Rolling him onto his back, I grab the top corners of the tarp and drag it and him, feet first, into the house and up the stairs to the master bathroom. This is a logistics issue I thought through on my drive here. I don’t have a basement in this house, unfortunately. There’s an old root cellar out back, just behind the house, but not connected to it. That’s not secure enough for my tastes, and would mean having more contact with him that’s avoidable, for now. There’s no window in this room, though, so that gives me a small measure of security. I’ll sleep right outside the door to hear him if he stirs.
Once he’s stretched out on the bathroom floor, I pull the tarp out from under him and fold it so I can return it to the garage. From there I grab a length of chain that’ll work perfectly, and a couple of padlocks, along with the hood he wore earlier. I’ll have to get him some clothes, because he’s somewhat smaller than I am. Mine’ll do for now.
Not that he’ll need them immediately.
I tether one end of the chain around the base of the toilet, and the other I tightly secure around his waist, locking it snugly enough he can’t shimmy out of it. I’m not stupid enough to uncuff him yet, but as he is now, once he’s conscious, he’ll be able to use the toilet without my assistance, as well as drink from the sink. Maybe even wash off in the tub, if he’s careful.
One more thing.
I take out my knife and cut his soiled briefs off him and get my first look at him completely naked.
Not bad. He’s kept himself in shape. I spot the ancient scars on his legs, where he took the bullet and the burns sustained when the car bomb exploded. Other scars on his torso and arms, maybe from that, but some look newer.
Rolling him over, I see on his lower back, about where a tramp stamp would be, it looks like someone carved a triangle about three inches across. It’s old, too, and it’s too perfect to be an accidental injury.
It gets added to my mental list of discussion topics with Fowler, once I let him wake up.
Now, with the light on and the hood off, I can also get a better look at his face close up without him staring back at me. Despite the abuse I heaped on him, he really is handsome. The only current pictures I have of him besides his old military one are from passport and ID photos and some grainy surveillance photos that don’t do him justice. I only have the one candid picture of him in his youth, but I definitely would have done him back then.
I put the hood on him again and lock the small chain around the neck opening so he can’t get it off yet, just in case he awakens before I’m finished. I want him off-balance and pliable, and keeping him helpless like this will help. It’ll have to come off once I start pumping an IV and more meds into him, because if he pukes I don’t want him choking on it.
He’s also going to need to be hosed off, because he smells of piss and shit, where his bowels and bladder let loose during the drive, and that’s just gross. Fortunately, that didn’t happen until after we’d crossed the border.
I add cleaning the back of the SUV to my mental list of tasks to perform. Fortunately, the tarp he was on in there contained it.
The bathroom locks from the inside, unfortunately. I return to the garage, which contains some random shit from the previous tenant, and locate a barrel bolt installed on a wooden storage cabinet. It’s not much, but I remove it from its current location, scrounge up some longer screws, and take everything upstairs where I install it on the bedroom side of the door.
It wouldn’t hold me for thirty seconds, even at my age. I could just kick the door open. But Fowler’s manacled and unconscious, and it’s the best I can do for right now. There aren’t any shops open in town this time of day, so getting something more secure will have to wait until daylight.
I didn’t think I’d ever be bringing anyone here, obviously, or I would have gone with a house with a basement.
I’m surprised the SUV cleanup only takes me five minutes and I bag the soiled tarps to throw away later, setting the garbage bag outside. I leave the SUV’s windows open to help air it out, too. With that handled, I take a few minutes to finally grab a shower in the other bathroom. It’s the first one I’ve had in a couple of days, and I savor the sting of hot water sluicing over my aching muscles.
It’ll be rough going tomorrow—I will feel every day of my fifty-seven years. Throwing on jeans and a charcoal Henley, I head down to the kitchen and take a couple of ibuprofen before I make myself a sandwich. As I eat, I make a mental list.
Medical supplies
Groceries
Clothes for Fowler
I close my eyes and think for a moment. I have Fowler’s wallet and other belongings I confiscated when we captured him, including two cell phones that I pulled the batteries and SIM cards from until I can look at them in controlled conditions so they don’t ping anywhere. Depending on what happens, there might be a trip to Berlin in my future so I can go through his flat there.
New ID for Fowler
If I keep him alive. It’ll cost me money I’d rather not spend, but I can take it out of Fowler’s hide, one way or another.
Wait, am Ireallynot going to kill him?
Sure feels like I’ve already made the decision to keep him alive.
I guess it’ll depend on what he does next, and if I can trust him or not.
Or if he tries to kill me.
That won’t work out so well for him, if he does.
But if, as I suspect, I’m onto the truth about him, it might never come to that.
