The curtain screeched back on the rod, and she jumped, pressing her back to the wall.
Robert stood there with the Coke in his hand. He was obviously angry to see her. "What are you doing here?"
Sara put her hand to her chest, relief washing over her like a flood. She lost it quickly, though, as she realized that she was not the one who did not belong in the house. Why was Robert here? What was he looking for?
She tried, "I was…"
Robert looked around, as if an excuse were hidden somewhere in the bathroom. "Get out of there, Sara."
She wanted to do as he said, but her feet would not move.
"What do you want?" he asked her. When she did not answer, he put the bottle down on the counter and started rooting through the bathroom cabinet.
"Nell should be back soon," Sara told him as he threw towels and boxes onto the floor.
He glanced at her over his shoulder. "Possum took them all to see the dollar movie and out to eat."
Sara finally managed to move. Robert would not hurt her; he was Jeffrey's friend. She lifted her foot over the edge of the tub, saying, "Jeffrey should -"
"He won't be back for a while," Robert said, then, "Don't go anywhere, Sara."
Still, she kept moving, heading toward the door. "I'm just -"
"Don't move!" he ordered, the sound of his voice echoing off the walls. There was a wild look to his eyes, and she slowly realized how desperate he was.
She fought back the panic welling inside of her. "I have to go."
He stood, blocking her way. "Go where?"
"Jeffrey's waiting on me."
"Where?"
"At the station."
He stared a hole right through her. "You're lying, Sara. Why are you lying to me?" When she did not answer immediately, he yelled, "Why are you here, goddammit? You're not supposed to -"
"I-I…" she stammered, looking for the right words. She had never felt scared of Robert before, but like a lead weight, it fell on her that he was wanted for murder. Looking at him now, she wondered if Jeffrey was wrong. Maybe if he was backed into a corner, Robert was capable of killing.
"Come with me," he said, grabbing her by the arm, not giving her a choice. He threw Sara toward the rocking chair, ordering, "Sit down."
Sara tried to refuse, but her knees gave out and she sank into the rocker.
Robert went to the large chest of drawers under the window, close enough to stop her if she tried to move. The television had tinfoil-wrapped clothes hangers bent awkwardly to form antennae. Robert opened the top drawer and the tinfoil made a dry, scritchy noise.
"What are you looking for?" she asked. "Money? Do you need money? I can give you -"
He was on her in a flash, his hands grasping the arms of the rocker, his face less than an inch from hers. "I don't want your fucking money! Do you think money's gonna solve this? Is that what you think?"
"I -"
"Dammit!" He pushed away from her, the chair rocking violently. In a flash, his calm returned, and he went back to the chest of drawers. Sara watched as he opened the bottom drawer and pulled out a small black box that she instantly recognized as a gun safe.
She jumped out of the chair, but stopped when he turned on her, the same angry expression on his face. She pressed into the wall, trying to edge her way to the door as he dialed the combination on the safe. She should move faster. Why wasn't she running? Why couldn't she move?
He seemed calmer now that he had found what he was looking for. "Where're you going?"
"Why do you need a gun?"
"I'm leaving town," he said, using his thumb to dial in the combination. The safe popped open, and he took out the gun. "Six-thirteen, the final score for the last game we played against Comer."
"I should -"
He pointed the gun at her. "Don't go, Sara."
Again, her mind flashed back to the terror she had endured in the bathroom at Grady Hospital, bleeding from everywhere, unable to move her arms or legs, unable to get help. She would not – could not – be trapped like that again. There would be no surviving after that.
He ordered, "Sit down," indicating the chair.
She wanted to be calm, but her heart would not obey. "I won't tell anyone," she told him, realizing that she was begging.
"I can't trust you to do that," he said, using the gun to wave her back to the chair. "Come over here and sit down." He waited for her to comply. When she didn't, he added, "I'm sorry about before. I shouldn't have yelled at you."
She stared at the gun, willing her words to be true. "It's not loaded."
He pulled back the slide with a sharp, metallic click. "It is now."
She stayed where she was. "What are you going to do?"
"Nothing," he told her, then, "Tie you up."
Sara's heart jumped into her throat. She could not be tied up. She would go crazy if she was confined like that. She tried to take a breath, but realized that was the problem. She was breathing too much, too hard.
"I need a head start," he told her, though she had not asked. He pointed the gun at her again. "Get away from the door, Sara. I will shoot you."
"Why?" she asked, praying that logic would kick in, but also wondering if this was the last thing Luke Swan saw before his head was blown apart.
"I don't want to hurt you," he said, as if that would reassure her despite the fact that he was pointing a gun at her chest. "But you'd tell Jeffrey and he'd find me."
Sara felt her hands start to tremble. She would hyperventilate soon if she did not get her breathing under control. "I don't know where Jeffrey is."
"He'll be back here soon enough," Robert told her, going through the closet again, still keeping the gun trained on her. He kicked out a small toolbox. "He can't leave you alone. I've never seen anything like it."
Sara gauged the distance to the hallway. Robert was still an athlete. He could make a dash as quickly as she could. A bullet would be even faster, but she had to take the chance. She took a small, almost imperceptible step, closing her distance to the door.
Robert snapped open the toolbox with one hand. He kept his eyes on Sara even as he pulled out a roll of silver duct tape.
Her mouth opened, but she could not take a breath. Her attacker had used the same kind of tape to keep Sara quiet while he raped her. She had been unable to scream as he assaulted her.
"I wish there was something else I could use," Robert said. "This is going to hurt when it comes off."
"Please," she said, her voice shaking. "Lock me in the closet."
"You'll still yell."
"I won't," she promised him, her legs shaking so badly she thought her knees might give out. "I swear I won't yell," she repeated, tears streaming down her face at the thought of the tape touching her skin. Somehow, she managed to take another step toward the door. She held out her hands to him, saying, "I promise I'll be quiet. I won't say a word."
The fact that she was on the verge of being out of control seemed to make him even more calm, and he spoke to her in what sounded like a reasonable voice. "I can't trust you to do that."
She barked a sob. "Oh, please, Robert. Please don't do this. Please…"
"Don't -"
Sara bolted toward the door, heading into the hallway. Robert went from a crouch to a dead run, and she felt his fingertips brush against her arm as she passed by. Sara dared not look over her shoulder as she rounded into the living room. She was almost to the front door when hands clamped around her waist, slamming her into the coffee table as Robert tackled her from behind. Possum's Auburn memorabilia fell to the ground and shattered, the thick glass top of the table cracking it neatly in two underneath their combined weight. The wind was knocked out of Sara, and she felt her lungs lurch in her chest.