As I sat on the stone pillar, I contemplated how Creven would have me killed. He could go the classic way, and shoot me or slit my throat; maybe toss me to the starving Afanc waiting in the pond nearby; or even, to keep it simple, push me off of this stupid pillar.
It stands fifty-five feet in the air, where I’m left to swing my feet back and forth and peer over the mansion’s vast yard. I’m completely stranded, because I definitely can’t jump down. Maybe he did this on purpose, so that as I scan the yard time and time again, hope will build that I’ll see my friends, my rescuers, leap over the fence to save me. But I’m not that stupid. They don’t even know I’m here, and besides, I specifically told them to just wait for my return. It will be soon, I promise, I wrote. I realize with a sigh that this is not true, because Creven is going to kill me. Another promise broken.
Then I realize something else: I’m perfectly calm. Why am I calm when my death is hours, maybe minutes, away? Shouldn’t I be sobbing, screaming, resolving all my regrets and all the nonsense? Probably. But what am I doing instead? Figuring out which way I would prefer to die, and then which way is most probable.
Now the question I’m asking myself is, which response is more sane? Myself doesn’t have an answer, which is unlike her. She’s just as baffled as I am.
I think back to that day that feels so long ago, that Friday when Sage convinced me to go to the party. The party, where I met five people that would change my life forever.