Page 25 of Anchored

“Anyway, I thought I’d make dinner just in case he comes home, and then Dave and I are going to a movie; master bought us tickets. I’d ask him if you could come along, but somehow I think he’s not so happy with you just now.”

“Yeah,” Daniel said. “A movie? Really?”

Jane’s smile grew wider. “Yep. Popcorn ’n’ everything. Third movie we’ve seen this year.”

And that, apparently, was all the conversation there was time for. It was already after five, and the master liked dinner at six. Jane handed Daniel his paper and banished him to the living room, where he sat reading in silence until Dave poked his head out of his bedroom and called teasingly, “Is it safe?” When Jane nodded, he plopped down on the couch near Daniel and flipped on some home improvement show.

Daniel really did want to get to know Dave better, but right now he wasn’t feeling very social, and he was grateful Dave seemed to understand that.

The master walked in at 6:02 with a shopping bag in one hand. He went past Daniel without so much as a glance, but greeted Dave and Jane warmly. Still, Daniel detected strain beneath the smiles; the whole attitude was an act, just like yesterday.

“Got you guys something,” the master said, passing his bag over to Jane.

Dave got up to join her, and Daniel looked on in wonder, surprised anew by the master’s generosity. Not so surprised he’d been deliberately slighted, but definitely surprised that it hurt a little. He’d been very, very bad, after all. He deserved the master’s scorn.

Jane reached into the bag and pulled out a bottle of wine. “For after the movie,” the master said. “I made you two reservations down at the Terrace on 53rd and Madison, and it’s BYOB. They know me; they’ll let you in by yourselves.”

“Oh, thank you, Master!” Jane threw her arms around his neck, stood on her tiptoes and planted a kiss on his cheek.

He looked a bit chagrined, but smiled and hugged her back. Dave just grinned and nodded. Daniel was starting to think he didn’t talk much.

Jane disentangled from the master, looking as if she’d surprised even herself by her actions. “Dinner’s waitin’ now,” she said, smoothing both hands down the front of her apron. “Come, sit down.”

Daniel stood, but hovered between the couch and the counter, wondering if he should sit too. Jane had set two places—he’d shared every one of the master’s meals so far, after all—but he suspected the man might be too busy pretending Daniel didn’t exist to invite him to the table tonight.

The master confirmed that suspicion when he looked up at Jane and said, “Just one tonight.” She frowned—right at the master, and he let her!—but cleared the second place setting without pause.

Well, Daniel wasn’t really hungry anyway.

The master finished his meal and retired to his bedroom, wishing Jane and Dave a wonderful evening while ignoring Daniel like a world-class expert.

Jane approached Daniel after the master’s door had closed, leaned down, and whispered, “Don’t you mind him none.” She gave his shoulder an affectionate squeeze and added, “Your supper’s on the table. I’ll be getting back late, so be a dear and wash your dishes for me. And remember, tomorrow you get to go back to work, and you’ll both get a little space from each other; the master’ll cool down and you’ll unwind and everything’ll work out just fine.”

“Yeah.” Daniel reached up to his shoulder to cover her hand with his. “I’m sure it will,” he added, even though he’d been trained from his earliest years to never, ever lie.

Jane and Dave left soon after, leaving Daniel alone again but for the heavy press of the master’s silent anger from down the hall. He could feel it even through the closed bedroom door, like a second presence in the room, stripping him of the pleasure of his solitude and the fine meal awaiting him. He pulled the middle from a piece of gluten-free garlic bread but tossed the crust, ate the tomatoes out of his salad but left the lettuce, and didn’t even touch his lasagna. When he tried to finish the Times, it was as if his master were standing over his shoulder, glaring down his disapproval. Daniel gave up after reading the same sentence for the fifth time. He was afraid to turn the TV on lest he disturb the master with the noise. Not knowing what else to do, he sat on the carpet and tried some yoga, but he still hurt, and he couldn’t shed his anxiety long enough to focus anyway.

Finally, though it was barely nine o’clock, he decided to call it an evening. He didn’t think the master would bother him tonight, or want anything of him. He didn’t even count on the master being willing to share his bed.

Still, orders were orders, so Daniel padded down the hall and sucked in a deep, steadying breath before entering the dragon’s lair. Ready as he’d ever be, he reached out and turned the knob.

It was locked.

Fear swallowed his initial rush of relief. He’d thought he was in the shitter before, but this was bad. This was very, very bad.

Daniel backed away from the door, backed all the way down the hall, trying not to think of what might happen when the master finally decided to notice him again. Trying not to think of what would happen if the master told Tim or Mr. Foster how bad he’d been. He wondered if knocking on the door, dropping to his knees, and begging for the chance to pleasure the master would make a damn bit of difference. He wondered if the master would even let him.

No, he thought; the answer was probably no. And some deep part of him, the part that still clung to memories of Victor long after NewWorld had tried to beat them out of him, recoiled at the thought of giving up that one last intimate part of himself so easily, for so little, for fear. So he turned his back to the master’s door, flipped out the lights with shaking fingers, and curled up on the couch, resigning himself to another cold and sleepless night.

Daniel awoke with the sun, stiff and groggy and unsure of where he was. Nothing new in that, though—when you traveled to disaster areas, war zones, and uncharted backwaters as much as he did, you got used to sleeping on foreign floors and waking up confused. Except he smelled coffee, which wasn’t the sort of thing you’d expect in disaster areas, war zones, or uncharted backwaters . . . at which point he remembered he’d crashed on the master’s couch because the man had locked him out of his room in a fit of justifiable anger.

And apparently, someone had draped a blanket over him.

He heard quiet talking, the sounds of breakfast being made. Dave must be getting ready for work. He rolled onto his back and full-body stretched, trying and failing to work the kinks out, then curled onto his other side facing the cushions.

“You awake, darling?” The soft question drifted in from the kitchen, quiet enough to ignore. And though he was still tired—positively wrecked, in fact—he mumbled out an honest reply. He closed his eyes, and next thing he knew, Jane was leaning over him.

“We’re gonna be making some noise the next half hour or so. Why don’t you go sleep in our bed where it’s nice and quiet and comfortable.”