Angela was sitting on her cot in the storage room, staring at the shelves full of nonperishables while her stomach grumbled when Hogan came down to get her around twelve thirty.
“The tour group is gone now,” he said, poking his head in the doorway. “Go up to the kitchen and have Manny make you some lunch.” He disappeared again before Angela had a chance to reply.
She did as she was told, too hungry to worry about chasing after him. She could always ask him about the mark later; it’s not like she would be going anywhere anytime soon. She pushed the kitchen door open, her stomach growling as she was greeted with the smells of grilled cheese, tuna fish, and other various sandwiches.
“There she is!” Manny said from the sink, where he was washing up a few cutting boards and knives. “I was wondering when you would come up for lunch.” He flicked a knife to get the excess water off before grabbing a towel to dry it off. “Your uncle already ate. What would you like to eat?”
Angela eyed a plate piled with sandwiches leftover from the tour group. “I'll be fine with one of those sandwiches.”
“You sure?” Manny asked. “I’d be more than happy to make one to order.”
“In that case, could you make me a tuna melt?”
“Hmm…” Manny appeared thoughtful. “That’s where you just grill a tuna fish sandwich with cheese in it, right?”
Angela nodded. “My dad…” She paused, her voice catching. She cleared her throat and continued. “My dad makes them all the time. It's really good.”
He shrugged. “Sounds simple enough. You might as well sit down while you wait.”
Angela pulled out a bar stool and sat down. “Where's Emma?” she asked.
Manny bustled around the kitchen, getting out various ingredients for Angela’s lunch. “Emma has a summer class every weekday from noon to two-thirty,” he said. “So she's just been helping me out in the mornings. Mara, my evening help, should be getting here around four, so I'm on my own in the afternoons.”
“I don't mind helping out if you need me to,” Angela said. Helping out in the kitchen would be the perfect way to keep herself busy during the day.
Manny smiled. “That's very sweet of you, but I won't be able to pay you.” His hand became a blur as he expertly whipped together the tuna salad.
Angela shrugged. “That's okay. I just need something to do, anyway. This place isn't exactly a social hub.”
“In that case, I'd be glad to have your help,” he said. “Although I should warn you that there isn't always a lot to do.”
She waved a hand dismissively. “Even with nothing to do, I'll still have somebody to talk to.”
Manny paused, his hands hovering over the two slices of bread. “Gordon doesn't talk to you?” he asked.
Uh-oh. The conversation had trespassed into dangerous territory again. Angela shrugged again, trying to act nonchalant. “Not really. He's usually busy.”
Manny raised an eyebrow and went back to fixing the sandwich. “You two certainly don't act like relatives.”
Angela picked up a pepper shaker and rolled it between her hands. “Like I said this morning, we only met yesterday.” It was a valid story; after all, she knew plenty of people who had at least one relative they had never met. Even she had one: her dad's younger sister had married a guy from Taiwan only a few months before Angela had been born, and had never had enough money to come and visit.
“So why are you staying with an uncle you've never met?” Manny asked, buttering the sandwich before placing it on the skillet. “Or would you rather not talk about it?”
“I'd rather not talk about it,” Angela said, grateful to Manny for once again giving her an out. She set the pepper shaker back in its place on the counter.
“Well, then, what do you want to talk about?”
Angela had to think about that for a bit. “Well, I am a bit curious about the town.” Assuming there was a town here, and not just an abandoned motel-turned-museum in the middle of nowhere.
Many turned off the skillet and placed her sandwich on a plate before setting it in front of her. “There you go, your tuna melt.”
“Thank you.” Angela picked up the sandwich and bit into the fishy, cheesy goodness. It was even better than she remembered, but being really hungry probably accounted for part of that.
Manny sat down on the bar stool opposite her. He wiped his hands on his apron. “If you're interested in the town, Emma would be more than happy to take you.”
Angela stopped mid-chew. She hadn’t anticipated this. What should she say? She obviously couldn't say that she was confined to the building by a spell that effectively tackled her every time she tried to leave. She finished chewing and swallowed. “Oh, um, that's okay. I don't think Ho—my uncle wants me going anywhere without him.” Again, it was technically true. She found it a lot easier to lie if she included some truth in it.
“Really?” Manny asked, leaning on the counter with his arms folded. “You're an adult. I don't think you need to worry about what your uncle says.”
She stared at her sandwich. “Well, it's kind of hard to explain…” she trailed off. What could she say?
Manny sighed. “I suppose I shouldn't pry,” he said. “It just seems strange to me, that's all.”
Angela kept eating, and fortunately, Manny dropped the issue. When she was finished with her sandwich, she offered to help with the dishes, an offer Manny gladly accepted. At first, there was a bit of an awkward silence, but they soon started a small conversation that was nowhere near the danger zone. Angela discovered that she and Manny shared a love of dubstep, specifically Lindsey Stirling, and soon they were engaged in an enthusiastic conversation about her latest YouTube video. Angela had expressed her surprise that a man of his age was a fan of Lindsey Stirling, to which Manny had replied, a little sheepishly, that his daughter was the one who had gotten him hooked.
