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When he walks across the room, his gait is predatory. Confident. The sniveling, neurotic kidnapper who paced and mumbled to himself is nowhere to be seen.

A personality disorder. It has to be, right?

I don’t know how else one person could be so different. A trained actor could pull it off, but why would he be acting? What purpose would that serve? It seems awfully unlikely he’s laying the groundwork to plead insanity if he happens to get caught.

I think this guy has serious psychological issues, which makes my situation even more precarious. I can’t possibly predict how he’ll respond to my actions.

If I wasn’t worried before, I’m fucking terrified now.

The man takes out the notepad he’s been using and reads the message on the top page. Cursing, he rips the paper out, crumples it onto the table, then lights it on fire before writing a new message in the notepad.

He’s talking to himself, isn’t he?

One personality leaving messages to another.

Maybe I can use that. If I come across a kind version, maybe I can convince them to let me go or write a message to the others that might help. I don’t know what message that might be, but it’s worth some thought. Not like I have anything else I can do.

When the guy takes a long swig from a bottle of water, I make a mewling plea. It sounds pathetic, but I don’t care. I’m so fucking thirsty.

He turns and eyes me. “Thirsty?”

I nod, praying he’ll give me water if only to keep me alive for whatever nefarious purpose he has.

He looks at the bottle, then takes a long gulp before strolling toward me. Standing over me, he begins to extend the bottle toward me, then stills and spits in my face.

“Drink that, you fucking pussy.” He sneers and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand.

I don’t understand how someone could be so cruel to another human being for no fucking reason. The suffocating buildup of helplessness inside me reaches a breaking point, and my chest begins to shake with unrestrained sobs. They claw their way up from deep in my soul and refuse to be contained.

I hate that he gets to see me fall apart like this, but I have no choice. The emotions have taken on a life of their own.

My demonic captor tips his head back and roars with laughter as though fueled by my pain. He is the definition of evil. When he disappears from view and I hear the exterior door slam shut, I think I might rather die here alone than suffer whatever he has planned for me.

I let myself wallow for a time. Then I give myself a stern lecture on not giving up.

When my kidnapper returns a few hours later, I’m feeling a tiny bit more prepared to endure whatever comes next.

“Time to call your family and hope they love you because if not…” He motions across his throat with a vicious grin.

He’s going to call Dad. Maybe the police will be able to trace the call or find some way to locate me. I know my parents will have reported me missing when I didn’t come home last night. All of them, along with Isa, have to be worried sick.

I’ll be home soon, and this horrible nightmare will be over.

A modest blossom of hope unfolds in my chest as I hear the man talk to my dad. He’s asking for a shit ton of money. I have no idea how Dad can get that in forty-eight hours, but I know he’ll do everything he can to find it. They have to.

The call ends abruptly, and the man throws a chair into the wall with a roar. I have no idea what’s angered him, nor time to worry about it before he charges toward me.

The last thing I see is his booted foot flying toward my head.

Waking up this time around is a struggle. I’m so damn groggy, and it’s dark. My entire body hurts, and I desperately want to go back to sleep, but some inner strength pleads with me to open my eyes.

My captor stands across the room, but his shoulders are hunched, and his movements are twitchy. This isn’t the violent monster who’s calling the shots. This is the mild-mannered lackey who paces in circles and pulls at his own hair.

I ease myself upright and sit leaning against the bar I’m bound to.

“You shouldn’t make him angry.” The quiet chiding drifts across the room before he turns and walks closer with a bottle of water in his hands.

My heart skips a beat.