~One Month Later~

I stepped off the plane and into Vancouver's welcoming embrace. After the interview with Theodore two weeks ago, I had spent a bit of time exploring the city and found that I loved it. I couldn't wait for my vacation days so I could continue to investigate at my leisure.

After picking up my luggage, I scanned the thinning crowd for my ride. I finally spotted him, a tall black man wearing a black leather coat and sunglasses. The glasses I could understand but not the leather jacket in June. The obvious sign was literally a sign that read Juliette McGill.

I walked up to him and said, "Hi, I'm Juliette."

"I know," he deadpanned. He took my suitcase handle and turned, saying, "Follow me."

He'd clearly been trained by Theodore Styles. When I had originally flown here to interview with the man, I was a bit shocked at his very stiff and formal persona. He hadn't asked much of me, only perused my resume and references while he sipped an espresso, barely making eye contact. When he finished, he simply said, "Assuming  your references check out, you're hired. I will make arrangements for you to arrive in two weeks."

What could I say, really, except Yes, I'll take your job and care for your special needs child and gladly receive the monumental paycheck that goes with it!? I didn't really say that, but I'm sure I managed to mumble an appropriate thank you.

Now before you think I'm all about the money, I'm not. But seriously, one child with special needs, the opportunity to be involved in his home environment and to hone my skills as a special education teacher - it was exactly what I wanted. The fantastic salary was the icing on the cake.

I climbed into the back seat of an overly large black SUV. It was a very nicely appointed back seat, with a lot of space, similar to the first class seat I'd had on my flight. I quickly found that when I reclined my seat, a footrest popped up. I could easily fall asleep here after the flight, no matter how comfortable it had been on the plane.

"The name is Barrows," the driver said as he slid into the front seat. "Please help yourself to any food or beverage in the refrigerator. It's a rather long drive. If you need anything else, kindly use the intercom button to get my attention." With that, the window between the front and back seat slid up and ended our communication.

"Okay then," I muttered, flipping the fridge open. There was a pretty decent selection of food; I grabbed a Greek yogurt, a cream cheese muffin, a small package of carrot sticks, two organic chocolate chip cookies and a can of LaCroix. I had also spied a pint of Ben and Jerry's Cherry Garcia that I planned to eat if I was still in the car when I was done with the other stuff. Don't judge me. Traveling makes a person hungry.

I dug into the yogurt first, suddenly wondering what Barrows meant when he said it was a long drive; I thought the family lived in Vancouver, but maybe traffic was bad this time of day.

I flipped on the TV that was installed from the ceiling and flipped through the channels. Damn, there was every satellite channel possible! I was settling into some old romantic comedy when I noticed that we had turned into a parking lot for a ferry. Barrows rolled down the front window and had an interchange with someone at a toll booth. Before I knew what was happening, we were driving onto the ferry.

Oh fuck, Helena was right! I was going to get kidnapped or forced to live in some cult out in the wilderness where I would be offered as a virgin sacrifice. Well, except that I wasn't a virgin, but I was sure that whatever they planned to make me do wouldn't be pleasant. Shit! What the hell had I been thinking?

I tried opening the door, but it wouldn't budge. Child security locks, no doubt. I frantically pushed the intercom button. "Hey, where are we going?!" I demanded.

"The Styles residence is on Vancouver Island," he answered calmly. "It's just a short crossing."

I took a deep breath and let it out slowly. Another case of classic catastrophizing, my chronic problem. I had been led to believe they lived in the city of Vancouver, mainly because Theodore had been pretty stingy with the details. But knowing I was likely not going to be kidnapped helped my nerves to settle down again. Barrows was right. It only took about twenty minutes to cross and soon we drove off the ferry and were back on the road.

We crossed over to Victoria, British Columbia. At least I recognized the name. We drove out of the city and for another hour before the terrain became more wooded and steep as we ascended into the mountains. No wonder Theodore didn't have me come here for the interview, although it would have been nice to meet his son. I was eager to meet his wife, too, if he had one, but if he did, he hadn't mentioned her.

Eventually, we pulled up to a stately front gate that was practically buried in a clusters of fat blue spruce, mountain hemlock and junipers. Barrows once again lowered the window, and this time he punched some numbers into the gate mechanism. It rolled open for us to enter and I gasped in pure shock. As we drove over the impeccably manicured cobblestone driveway, a three-tiered fountain came into view and behind it, a mansion of brick and cedar shake. Barrows drove around the fountain and stopped in front of the circular steps leading up to the imposing double front doors. He hopped out, retrieved my suitcase from the back of the car and then drove off towards a three car garage at the end of the driveway, about fifty yards away, leaving me standing in front of the intimidating structure.

"Thanks," I mumbled. "I guess I'll just knock. Or something." I looked around for anything resembling a doorbell but I found nothing. Suddenly the doors began to open automatically so I grabbed my suitcase and stepped inside. As the doors closed behind me, I heard the clicking of someone's shoes and Theodore Styles appeared in the foyer.

