The Housemaid (The Housemaid, #1)

by Freida McFadden

There’s something about this room that’s making a little ball of dread form in the pit of my stomach.

Do you know those movies about the scary cult of, like, creepy kids who can read minds and worship the devil and live in the cornfields or something? Well, if they were casting for one of those movies, this girl would get the part. They wouldn’t even have to audition her. They would take one look at her and be like, Yes, you are creepy girl number three.

Is there something wrong with me that I am scared this nine-year-old girl is going to murder me?

I’d say there’s at least a twenty-five percent chance she’s going to murder me in my sleep if I get this job. But I still want it.

There’s something in his expression that sends a chill down my spine. And then he shakes his head, almost imperceptibly. Almost like he’s trying to warn me. But he doesn’t say a word.

I wonder if she would feel the same way about me if she knew I spent the last ten years of my life in prison.

Pericolo.

“Why…” I clear my throat. “Why is the lock to this bedroom on the outside rather than the inside?”

As I shut the door, I notice marks in the wood. Long thin lines running down the length of the door at about the level of my shoulder. I run my fingers over the indentations. They almost seem like… Scratches. Like somebody was scraping at the door. Trying to get out.

The door is locked. The Winchesters locked me in this room. Nina locked me in this room. But why? Is this all some kind of sick game? Were they looking for some ex-con to trap in here—someone nobody would miss?

I reach for the doorknob one more time, wondering if I could somehow knock the door down. But this time, when I turn the knob sharply, it twists in my hand. And the door pops open.

I was never locked in the room after all. Nina didn’t have some crazy plot to trap me in there. The door was just stuck. But I can’t seem to shake that uneasy feeling. That I should get out of here while I still can.

haloperidol.

Antipsychotic

Haloperidol is an antipsychotic medication, used to treat schizophrenia, bipolar disorder, delirium, agitation, and acute psychosis.

“Sei pazzo!” he yells at me. He rakes a hand through his black hair. “Che cavolo!”

The woman tried to murder her own child.

I can’t think of anything more horrible than that.

I just have to hang in there a little longer. And do my best not to piss off Nina Winchester. My life might depend on it.

“I’m sure,” Nina continues, “you never got food like this in prison, did you, Millie?” Mic drop.

It’s a copy of the playbill from Showdown. I pick it up, confused. Why is the playbill on my nightstand? I put it in my purse after the show, and I’ve been keeping it in there as a reminder of that magical night.

My purse is on the floor, leaning against the dresser. So how did the playbill get on the nightstand?

“Millie,” he breathes, “you must get out of here. You are in terrible danger.”

“I can see your roots starting to show a bit.”

I started going to the salon after we got engaged to lighten my hair to more of a golden shade. “Gosh, I guess I’ve been so busy with Cece, it just slipped my mind.”

According to the therapist I see at Clearview, I suffer from major depression and delusions. The delusions are what led me to believe my husband was keeping me captive in a room for two days. The depression was what caused me to make the murder-suicide attempt.

That’s not why I gave her a copy of the key to the room. And that’s not why I left a bottle of pepper spray in the blue bucket in the closet. I hired her to kill him. She just doesn’t know it.

I will never forget that day. How good it felt

to smash the paperweight against that bastard’s skull until he became still. It was almost worth all those years in prison. After all,

who knows how many other girls I sa...

I dig the key to the attic door out of my purse. I fit the key into the lock and let the door swing open.

I told him he had to brush every night, and when he didn’t, there would be a punishment. There’s always a punishment when you break the rules.”

“It’s such a shame,” she says, “that he never really learned. I’m glad you stepped up and taught him a lesson.”