Who: Harper + Scotty Where: the kitchen to start When: just after 5PM
Once Harper had gotten her box of clothes up to her room, she'd answered a couple of messages people had sent to her and then collapsed onto one of the beds, rolling into a ball and sleeping for at least five hours. Usually she didn't sleep during the day, but the combination of whatever she'd been drugged with along with the realization that she could do what she wanted because her dad wasn't here had left her more than willing to indulge herself. Once she got up she was still a little bit slow-moving, so she'd taken her time putting her clothes away and looking around the room. Apparently there'd been someone else living here, a girl whose taste in clothing was nothing like Harper's. There was some makeup too, but since she'd never worn it she didn't have much interest in it.
Her next move was to pick out something to wear and go down to the bathroom to take a shower. It felt so strange to be using a shower in a place she'd barely seen; she felt like she was trespassing. Or maybe dreaming, although she wasn't sure how her mind would conjure up this kind of circumstance. Either way, she felt better once she was clean and dressed in her jeans and the white shirt with the lace overlay across the front that she'd picked out earlier. She combed out her hair after she'd blotted it as dry as she could get it, which wasn't very. It didn't matter. If it was still wet out, she wouldn't have wanted to waste the time to let it dry anyway.
She knew there were other people who lived in the barn besides Oliver and Edwin, but she didn't know who and she hadn't seen them. Maybe she should go over to the house and try to find something to eat. Her last meal had been the night before, and that felt like forever ago, especially since they ate early at the compound, sometimes finishing the evening meal by 4:30 or 5.
Harper left the barn and scurried over to the lodge, slipping inside from the back porch. Her steps were quiet as she walked, not wanting to disturb anyone, and she glanced curiously at everything as she entered the kitchen. Someone had made bread, which meant she could fix herself an egg sandwich. She wasn't a picky eater, which was a good thing given the way she'd grown up and, evidently, the few offerings here, even less than they'd had at home. After some more poking around, she found a skillet and melted some butter into it to scramble an egg.