The man is lost in his own world. I suppose being this close to seeing my sister in real life, after coercing and threatening her into meeting him, has only deepened the illusions in his mind. He’s not as sharp as before. He doesn’t seem like the same predator who once counted my steps outside Sabine’s workplace and orchestrated a diversion to catch Grayson and me off guard after using my mother as bait. Now, he looks more like an insomniac teetering on the edge of collapse.
I don’t know what’s keeping him going.
My own insomnia never lasted this long while executing some twisted plan. I can’t begin to imagine the cocktail of enzymes, hormones, and psychosis running through his bloodstream to keep him upright.
He’s excited, solemn, mournful, and drunk on a sense of divinity all at once.
Of course it’s dangerous, but that’s obvious.
Besides, I’m not that far behind him in insanity.
I’m drenched in sweat, trembling, body weak, but one of my hands is free. It’s still numb, but I keep working it, massaging it behind my back to coax blood into my fingers without drawing his attention. The rope on my other hand is still tight, but looser than before. The heat helped. So did the sweat. I keep flexing, keep twisting. Each shift scrapes my skin raw.
The blood pooling in my mouth keeps me conscious. That, and hate. That, and Sabine.
It takes another fifteen minutes before he shows me why he was so intent on getting me to pass out. That’s when he starts leaving the basement, making preparations for the “date” he mentioned.
It begins with an old vacuum cleaner. I catch a glimpse of the stairs behind the door as he hauls it down, the corded machine thudding loudly against what sound like stone steps. He drags it into the room, muttering almost to himself.
“Can’t have her walking in and seeing dust on the floor. Cleanliness is respect.”
My lip curls, but I stay silent. I just watch him plug it in and start vacuuming this hellhole. When he circles behind my chair, I stiffen my arm so he won’t notice it’s free. While he’s on the other side, turned away, I use the sound of the vacuum as cover and work on the other hand. My fingers are clumsy, slick with blood and sweat, but they move. I grit my teeth and push through the pain.
I don’t get far.
By the time he finishes vacuuming and takes the machine away, there’s still too much detail work left. I can’t get the rope off completely without drawing attention.
He wasn’t exaggerating about the date.
He’s transforming the entire basement.
Next comes a rickety folding table. He wipes it down with a damp cloth, then drapes it with a delicate white lace tablecloth, something that looks like it was stolen from a grandmother’s memory chest. He lays it out with care. His hands tremble slightly, but his movements are precise. Almost reverent.
He sets down real plates. Porcelain, slightly chipped at the edges. Silverware wrapped in twine like it’s some goddamn rustic wedding dinner.
Then he lights a candle. The same kind as before, lavender and sage, comforting to anyone who doesn’t know better. He opens a bottle of cheap red wine and lets it breathe. After that, he heads to the far end of the room and opens a large plastic container. Inside is something wrapped in foil.
A steak. I can smell it from here. Raw, marbled red, slick with juices. He doesn’t unwrap it, just peeks, then seals it up again like he’s preserving a gift until the right moment.
My stomach turns.
Then comes the music. He switches on an old stereo. First, static. Then the soft warble of a CD. He wasn’t lying, it’s Lana Del Rey.Young and Beautiful.
He hums along as he adjusts the volume, then places a single chair across from mine. For Sabine.
I swallow hard.
But if I thought that would be the worst of it, I didn’t understand what this man was really capable of.
Maybe an hour passes. Just before Sabine’s arrival, he brings something into the room I don’t expect.
A dart board.
Not the kind you’d find at a bar next to a jukebox. This one is different. Much bigger. Reshaped.
At first, I think it’s just a crude wooden circle. But when he props it against the wall and steps back to admire it, I see the truth.
It’s not just wood.
