“Fine. Arms up.”
“Arms up?”
He clicks his tongue, apparently annoyed at having me question every order. “Yes, Lia, arms up. I don’t want it to hurt more than it has to. So, to keep you from wriggling around, I’m going to tie you up.”
My eyes widen, and the fear that makes my skin hum isn’t only because of the way he’s talking about killing me in such a casual way. Getting tied up wasnotpart of the plan. I need to figure something out, and quickly.
“Can I first… have something to drink?” I ask nervously. “I get the whole dehydrated ghost thing, but maybe we could have a drink before you kill me? One last… moment together?”
I’m such a bad liar. He must know something is up. Hemust.
And yet the way he looks at me with just a touch of the old sadness sends a pang of guilt to my heart.
Why the hell should I feel guilty? He’s literally planning to kill me!
But there’s no denying he’s just fallen into my trap. Some selfish part of me may have meant to trick him yesterday, but I can’t pretend that I didn’t carefully lay out my plan tonight. I’m banking on whatever emotion he may still have for me to make my escape.
He’s looking at me with something like pity in his eyes. Like he actually believes I’m begging for one last gentle moment with him before I die.
I turn away, hating myself for tricking him like this, but hating myself even more for caring. He told me he was going to kill me. I have every right to try to defend myself.
Still, my chest feels unbearably tight as he walks slowly toward the little kitchenette and hunts for two glasses.
“What do you want to drink, Lia?” he calls to me. “There’s water or juice.”
“Uhm… juice.”
He returns with two glasses filled to the brim, and I breathe easier seeing he’s served himself some juice too. Hopefully, the pill won’t be too noticeable in it.
“How about…” I wrack my brain for another reason to send him away. “Something to eat?”
He seems on the verge of protesting, but then his gaze meets mine, and something painful flickers in his eyes. “Cookies okay?”
“Yes, please.”
I huff out another breath of relief when he returns to the kitchen. I quickly dump the crushed pill into his glass, then gulp down half of mine to prevent them from getting mixed up.
“Guess you really were thirsty,” he comments, as he returns with a package of cookies.
He takes a few sips of his juice, then makes a face. “We must’ve left this out in the car for too long.”
“I think that brand is just bitter,” I lie.
“Huh.” He shrugs then downs the rest of the glass. “Okay. One cookie, and I’m killing you.”
I force down a shiver, because he seriously gives me whiplash. It feels like every moment, he’s either on the verge of hurting me or of comforting me. I can never tell what will come next. I’m not sure he knows.
But right now, I need to focus on one thing. And that one thing needs to be not getting tied up.
I chew as slowly as possible on the cookie, but swallow it at last when I notice his annoyed expression. Then I stand up and mumble, “I’m just… going to go to the bathroom.”
This time, he doesn’t fall for it. “Enough, Lia. Stop putting it off. Lie down. Arms up.”
“Logan, I really need to—”
But he doesn’t give me time to finish my sentence. Before I even know what’s happening, he’s got me shoved down on the couch. Then he whips off his belt and ties my wrists together, knotting the other end to the couch leg.
“Logan!” I gasp.