Around two o'clock the kitchen door opened, and Hogan walked in. His face darkened when he saw Angela with her sleeves rolled up, scrubbing down one of the counters while Manny deep-cleaned the ice cream machine.
“What are you doing?” he snapped.
Angela was startled by his reaction. “I just thought I'd help Manny out until Mara got here.”
Hogan clamped his hand onto her wrist. He yanked the cleaning rag out of her hand and threw it on the floor. “He doesn't need your help. Come on.” He pulled her toward the door.
“Don't be so hard on her, Gordon,” Manny said. “I don't mind if she helps out.”
Hogan stopped just short of the door, still clutching Angela’s wrist in his vice-like grip. “She is my guest, not the hired help.”
Manny put one hand on his hip, the other on the counter. “Well, maybe she wouldn't feel the need to hang out with the hired help if her uncle actually paid attention to her.”
Hogan relaxed his grip on Angela’s wrist but did not let go. His expression, however, grew cold and dark. “Keep out of our family business,” he said. “I can always find a new cook.” With that, he turned and opened the door. “Let's go.” He left the kitchen, Angela in tow.
She struggled to keep up with his long stride, her wrist and shoulder starting to ache from the strain. Hogan didn't speak to her, dragging her along until he stopped in front of his office.
He turned to face her, his expression stern. “I have half a mind to punish you right here, right now, but I have someone who wants to see you.”
“Me?” Angela wasn’t sure she understood. Who would be wanting to see her? Did Hogan expect her to keep up the pretense of being his niece in front of this person?
“Yes, you. Now come on, and behave yourself.” He let go of her arm and opened the door. “Here she is,” he said, addressing the man sitting in a chair in front of Hogan’s desk.
Angela tried not to stare. The man looked like Colonel Sanders, only he was wearing a Hawaiian shirt and khaki shorts. He stood up and walked over to Angela, inspecting her as if she were a used car for sale on a lot. “So this is the one?” he asked, addressing Hogan. Angela had half expected him to speak with the same Southern twang as Colonel Sanders and was surprised to hear a New England accent instead.
“Yes.”
“Hmm,” the man said, looking hard at Angela. “Are you sure? You don't want to be too hasty about this.”
“I'm sure,” Hogan said. “She's perfect.”
Angela tried to not let her mouth gape open. What did he mean, she was perfect?
“Hmm,” the man said again. He straightened. “What's her name?” he asked.
Hogan shrugged. “I don't know. I forgot.”
This time Angela let her mouth fall wide open. He forgot? Was she really that unimportant to him? If so, why had he gone through the trouble to kidnap her and contract her to him to keep her from running?
The man sighed. “Really, Gordon.” He turned to Angela, looking her in the eye for the first time. “What's your name, dear?”
She shot a glare at Hogan before answering. “Angela.”
Hogan let out a guffaw. “That's right, I remember now! Angela. Pretty ironic, isn't it?” he asked the man with a grin.
The man rolled his eyes. “Hilarious,” he said, his tone suggesting otherwise.
Angela looked back and forth between the two men, wondering why Hogan found her name so funny. Clearly, there was an inside joke here that she was missing out on.
The man lifted Angela’s chin to get a better look at her face. “What makes you so certain she's perfect?” he asked, effectively ignoring Angela as a person once again. “Are you sure she doesn't have any flaws?”
Hogan shrugged. “She does have asthma, but it seems to be fairly minor. I don't think it'll be too much of a problem. It’s not like we’ll need her to run a marathon or anything.”
Angela was getting tired of being talked over like a pet cat. She swatted the man's hand away, taking a step back. “Um, excuse me, but … who are you?” Seeing as the man knew she wasn’t Hogan’s niece, she felt pretty justified in asking this.
The man chuckled. “Forgive me, where are my manners? I'm Miles Worthington, the owner of this place. Most people call me Miles, but you will address me as Mr. Worthington.”
Angela opened and closed her mouth, unable to come up with a suitable response. The owner of this place was in on her kidnapping? What did that mean for her?
Mr. Worthington turned back to Hogan, not waiting for her to answer. “When do you think we should do it?” he asked.
Hogan sat down on top of his desk. “I’d like to do it tonight, if possible, but I'm not sure everybody can get here in time.”
“Tonight?” Mr. Worthington frowned. “Are you sure that's wise? We don't want to be too hasty.”
Hogan sighed. “I know it's short notice, but we need to act quickly before people come looking for her.”
Despite the influx of new information, Angela was feeling more and more lost. What did they want to do tonight? They weren't going to kill her as a living sacrifice in some sort of occult ceremony, were they? And there were even more people involved in this? Was this some sort of occult or conspiracy or something?
Hogan suddenly seemed to remember that she was still in the room. “You're dismissed for now,” he said, waving a hand at her. “Dinner is at six. Stay out of the kitchen until then.”
Angela clenched her fists but left the room without protest.