get this place cleaned up. Mr Brown doesn’t like messy quarters.’ He pushed himself away from her, lifting her plate, ready to stack it on his own. ‘You didn’t finish your dinner.’

The spaghetti had hardened during the night and some of the tomato sauce had stained the edge of the plate. It had felt so mature and fun to be eating last night, but now all it did was remind her of what she was missing out on.

‘I wasn’t hungry,’ she lied, as her stomach grumbled in disapproval.

He carried both plates to the kitchen countertop and she watched as he scraped the remnants of dinner into a polythene bag, tied the ends and carried it outside. He didn’t close the door, and a voice in the back of her head told her to stand and move to the exit. She obeyed, despite her terror at Grey’s words the night before.

A carpet of mist hung half a metre off the ground, giving the impression that they’d somehow been transported into the clouds. Beyond the immediate field, she could now see a barbed-wire fence, leading to a second field, on which cows were grazing and braying their woeful tune. Had they been there last night when she’d arrived? She couldn’t recall hearing any animal noises, but now she could hear nothing but their moos and detected the unmistakeable pong.

There was no sign of life in either of the other two caravans but, daring to move down to the next step, she could just make out a tall building beyond the third caravan. A barn of some sort, she would guess, though it wasn’t obvious how the cows would access it, as a small stream bisected the land near to it. As she stepped down again, the barn came into clearer view and it appeared to only be accessible from their current field. If there were fields and cows and a barn, they had to be pitched up on a farm of some sort, which had to mean there would be a farmer or farmhouse nearby. If only she could find it, perhaps she could signal for help.

‘Whoa, whoa, whoa,’ Chez said, reappearing from behind the caravan and ushering her back inside. ‘If Mr Brown saw you out in the open, he wouldn’t be happy. Come on, you can dry up while I wash.’

Stepping back inside, she made a promise that she wouldn’t spend so much time thinking about escape when the opportunity next presented itself. Instead, she would just run. To hell with the consequences; it sure beat the alternative.

Chez filled the sink and deposited the plates and cutlery inside, then wiped the table down with a wet cloth and straightened the cushions. He was surprisingly domesticated for one so young, but then he had commented how they were all treated as grown-ups in this place. It triggered a fresh thought in her head.

‘Are there others? Like you and me, I mean.’

He fixed her with a cautious stare. ‘You mean models and actors?’

She nodded.

‘Of course there are.’

‘Where are they now?’

‘Ah, well, we don’t all spend time in the same places all the time. You’ll get to meet them soon enough. I’m here now to oversee your arrival, you see.’

He handed her a bubble-covered plate, and she wrapped it in the towel he’d handed her, wiping the suds from the surface, before standing it back on the table, uncertain where the plate had come from originally.

‘How many others are there?’ she tried again.

He passed her a second soap-streaked plate. ‘It varies. People come and go, but on average there’s between seven and a dozen at a time. They’re all a friendly bunch if that’s what you’re worried about.’

‘Oh no,’ she replied defensively, ‘I was just curious to understand how all of this works.’

‘It’s best not to ask too many questions, and just go with the flow; easier that way.’

She dried the plate and stood it atop the first. ‘What happens to the videos you appear in? What I mean is, would I have seen you in something at the cinema?’

She didn’t know why she’d asked the question in that way, but something was chattering in the back of her mind.

‘They’re a special type of movie,’ he said. ‘Let’s just leave it at that. Okay?’

It would have been better had he just lied, but she wasn’t as slow on the uptake as he’d wrongly assumed. ‘Do the others act in these movies too?’

Chaz drove his hands into the water, sending a mountain of bubbles to plash up onto the draining board, and she heard him sigh in frustration. She hadn’t meant to anger him and took an uncertain step backwards.

She could see from the movement of his jawline that he was grinding his teeth, and she continued to move backwards like a naïve zoo keeper who had wandered into the wrong cage. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said quickly. ‘I’ll stop asking questions. It’s just… there’s so much I don’t know, and I thought it would be better to ask you than one of the others. I’m sorry.’

He looked up and the anger immediately left his expression, but it was as if he was seeing someone else when he spoke. ‘I know, and I was wrong to get cross with you. If you can’t ask your big