Read Online Misery Loves Company by Rene Gutteridge - Free Book Online

late.”
    “Hm.” He eyed her, then went to the table, pulling out a chair for her.
    Jules sat and he gently scooted her forward. On the table were shiny brown ceramic bowls, with a silver spoon to the right of each one, a napkin neatly folded over the bowl, and water glasses already filled with ice.
    He took her bowl, went to the stove, and dipped something into it from a large, cast-iron pot. When he returned, the bowl was steaming and smelled amazing. It looked to be stew. Maybe lamb stew. He brought to the table a loaf of Italian bread, already sliced, on a cutting board.
    She waited patiently, her hands trembling underneath the table.
    Patrick joined her shortly, his own bowl filled. He sat down and stared at her for a long moment. She was hungry again, though her stomach churned with uneasiness that hid the hunger from time to time.
    “I am going to give you this warning one more time,” he said. He looked toward the door to her left, where a rack held several coats and two pairs of boots sat underneath. “Do not try to escape. It is too treacherous out there. More snow is expected tonight, and we are in a very remote place. You’ll die on this mountain if you try to get away.”
    “Are you going to harm me?”
    “Why would you ask such a thing?”
    Jules glared. Why would I ask such a thing? I don’t know   —I’m locked away in a room, with words scrawled across the ceiling   —
    “Did you intend to harm me ?” he asked.
    “What?”
    “When you wrote those words? Those are your words on the ceiling.”
    She sighed and stared at the steam rising from her bowl. “So this is what it’s all about. I hurt your feelings.” She looked up to gauge his reaction. He seemed calm enough, but there was something raging in those eyes.
    “I’m only doing what you asked,” he said. “You asked me to terrify you, so here we are. Boo.”
    A lump formed in her throat and she picked up her spoon. “I’m hungry. If you don’t mind, I’d like to bless the food and eat.”
    “Do what you must.” He picked up his own spoon and began to eat.
    Jules closed her eyes, too scared to really pray, but it was a habit that Jason had introduced her to when they met, and she couldn’t recall a single meal she’d eaten since that was not blessed in this way.
    Help me, Jason.
    She opened her eyes to find Patrick watching her from across the table. Jules took a bite of the stew   —delicious. She gobbled down more. The bread was soft on the inside, chewy on the outside. She tried to focus on it for a little while.
    “So your complaint,” he said between bites, “is that I didn’t scare you enough in the book.”
    Jules looked up, trying to decide if he really wanted an answer. As she engaged his eyes, it seemed to her he was a man acquainted with deep sorrow.
    She stirred her spoon around in her bowl. “How did I get here?”
    “A question for a question.”
    “My husband asked a lot of questions, and he was good at his job, so I guess it rubbed off on me.” She tried to think about the last thing she remembered. “I was at the store, buying things to make dinner, and as I walked to the parking lot . . .” That’s where things got fuzzy for her. Had she bumped into him there? She remembered a conversation but couldn’t pull any of the details.
    “Not just any dinner.”
    “Excuse me?”
    “You weren’t buying groceries for just any dinner, were you?”
    “How do you know that?”
    “As you look out of that little window every day, do you wonder where all your words go?”
    “I didn’t say anything about Jason or our . . .” Her words trailed off as she tried to hold back tears.
    He gestured toward her bowl with his spoon. “Eat up.”
    She did, silently, for the rest of the meal. She hated how much he thought he knew about her from her blog or whatever else he was reading. He wasn’t on her Facebook page. She would’ve remembered friending Patrick Reagan.
    “Do you feel a lot of guilt?” he