After we’re done with the house tour, Beth spends the next two hours showing me the island. And it’s definitely an island—she didn’t lie to me about that.

It’s only about two miles across and a mile wide. According to Beth, we’re somewhere in the Pacific Ocean, with the nearest populated piece of land over five hundred miles away. She emphasizes that fact a couple of times, as though she’s afraid I might take it into my head to try to swim away.

I wouldn’t do that. I’m not a strong enough swimmer, nor am I suicidal.

I would try to steal a boat instead.

We go up to the highest point of the island. It’s a small mountain—or a large hill, depending on one’s definition of these things. The view from there is amazing—all bright blue water wherever the eye can see. On one side of the island, the water is a different shade of blue, more turquoise, and Beth tells me it’s a shallow cove that’s great for snorkeling.

Julian’s house is the only one on the island. It’s sitting on one side of the mountain, a little ways back from the beach and somewhat elevated. That’s the most sheltered location, Beth explains; the house is protected from both strong winds and the ocean there. It has apparently survived a number of typhoons with minimal damage.

I nod, as though I care. I have no intention of being here for the next typhoon. The desire to escape burns brightly within me. I didn’t see any phones or computers when Beth was showing me the house, but that doesn’t mean they’re not there. If Julian is able to work from the island, then there’s definitely internet connectivity. And if they’re foolish enough to let me roam this island freely, I will find a way to reach the outside world.

We end the tour at the beach near the house.

“Want to go for a swim?” Beth asks me, stripping off her shorts and T-shirt. Underneath, she’s wearing a blue bikini. Her body is lean and toned. She’s in such great shape that I wonder about her age. Her figure could belong to a teenager, but her face seems older.

“How old are you?” I ask straight out. I would never be so tactless under normal circumstances, but I don’t care if I offend this woman. What do social conventions matter when you’re being held captive by a pair of crazy people?

She smiles, not the least bit upset at my impolite question. “I’m thirty-seven,” she says.

“And Julian?”

“He’s twenty-nine.”

“Are you two lovers?” I don’t know what makes me ask this. If she’s in any way jealous of my position as Julian’s sexual plaything, she’s certainly not showing it.

Beth laughs. “No, we’re not.”

“Why not?” I can’t believe I’m being so forward. I’ve been raised to always be polite and well-mannered, but there’s something liberating about not caring what people think. I have always been a people-pleaser, but I don’t want to please this woman in any way.