"Welcome, Ms. McGill. Leave your bags; one of my servants will bring them to your quarters. Come, let me show you around." I think that was the most I'd ever heard him speak at one time.

I set my carry-on down next to my suitcase and kept my purse in hand. I followed him into a massive great room with an entire wall full of windows looking out over a section of what I believed was the ocean or maybe an inland lake. It was hard to tell at dusk, and I hadn't paid enough attention to the route we had driven to know if it was the Pacific or the straights that separated Vancouver Island from the mainland, or possibly even a large inland lake. Whatever the case, the place appeared to be very private. The surrounding area showed no sign of any other houses or light; it was all a dark green shadow surrounding the iridescent surface of the water reflecting the remaining bits of twilight. Theodore clicked a remote and half of the glass wall slid away so we could walk out onto the terrace. The night air was cool yet heavy with dampness.

"It's stunning," I breathed. "Is this...a lake or-"

"It's the Pacific, Ms. McGill," he said curtly. "We're on a small inlet."

"Oh, okay," I mumbled. The man certainly had a way with words. And making me feel like an idiot. "It's lovely," I stated in a mousy voice.

"Yes," Theodore agreed. He turned and walked out of the room and I followed into an equally massive gourmet kitchen. The cabinets were an elegant antique gray with heavy black marble slabs representing the counter tops. The walls were smooth black, white and gray tile in a variety of designs. Pops of red punctuated the space - towels, small appliances, the chairs surrounding the table in the breakfast nook (which also faced the ocean and appeared to open up to the terrace) and dainty red valances over the windows.

Theodore wandered more quickly after that, much like a guide who was on his last tour of the day and just wanted to go home. He showed me his office, the den, the entertainment room, and a gorgeous conservatory. There was also a movie theater with reclining leather seats and a wall-sized screen. On a lower level was a workout room and all the servants' quarters.

"Is my room down here then?" I asked as we breezed through.

"No," he answered. "You will be staying with Harry in his wing of the house. With your own private bedroom and bathroom, of course."

"Harry?" I questioned.

He stopped and looked at me as if I was completely daft. "Harry. The boy."

"Oh your son," I nodded. "I guess I didn't remember his name. Sorry." In actuality, I was pretty sure he hadn't mentioned the name of his son during our interview which only occurred to me as odd in this moment. "I apologize, Mr. Styles, but what about Harry's mother? Is she....?"Is she here? Can I meet here? Are you divorced? Are you always so withholding of details?

"Harry's mother is dead," he said bluntly.

I responded in a whisper. "I'm sorry."

Finally, at the end of a long hall, we arrived at a set of double doors and Theodore announced, "This is the entrance to Harry's quarters. It is state of the art, fully equipped with the latest technology, and you will undoubtedly find your own lodging within the wing to be more than adequate." He opened the set of double doors which led to a glass-enclosed breezeway to another set of identical doors. It seemed awfully far out from the main part of the house, probably built to be an in-law apartment but too far removed for a small boy.

"Does Harry always have someone with him? It seems a little boy would get lonely here all by himself. Does he find it scary coming up to the main house?"

Theodore looked at me again with disdain and this time, I felt he was questioning my intelligence and wondering why exactly he had hired me. "You, Ms. McGill, are going to be with him. All the time."

"Right," I said hoarsely. I wanted to ask who was with him now, but I didn't dare. I was sure I'd find out in just a moment anyway. But then I wondered who would stay with him when I took vacation days? I guessed that was better left unanswered for now seeing that Theodore wasn't fond of my questions.

We entered the second set of double doors into a decent-sized kitchen area. It was bright and colorful in contrast to the dark maturity of the main kitchen - lime green, yellows and cornflower blue decorated the space that appeared to be completely equipped with every necessity. Why would a little boy need his own kitchen? Maybe his father wanted to spoil him with his own space; clearly he had enough money to do so.

I heard a television in the background somewhere. I followed Mr. Styles as he passed a large room on one side and it too was facing the lovely strand of ocean. Through the French doors, I could see floor-to-ceiling bookshelves, framed artwork and photographs literally covering the vast majority of the walls, and two desks with over-sized computer monitors.

"That's Harry's learning room," Theodore said shortly. "You will find his curriculum in the computer on the left. There is no pass code."

"Okay," I said weakly, suddenly feeling more nervous than I'd ever been. Across the hall was an exact replica of the learning room, but it was much darker and I could just barely make out the trees on the other side of the windows.

We finally entered the room where the TV was playing. A young man with a mop of dark hair was slouching down onto the couch with his feet up on the coffee table. He was utterly engrossed in some Nickelodeon show. I thought he might be another servant or a tutor,  although it was awfully late in the evening for school work although he made no move to acknowledge Theodore, and Theodore made no attempt to introduce me to him, so I stepped forward and held my hand out in front of him. "Hello, I'm Juliette. I'm the new nanny." He looked up at me with ringlets of hair falling into his expressionless eyes and then he simply looked back at the television.

I looked at Theodore for further information. "So where is Harry?"

Theodore gave me one last exasperated look as he spat, "This is Harry."

* * * * *

And so it begins.