The Chef
Copyright© 2025 by R. E. Bounds
Chapter 15: Yet, Something Was Missing
The flight was full, so we couldn’t discuss the weekend openly. Once we reached the car, I secured Becca in her restraints, which I had tucked away in the glove box on Friday. During the drive, she updated me on her conversation with Sebastian, focusing on the new shoots and ideas he had in mind.
I then shared my discussion with Michelle, reminding Becca that we’d be getting the Minx and Sassy items later in the week. However, I chose to keep the extra surprises to myself, allowing the anticipation to build for when the moment felt right.
It was late afternoon and still light out, but I knew we wouldn’t want to venture out again once we got home—especially with the chill in the air. Not wanting to cook, we decided to pick up something for dinner. The food took a while, but we were familiar with the mom-and-pop place we ordered from, so we knew the wait would be worth it.
But I also felt terrible because I could tell Becca was eager to get home. She looked tired; it had been a fulfilling weekend but also exhausting. All she wanted was to eat, shower, and settle in for the night, and I couldn’t blame her.
So, when we pulled into the driveway, a wave of relief washed over us. It felt good to be home. The familiar sight of the back door and the warm glow of the windows greeted us like an old friend.
Yet, something was missing. As I placed my hand on Becca’s cuffed hands, she said, “You feel it too, don’t you?”
I nodded, “Yeah,” I replied quietly. “Let’s get you inside, and then I’ll come out and get our things. We’ll eat, get cleaned up, and then we can talk about it.”
Becca smiled as her eyes lit up. “Yeah. I’d really like that.”
I helped Becca out of the car and grabbed our food. As we walked toward the back steps, we heard a voice behind us.
“Hello?” We turned around to see an elderly woman standing in our driveway.
“Hi,” I replied.
“Oh!” she exclaimed. “I saw the lights and—”
Becca chimed in, “We just got home.”
Sensing something was off, she added, “Are you okay? Do you need some help?”
“Home?!” the woman replied, sounding thoroughly puzzled. “This is Dr. Hargrove’s house.”
“We closed not long ago and were away this weekend,” I explained reassuringly. “We just got back.”
The evening light was fading, but the dimness didn’t account for the time it took the woman to notice Becca.
When she finally did, her eyes widened. “Oh! You’re one of his patients. And you’re still in your prison chains.”
Clearly confused, Becca tried to explain politely. “I have to wear these. I don’t have a choice in the matter.”
We heard footsteps approaching along the driveway, followed by a faint voice that grew louder. “Mom?! Are you back here?”
A moment later, a woman appeared, walking up to the elderly woman and taking her by the hand. “Mom, you can’t just leave the house like that. Come on, let’s go home.”
Noticing us and looking startled, she said, “I’m so sorry. I—I didn’t know anyone was back here.”
She continued, “My mom wandered off. She suffers from dementia, and sometimes she comes here.”
“Okay,” I said, “No problem. We understand.”
Becca then asked, “She mentioned this was Dr. Hargrove’s house and asked if I was one of his patients?”
The woman nodded. “Yes, I’m sorry again. She knew Dr. Hargrove. Sometimes, she loses track of time and thinks he still lives here. She gets confused about who’s alive and, well—”
Noticing Becca’s restraints without seeming alarmed, she added, “We live across the street, and we saw you move in. Jen and Tiff told us that you have to wear those when you’re around others ... and that the sheriff’s office knows about it.”
Trying to sound understanding and nonjudgmental, she continued, “Which is perfectly fine. It really doesn’t bother us. We just want everyone to be safe ... and we’ve never seen you without those.”
As Becca nodded, not saying anything—there was nothing to be said at this point—the woman added, “We’re happy you’ve moved in next door. My mom stopped talking some time ago. She just sits by the window. But when she saw you move in, she started talking ... telling us about Dr. Hargrove, sharing stories about the neighborhood from so many years ago. It’s nice to hear her talk again.”
“Stories?” Becca asked. “About this house?”
“Um—yeah. The neighborhood, too.” The woman replied, sounding hesitant. “But that’s all they are. Honestly, I don’t know what’s real and what isn’t—she has moments of lucidity, but what she tells us are jumbled thoughts and ideas. Like I said, she’s lost her sense of time. In her mind, everyone is alive. The doctors call it Frontotemporal Dementia.”
As the woman spoke, her mother suddenly interjected, “Laura, the young woman is one of Dr. Hargrove’s patients.”
She eyed Becca’s restraints with growing concern and turned to her directly.
“Dear, are you coming from one of the women’s facilities? It’s okay. There’s nothing to be ashamed of. Lots of girls get into trouble. Many of the girls in Dr. Hargrove’s care were arrested and in prison. So, don’t be embarrassed about having to be in those.”
Looking at Becca, she then said, “It’s going to be okay, but you’ll need to keep those on until Dr. Hargrove can check on you in the quiet room and see if you need to be taken to his hospital.”
She looked at Becca’s chains and then me and added, “Once he does, he’ll have the officer with you take them off. For girls who come from prison, especially those who have to wear chains—like you—he usually puts them in a straitjacket. That’s probably what you’ll end up in, just like many of the other women he helps.”
