The unfinished letter stared up at Miranda with imposing swirls and blotches, begging and imploring to be touched with the pen in his shaking hand. The sheets underneath the notebook, however, sighed at Miranda’s indecision and secretly wished that he’d just set the whole affair aside and go back to bed.
Although Anders put up a good illusion of freedom while inside the little house we bought together, I was stupid and wanted more. I wanted complete independence, and now I’ve landed inside a house of lunatic women. You might have seen them at church- you know, the pious but flirty ones sitting in the front row, dressed up all gaudy like this was still the 1950s? I’m stuck with them now.
Miranda released the breath that he hadn’t realized he’d been holding and turned back to the page with the swirls- they’d smudged since yesterday- before returning to the letter. He heard the sounds of one of the women waking up a few rooms down the hallway, and he attempted to turn his attention back to the task at hand instead of trying to guess which one of them it was.
To exchange one crazy captor for another- this isn’t anywhere near the freedom I envisioned. I’ve traded a future husband who sometimes lost control of his body for a gaggle of gardening housewives… minus the husbands, of course. I can’t for the life of me figure out how any of them make money to run this house, and yet here we are.
A high-pitched yawn pealed from right outside his door, which Miranda recognized as belonging to Claude. She traced her hands over the prominent stains on the wooden door before turning left and greeting the bathroom.
The reason I’m writing this letter is that a single question has been bugging me all night, and I have no way to contact Anders without him catching wind of where I am. Part of me wants to go back to the familiarity of the Laboratory, and the other part wants to stay free using any means necessary because he’ll put me under lockdown for who knows how long if he finds me. He doesn’t go to church and wouldn’t be able to identify the women, and I’ve given no names, so even if he were to intercept this- which I hope he doesn’t- he couldn’t track me down. The return address is for an anonymous post office box, anyways. But my question is-
“Good morning!” LaJean twisted the doorknob, and upon finding it locked, knocked on the door. “Are you awake, Miranda? I’m going on some errands, and I’d like to know if you need anything.”
Should I send the letter now or later? Miranda swirled his pen in the corner of the paper to freshen the ink and responded, “I just woke up. Give me five minutes.”
“Alright! I’ll be back!” LaJean retreated upstairs, and Miranda breathed a sigh of relief, rubbing his eyes for a moment before sitting up and returning to the letter.
-can you perhaps find a way to ask Anders about the creature that attacked me and caused me to lose my child? Don’t worry; I’ve mostly healed. One of the women here reminds me of that accursed creature. And is there a reason that she has those white lines on her body? Are they scars? Has Anders resorted to cutting up his creatures now? Or am I merely imagining things?