He rolls his eyes and ignores me. Calmly, he walks to a shelf and turns on the radio.
When I lift my head again, I see jars of cloudy water lining the shelves. Jars were filled with organs and parts of severed limbs. Pieces of people suspended like specimens. Among them is a severed head of a woman, her skin so pale, her hair still recognizable, and her eyes still wide open as if she was still able to see the horrors that came through this room. I recognized that face. It is a woman who has been missing for two years.
My stomach knots tighter.
This is not the answer I wanted. This is not the truth I was meant to see.
Music begins to play.
He keeps working.
I swallow hard, fighting the sickness rising again, but it doesn’t stop. Zeke moves to the woman lying motionless on the table. He spreads her legs and presses some device to her clit. Electricity runs through her body, forcing her to twitch, turning her on as if she were some machine. Then he stops.
He steps closer, his gaze lifting to me.
“I’m thinking of you,” he says softly. “I’m thinking how you would be fucked next.”
“You psycho,” I shout, my voice cracking.
He doesn’t react.
His movements are frantic now. He is shoving his cock inch by inch inside the woman. Moaning as he holds her legs in theair. His head tips back, eyes rolling deep in his skull as he loses himself inside, never once looking away from me.
My stomach twists again.
Before I can gag, smoke suddenly pours into the cage.
I cough, lungs burning as I gasp for air. The smoke grows denser, fogging my view. My chest feels clenched, and every breath becomes more difficult.
As my eyes start to close, the only thing I hear is Zeke’s laughter.
“This is just a dream, Emily,” he shouts.
Then everything goes dark once again.
This time, I woke up in bed. I am back home.
Am I dreaming? It feels like a bad dream, and I was jumping from one to another.
The door closes.
He stands in front of me.
“Zayne?” I whisper.
He only nods.
He comes closer, but I can feel something is wrong. He is laughing, and as he holds his hand towards me, a spider is curled in his hand.
“What’s that?” I ask.
My lips part as I gasp for air, my chest burning while fear locks me in place.
“Do you trust me?” he asks, still moving closer.
I squint at him, my head shaking on its own.
When he reaches me, he takes my hand and places the spider on my palm.
