The thought is so sickening that I push it away and get up, determined to explore my prison further.

The door is still locked, which doesn’t surprise me. I’m able to open the window, and warm, ocean-scented air fills the room.

I can’t open the screen on the window, though. I would need to do that in order to climb out. I don’t try too hard. If Beth is to be believed, escaping from this room wouldn’t help me at all.

I look for something that could be used as a weapon. There’s no knife, but there’s a fork left over from my meal. Beth would probably notice if I hide it. Still, I take a chance and do it, concealing the utensil behind a stack of books on a tall bookshelf that lines one of the walls.

Next I explore the bathroom, hoping to find a bottle of hairspray or something else along those lines. But there’s only soap, toothbrush, and toothpaste. In the shower stall, I find body wash, shampoo, and conditioner—all nice, expensive brands. My captor is clearly not stingy.

Then again, anyone who owns a private island can probably afford a fifty-dollar shampoo. He might even be able to afford a thousand-dollar shampoo, if such a thing exists.

The fact that I’m thinking about shampoo amazes me. Shouldn’t I be screaming and crying? Oh, wait, I did that yesterday. I guess there’s only so much crying a person can do. I seem to be all out of tears, at least for now.

After exploring every nook and cranny of the room, I get bored, so I take one of the books from the bookshelf. A Sidney Sheldon novel, something about a woman betrayed who seeks revenge on her enemies.

It’s engrossing enough that I’m able to mentally escape my prison for the next couple of hours.

Beth comes and brings me lunch. She also brings me some clothes, folded in a stack.

I’m glad. I’ve been wearing the bathrobe all morning, and I would like to dress normally.

When she puts the clothes on the dresser, I again think about tackling her and trying to escape. Maybe using the fork I’ve got stashed away.

“Nora, give me the fork,” she says.

I jump a little and give her a startled look. Could she actually be a mind-reader?

And then I realize that she’s simply looking at the empty tray and noticing that the utensil is missing.

I decide to play dumb. “What fork?”

She lets out a sigh. “You know what fork. The one you hid behind the books. Give it to me.”

Another one of my assumptions proven wrong. I don’t know why I’d thought I had any privacy.

I look up at the ceiling, studying it carefully, but I can’t see where the cameras are.

“Nora…” Beth prompts.

I retrieve the fork and throw it at her. I think I’m secretly hoping it spears her in the eye.

But Beth catches it and shakes her head at me, as though disappointed in my behavior. “I was hoping you wouldn’t act this way,” she says.