It's a high-capacity retort, which means the chamber opening is much larger than average, granting me about six inches of space above my head sitting upright and a little less than a foot of space on either side of me, allowing me to twist onto my hands and knees and quickly crawl toward the opening.
Except he stands at the end, blocking me from getting out.
Panicking, I sit on my butt and bring my knees to my chest, prepared to kick the fuck out of him if I need to. He was nice enough to put my coat and boots on for me, and now, I'll thank him by shoving one of them up his ass.
“Dread, let me out,” I demand, my voice trembling.
A small computer stems from the side of the retort, easily within reaching distance of his stupidly long arms. With a push of the red button, he could close the metal door on me, and then if he pushes the black… I’m fucking toast. Literally.
I have no idea how long it takes for this thing to reach its maximum temperature, but I would guess I have a solid two minutes before it’s hot enough to engulf me in flames.
I know he can clearly see the whites of my eyes from how wide they are, but not even a needle tip of sympathy reflects from his face. The fucker looks nothing but amused.
“You’re fucking insane, you know that?” I spit, glaring at him with a heat that would rival the goddamn crematorium. “Burning me alive won’t bring back those women. If it did, I would’ve happily crawled in here myself years ago.”
He leans forward, planting his fists on either side of my hips, getting in my face. I bristle and pointedly bend my spine away from him, derision curling my upper lip.
“Do they haunt you?” he asks, his expression appearing contemplative, but it’s only a mask he wears to hide the demon beneath. “Do you see them everywhere you go, knowing you could’ve saved them and didn’t?”
I try to shove the tears down, but they’re stronger than me. I suppose it shouldn’t surprise me. My weakness got me into this situation, after all.
“Yes,” I bite out through gritted teeth, hating how blurry my vision becomes. “Every day,” I say truthfully.
Parting his lips, he rolls his tongue in his cheek, his contemplation shifting, as if now, he’s deciding what he wants to do. I can only imagine, with a psychopath like him.
“How long do you think the victims suffered before he ultimately killed them?”
I frown. “I don’t know.”
He cocks his head, black strands falling over his cold eyes while an unsettling smile curls his lips. “I’d love to know what you’d guess. Tenminutes? Twenty minutes? Hours?”
Instead of trying to guess, I consider why he’s asking. There’s always a fucking motive with him.
My heart races, and a sense of foreboding swirls in my stomach. Whatever he’s planning, it might have something to do with time.
I chew on which direction to go with my answer. If I say what I truly believe—that Lionel made them suffer until death was a mercy—it might enrage him further, and knowing it would apply to Katherine only makes matters worse.
What if my answer is how long he’ll keep the oven on with me inside?
But if I say they were quick deaths, that could also backfire if it’s something where I need more time.
“Ten minutes,” I say finally, deciding to aim somewhere in the middle. Less likely to upset him, and if he intends to burn me alive, I’m dead if I choose any number over a couple of minutes, regardless. Anything less, he’d know I’m lying.
He stares silently, seeming to consider my answer. It’s fucking unnerving, and my muscles swell with tension in response.
Seconds tick by, and the surrounding air grows denser until I’m breathing in static. Goosebumps rise on my skin, and I suppress a shudder. I can’t tell if I’ve made a mistake or not, and my panic is steadily increasing with every passing second.
Then, his eyes drop to my lips, and they heat while my stomach upends. The tension shifts, and that one subtle movement is like a lonely sailor praying for company. My body instantly sings, enticing him into my depths.
Nervously, my tongue darts out to wet my bottom lip, something his gaze tracks intently.
After a few beats, he slowly drags his eyes to mine, and I sense his intentions instantly.
“You’ve spent your entire life thinking of yourself more than anyone else,” he says softly, briefly flicking his stare down again. “Let’s see if you can spend your last ten minutes thinking only of me.”
My mouth flops while I try to process what the fuck he means. “W-what?”
He straightens, staring down at me like an ant trapped beneath his poised boot, seconds away from crushing me.
