“When the monster in the dark wants to drag you into the light, just go silent and still.”
– Sydney
I come down off the drugs the same way I did the previous times. Thick, sticky mouth desperate for water. My stomach rumbling. The silence. The bottoms of my feet are warm from the hidden fire. My eyes are blind from the hidden light.
I sigh. Then I sit up and repeat this whole thing over again. Feet to the floor. Walk to the heat to warm myself. There’s a rug covering the stone hearth. The food slips in, along with that coveted sliver of light, through the plate-sized slit in the wall. Crawl over. Eat. Get up. Drink.
He does not come in this time.
Why is he drugging me?
I go back over to the covered fireplace and sit on the rug. It’s not anything special. But it’s more than what I had.
So that’s number five. Five things he’s given me to ease my discomfort. What’s his angle? Lure me into talking with simple pleasures?
It’s working. I am grateful for the rug, the water, the food, the fire, and the fact that I’m not tied up.
I lie back and stretch out. The rug is not long enough for my whole body to lie across it, but I don’t care. I scoot over to the metal plate that keeps most of the heat and all of the firelight out and press myself against it.
It feels good.
I’m not afraid, though I should be. I’m not wishing for anything at the moment. So I think whatever Case is doing, he failed.
My eyes close, and even though I just woke up from the drugs, this is not the same thing. This is exhaustion.
I stay this way for a while and then, ever so subtly, I begin to hear sounds from the other room. His boots thud across the floor. They come near me, like he’s on the other side of the hidden fire, then retreat. The heat becomes more intense. He must’ve added wood.
I smell food. I already ate, so I’m pretty sure this is not for me. But I’m not hungry, so I don’t care.
I let my mind slip to Garrett, then replace those thoughts with Brett. I should be thinking about Brett. He’s good. He’s sweet. His family is nice. And I hate that he will find out what a shitty person I am if they ever find my body.
All the questions that will come out about me. All the answers that will follow.
I swallow down the shame. I’ve seen a few therapists in secret over the years. Appointments when I’ve been out of town for some reason or another. Set up in advance. One-time-only things. I mean, I tell them I’ll come back, but I’m never in the same place twice.
And I tell them all the same story. Made up, of course, but close enough to the truth so I can glean a little bit of help from their responses.
And they all say the same thing. I’m not responsible for my father. I’m not responsible for being related to him. You can’t choose your family, isn’t that what they say? I do not have to be ashamed for things he’s done.
But what about the things I’ve done? The things I’m doing?
The door opens with a creak again.
“You don’t know why I left,” I tell Case as he steps into the room.
“No?” he asks, taking a seat on the wooden table. It creaks from his weight. “Tell me why you left then.”
I could refuse. It’s none of his business. And I’m not required to have light conversation with him. This has nothing to do with what he wants. It’s plain old curiosity. But I’m not going to refuse. I want him to know. “Because I love them. They’re good people and I knew you’d be back. I heard your words. I knew what they meant. And I knew you were just waiting for some big moment to appear back into my life.”
“You came to me, Syd.”
His use of my familiar nickname unsettles me in so many ways. “I ran from them. To save them from you.”
“You came to me. I was waiting out there on the road because I knew you’d come.”
“How the fuck did you know?”
“Because you told me.”
I laugh at that one. “OK.”
“You told me with your actions. I wasn’t even sure if I’d show up that night.” He pauses for a moment, like he’s thinking back on a memory. “I mean, it was definitely a trap. But it went off easy.” He flicks on a small lantern. The little battery-powered bulb inside the glass is just enough to illuminate his face as he talks. “Too easy, Sydney.”
I have not seen his face in years. And I don’t see it now, either. I see his eyes. His deep, yellow-brown eyes that remind me of honey, or amber, or a subdued sunset painted in warm ochre watercolors. “What was?” I whisper, transfixed by his stare.
“You.” He stands up, letting the lantern drop, and then I only see his legs as he comes towards me. He sits down on the hearth next to me and I can feel the heat of the fire coming off his body. I can smell it too. He smells like the memory of the woods on a summer night.
“You were too easy,” he continues. “Maybe Garrett is on his way here right now. Maybe he’s outside, ready to break in and kill us.”
I snort. “You mean you. Not me.”
Case lifts the lantern up again, only this time it’s so he can see my face. “Why?”
“Why what?” I ask back, annoyed.
“Do you love him?”
I squint my eyes from the light, and then swat his hand away, making the lantern sway for a second. I half expect him to smack me for that. But he doesn’t. “Why wouldn’t I?”
He laughs and I can just barely make out the smile.
Jesus fuck. Why does my killer have to look like this? I glance down at his chest and see that he has no shirt on. His gaze follows mine and then when I look up he shrugs.
“It’s hot out there,” he says with a smile, nodding to the other side of the fire that I don’t get the pleasure of experiencing. I open my mouth to say something, but he beats me to it. “Do you like?”
“Like what?” replaces the words about to roll off my tongue.
“My chest.”
I close my eyes and smile, laughing as I do it. “You did not just ask me—”
But then his hand is around my neck and he’s pressed his face right up against mine. “Yes or no?” He fists my hair, pulling it and making me wince.
But I don’t answer him. Fuck that. I’m not telling this murderer that he’s hot.
And then he’s on his feet, swinging me over his shoulder. He slams me down on the wooden table hard enough to knock the breath out of me. My hands are tethered to the wall again, this time not spread apart, but both together, wound up with thin leather strips that were not what held me before. I bring up my legs and kick him in the chest. He steps backwards from the force, and then he growls as he takes one still-kicking leg and clamps a leather cuff on it. He repeats this with the other leg and then there it is.
I’m ready. I’m ready to be raped.
Case takes a breath, like he needs it, and I internally smile that I kicked him hard enough to cause that pause.
“He called you wildcat for a reason, I guess.”
That word stops me. Like instantly. I lie still, unable to move.
“Hush,” Case says.
It comforts me and I settle, so he reforms his question. “Why did he call you wildcat?”
I’m so confused. “Who?”
“Nice try,” Case says with a smirk. “I’m not sure what’s going on here, but we’re gonna sort it out, wildcat. We’re definitely gonna sort it out.” And then he pulls a feather out of his jeans pocket and flicks the tip against my bare nipple.
I feel it bunch up from the touch and close my eyes, shaking my head at the same time.
He leans down in my space, right next to my ear, and whispers, “You like it, don’t you?”
“No,” I answer.
“Liar.” He takes the feather and traces it over my ribs. Down one. Up the next. Down again. Up again. Stopping in the center of my stomach. “Why do you carry that acorn in your pocket?”
I’m biting the inside of my lip when he asks that question, and when I let go of it to draw in a breath to speak, I taste blood. It sets me back a moment.