"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.
"Goddammit," Robert said, jerking her up by the waist. Sara's arms flew up, and her feet scattered glass all over the room as he dragged her back toward the bedroom.
"Please -" she begged, digging her fingernails into the back of his hand. She clawed for anything to stop him, hanging onto the wall, knocking down pictures and plants. She grabbed onto the doorjamb as he tried to force her into the bedroom and she felt her fingernails tear as he finally managed to shove her inside.
"Jesus," Robert yelled, dropping Sara onto the floor as she raked a chunk of skin off his arm. She scrambled to get up, screaming in her head but unable to make any noises come out of her mouth. Her hands were bleeding, but she would fight him more if she had to.
"Stop it!" he warned, kicking her feet out from under her. She crawled on her hands and knees toward the door and he picked her up by the middle again.
Sara finally managed to yell, "Let me go!" just as Robert threw her back on the floor. Her head banged against the wood and she felt her stomach roll, her eyelids flutter.
"Sara," he said, helping her sit up. He cradled her head in his lap, saying, "Stop this. I don't want to hurt you."
"Robert, please…" she begged, fighting not to be sick. She tried to get up but there was no strength left in her body. All of her muscles felt useless and she could not make her eyes focus on anything.
Robert rested her head back onto the floor and dragged the rocking chair from the other side of the room. "I didn't want to hurt you," he said, gently picking her up off the floor. Her arms and legs flapped like a rag doll's as he placed her in the chair. She tasted vomit in the back of her throat, and without warning, the room began to pitch again.
"Don't pass out," he told her, though she wondered how he could stop her. Sara had never passed out in her life, but her head was reeling so much that she thought she might be concussed.
She took deep breaths even though her ribs ached from the effort. Robert stared at her, watching her every move. After what seemed like several minutes, Sara's vision cleared, and her stomach stopped feeling so tight.
"Just got the wind knocked out of you," Robert said, obviously relieved. Still, he kept his hand on her chest for a minute, making sure she could sit up on her own. He kept a careful eye on her as he stretched out a strip of tape. He pulled down her sock, then wrapped the tape around her ankle and the leg of the chair.
Sara watched, incapable of doing anything to stop him.
"I can't go to prison," he said. "I thought I could, but I just can't. I can't have another night like last night."