I watched its shadow dance across the wall—grotesquely enlarged, distorted by the angle of the bulb. A monster’s shadow cast by something small and harmless.
The concrete floor was cold beneath me, leeching warmth from my body even through the thin mattress Tom had provided. My joints ached from sitting in the same position for too long, but I couldn’t bring myself to move.
“Would you please eat something?”
Tom’s voice cut through my thoughts. I hadn’t heard him come down the stairs, too focused on the moth’s aerial dance.
He was holding another plate. The smell hit me before I could turn away—something with garlic and herbs. My stomach clenched involuntarily, a sharp pang of hunger I immediately resented. The food always smelled good. That was part of the torture, I suspected, though I doubted Tom saw it that way. He probably thought he was being kind.
“No.”
I didn’t turn to look at him. Kept my eyes on the moth.
Tom sighed. “If you won’t eat, you’re going to leave me no choice.”
A bit of frustration bled through his voice, fraying the edges of it. I’d noticed that happening more often lately—those little cracks in his composure, small fissures where emotion leakedthrough.
Good. I hoped he was suffering. Hoped every uneaten meal felt like another stone added to whatever guilt he might be carrying.
I was still alive.
For whatever reason, he hadn’t killed me yet.
I wondered if that meant something.
Wondered if I should care, either way.
“What?” I finally turned my head to face him. “Are you going to force-feed me? Shove a tube down my throat?”
“If I have to.” He took a step closer, and I saw how exhausted he looked. Shadows carved hollows beneath his eyes. His hair was disheveled, shirt wrinkled like he’d been wearing it for days. When had he last slept? When had he last taken care of himself?
Why did I still care?
“I’d really like to see you try,” I said.
It was an empty threat on both sides, and we were both aware of it. I didn’t have the strength left to fight him—that initial rage that had burned so bright and hot had cooled to ash, leaving only this hollow, echoing emptiness. And he didn’t have it in him to hurt me again. I could see it written all over his face.
I would have found his psychological profile interesting if I weren’t the one experiencing it firsthand.
Or maybe I was wrong.
Maybe he’d still do it, force a feeding tube down my throat, repercussions be damned. It wasn’t like I could do much about it. I’d been wrong about him before, and look where that had gotten me.
The moth landed on the edge of the plate Tom had set down,its tiny feet finding purchase on the ceramic rim, and he waved it away with an absent gesture. Confused and disoriented, it took flight again.
I watched it spiral upward.
“What are you doing?” The question emerged quieter than I intended. “How long are you planning to keep me here? If you haven’t changed your mind about killing me, that is.”
“I’ll never kill you.” Tom’s voice was absolute, certain in a way that wasn’t the least bit reassuring.
“You’ll have to,” I said with the same certainty, tone almost gentle. “You’ll have to kill me eventually.”
I saw him flinch, the casual mention of my own death hitting him like a physical blow.
“People will notice I’ve disappeared. Someone will come looking.”
“Not yet, they won’t.” His voice was steady, assured. He’d thought this through. “You’re currently taking some time off. Detective Keller agreed to cover for you. And you don’t have many friends—you’ve always been private about your personal life. You don’t speak to Naomi that often. And the only other person in your life is your cousin, but she’s used to not hearing from you for weeks at a time. Months, even.”
