Kane smiles. “I like it. It’ll hit her husband harder, but I’m betting he knew all about the trick toothpaste.”
Neither of us mentions the storeroom incident, as if that will disturb the wary and fragile peace we’ve stumbled into.
My hands play nervously with the edge of the quilt. “Where am I?”
He raises his eyebrows, as if the reply is obvious.
“Why did you move me?” I try again.
“After you contacted your father, you left us no choice.”
So somehow he figured it out. My escape attempt was all for nothing. My father didn’t get to me in time.
In a surprisingly gentle tone,Kane says, “Amy, it’s nearly over.”
The understanding on his face catches me off guard. Tears sting my eyes. “When can I go home?”
“Soon.”
Whatever that means. “Has my father given in to your demands?”
He gives a slight shake of his head, unhappiness clouding his eyes. “Don’t ask for details.” The despair must show on my face because he says, a hint of frustration in his voice, “Nothing is going to happen to you. I’ll make sure of it.”
Nothing is going to happen to you.
A bleak coldness sweeps over me. He temporarily paralyzed me and dumped me in a cage. He tied me to a chair like an animal—no, forget that, he wouldn’t treat his precious animals the way he treated me—and kept me there until I threw up. Somehow, he found out about my phobia of the dark and ruthlessly used that knowledge to try to terrorize me into giving him the information he wanted.
Nothing is going to happen to you.
Too much had happened to me already.
His gaze dips to my bandaged hand, then flicks away, his jaw working. For a moment, he looks like he remembers exactly what the dark did to me.
“I promise you,” Kane says, staring intently at me. “You will go home.”
Weariness settles like a suffocating blanket over me.More empty promises.
He clears his throat. “I, uh, put a night light in the room. You won’t be left in the dark again.”
I stare at him, not knowing what to say.
“I knew you were afraid of the dark,” he says quietly, “but I put you in the storeroom anyway.” His throat bobs as he swallows. For a second, he looks disgusted with himself. “It won’t happen again.”
Without another word, he retrieves a small medical kit beside his bedroll. Then he sits on the bed and holds out his hand. “Let me have a look at your fingers.”
I hesitate only briefly before placing my hand in his larger, warmer one. He unwraps the bandages and discards them in the trash. Carefully, he wipes away the dried blood around my nails and smears antibiotic cream on.
I can’t look away from the sight of my hand dwarfed in his, the gentle feel of his fingers on my skin.
“What happened?” he asks quietly as he rebandages my fingers. “What happened to make you so afraid of the dark?”
My face blanches. Apart from my father, I nevertold anyone what happened. I’m not about to dredge up that dark night for him.
“Why do you want to know?” I counter, jerking my hand out of his grasp. “Looking for more ammunition you can use against me?”
“No,” he says, his voice low and troubled. “But I guess I deserve that.”
“You deserve forty years in jail for what you’ve put my father and I through!”