Hearing this, Laura interjected, “Mom, this isn’t one of Dr. Hargrove’s patients. He passed away a long time ago. These are our new neighbors. They just moved in. Do you remember? You’re the one who saw the moving truck.”
She paused for a moment, gauging her mother’s reaction. “This young woman has to wear those because of a situation she’s in.”
“She’s not one of Dr. Hargrove’s troubled girls?” the elderly woman asked, looking completely bewildered.
“I’m really sorry,” Laura said apologetically, looking at us with concern. “I should get her home now.”
Turning to her mother, she added, “Mom, it’s okay. Let’s go home.”
Feeling sympathetic, Becca said, “I—I might be like this indefinitely, so it’s probably best if she thinks I’m one of his patients. Especially if she sits by the window; she’ll be seeing me like this regularly.”
She paused, shivering slightly from the cold, then added sincerely, “I really don’t have a choice—I’m forced to wear these. If it helps your mom open up to you, then you should make the most of it. Just take advantage of the situation. Just enjoy the time you have with her.”
With a gentle smile, Becca concluded, “Just tell her I’m one of Dr. Hargrove’s troubled girls. It’s okay. Like I said, I have to be in these anyway.”
Nodding, Laura introduced herself, saying, “I’m Laura, and my mom is Ruth. It’s nice to meet both of you.”
She then explained, “I’ll do a better job of keeping her from wandering over here.”
“It’s okay,” Becca replied reassuringly. “If she does, we’ll know to get you. I don’t want you to panic if she shows up. She’ll be safe with us while we find you.”
Becca looked directly at Laura, her tone sincere. “I want you to know—it’s safe being around me. You don’t have to worry; I can’t do anything while I’m in these.”
Laura smiled, clearly relieved. “Thanks, I really appreciate that. But honestly, I don’t think you’re a threat at all. You seem like someone who’s just had a rough time and gotten into some trouble. It’s good to hear you say that, though. My mom gets ... anxious sometimes. So, you in those will help ease her mind—especially if she believes Dr. Hargrove still lives here. If she sees you in those, she’ll just think you’re one of the doctor’s patients.”
We nodded in understanding. “Well, we’re all freezing, so I imagine we’ll talk more since we’re neighbors,” Laura said. We introduced ourselves, and she wished us a pleasant evening before gently guiding her mother back across the street.
Once inside, I helped Becca settle and grabbed our carry-ons, putting them in the laundry room. I then gently removed her restraints.
“Let’s eat before the food gets any colder, then we can clean up, and I’ll get you into jewelry for the night,” I told her.
Becca nodded, a smile spreading across her face. “That sounds great.”
We enjoyed our meal, and we then cozied up on the couch. I had removed all the other restraints but kept Becca secured in her handcuffs.
“Do you think she knows a lot about this house?” Becca asked quietly. “She may have seen all kinds of things living across the street when the doctor was here.”
“You mean like the ‘quiet’ room?” I asked for clarification.
“You heard that too?” Becca asked, her eyes widening.
“It has to be the room,” she volunteered.
I nodded in agreement. “It seems that way. It’s made of solid block, which could muffle sound. So, it makes sense that’s the room she was talking about. Why else would they call it the ‘quiet’ room?”
Becca frowned slightly, the weight of the implication settling between us. “Does that mean Dr. Hargrove kept patients—women—in that room?”
“I don’t know,” I said cautiously. “She mentioned that the doctor would have to check on you in the quiet room to see if you needed to be sent to the asylum. I’m not sure what she meant by that. Maybe it was some kind of assessment. But this is our home now, and we can transform it into something entirely different, like we discussed.”
She sighed, her expression softening. “You’re right. We’ll create new memories here, ones that overshadow the past.”
But then, not ready to let go of the thought just yet, she added, “But Ruth wasn’t surprised at all about the jewelry. It was like it was perfectly normal for her to see girls brought here ... and for them to be chained.”
“I don’t know,” I replied thoughtfully. “Maybe women were brought here from prison first, and he assessed whether they needed hospitalization? It was a different time back then. Attitudes toward mental illness have changed a lot since.”
I then added, “We’re neighbors, so I imagine we’ll learn more. Maybe we could invite Laura over for tea or something? She might be willing to share some stories.”
As soon as the words left my mouth, I regretted suggesting it and quickly added, “But this house seems to have a history, so maybe it would be better not to ask too many questions.”
“It doesn’t matter,” Becca replied firmly. “Like you said, it’s our home now ... and I don’t believe in ghosts.”
I smiled at her conviction.
“Yeah. This is our home.” I then told Becca, “It felt good pulling into our driveway, knowing it was ours.”
Becca returned my smile. “But I saw it in your eyes. You felt the same thing I did.”
“We need to talk about it,” I replied. “Sophie will be here tomorrow, and you told her on Friday that we had things to discuss. I’m sure we’ll all have a lot to share at dinner.”
Seeing Becca deep in thought, I asked, “What are you thinking?”