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My left eye twitched when Wayne’s knife scraped against the porcelain “Hunting tonight,” he grumbled, like he was commenting on the weather as he reached over the table. Grabbing a strip of bacon between his yolk-stained fingers, he shoved it into his mouth without looking up.

I didn’t react. I never did. Wayne’s version of hunting was stalking his next victim, learning their nighttime routines and plotting their abduction. “It’s the thrill of the taking, Angel. They have no fucking idea what’s about to happen to them, laughing in front of their TVs with the front door unlocked, thinking they’re immune to danger,” he'd told me years ago, like it was something to be proud of.

I dipped my toast into the yolk and lifted it to my mouth.

“Front page stuff, this one. They’ll never see it coming, I’ll tell you that,” he said with a low chuckle, shaking his head as he drained the rest of his tea. “People around here don’t seem to care anymore, but they will. The whole country will lose their fucking minds when he’s gone.” He laughed maniacally before the sound dissolved into a fit of ragged coughs.

The toast froze halfway to my mouth, but I quickly took a bite as if my stomach hadn't just dropped so hard it felt like something inside me had stepped off a ledge. What could he possibly mean by that?

I wiped my lips quickly with a napkin and slid both hands under my thighs, hiding the tremor starting there. My fingers curled hard enough to hurt, but my mind wouldn’t stop.

Front page stuff?

Does…he mean Peter?

Wayne stopped mid-sip, his mug hovering in the air as his eyes narrowed. “What’s wrong with it?” he asked, nodding to my plate.

“Nothing,” I said quickly. Almost too quickly. “I’m just…not that hungry.”

I was starving.

He set the mug down and leaned back in his chair, the wood groaning under his weight, like even the furniture knew better than to resist him. “Eat,” he demanded, and his tone left no room for argument. Neither did the piece of bacon he held out between two fingers, still slick with yolk. But as I took a small bite and attempted to swallow it, my stomach clenched violently. A repulsive gag escaped my lips, and before I could stop myself, I was hunched over, the contents of my stomach erupting onto my plate.

Wayne exhaled through his nose, voicing his disappointment. He pushed his chair back, the scrape of it across the floor cutting through my ears.

“You’re really testing my patience, Angel,” he muttered as he picked up his plate and walked away toward the lounge room. I clenched my eyes shut, trying to trap the tears before they could spill. My head spun as I stood up and collected my plate, the ceramic clattering against the metal of the kitchen sink.

I stood there with my palms flat on the counter, head hanging, breathing carefully through my nose like it was something I’d practised a thousand times.

“Watch my mouth.”

The memory came without permission.

Not Wayne’s voice this time.

Dad’s.

“Watch my mouth, like this,” he’d said gently, crouched in front of me like the world was simple and I was just learning how to survive it. “Breathe in. Then hold it. That’s it. Now breathe out. Good girl, Evie.” My throat tightened so fast, it hurt. Just for a second, I could almost feel him there. Like if I turned around, he’d still be in the doorway, smiling like nothing bad could ever happen. My eyes burned. I blinked hard, but the feeling didn’t leave. Behind me, Wayne’s laughter burst from the lounge room, and I gripped the edge of the bench until my knuckles ached.

I wished he would just kill me, I thought as a dull hopelessness spread through my chest, heavy and slow, sinking into my bones. When would this end? When would he put me out of my misery? I forced myself to move and turned back toward the table. Then I heard it. A familiar voice from the lounge room that froze my body in place, going still before my mind caught up.

He was watching the press conference.

Wayne was laughing incessantly as he talked over it. “What’s he gonna do?” he scoffed. “Saw the cunt out front the other night. Should’ve seen the look he was giving me.” My breath caught as I stood in the kitchen doorway.

“He can try and fucking stop me…” Wayne kept talking, still amused, still chewing, still completely unaware of anything beyond his own words. But I was no longer listening to him. Something else had locked in.

Out front.

The words didn’t make sense at first. Then they did. Slowly. Horribly. My brother was still living next door. Not far away. Not in another town. Here. Less than a hundred yards. My chest tightened until it hurt to breathe. All this time, he’d been close enough to hear me if I screamed. Close enough to…

My thoughts stopped abruptly as something else settled in. Wayne had been here the entire time. Doing this, living like this. Right next door to a police officer.

Somewhere deep down inside of me, a flicker of hope began to spark. It caught before I could stop it, like a match striking in the dark. I moved with a new kind of energy after that, scrubbing the table harder than necessary, wiping away nothing in particular just to keep my hands busy. My steps felt lighter on the way back into the kitchen, like my body was briefly remembering how it used to be before everything became about surviving minutes instead of days. Maybe…when Wayne goes into town, tomorrow. I could open the window above the sink and scream for help? Surely Peter could hear me? Of course he would, he was right next door. He’d come running and—clank!

Wayne’s plate hit the counter harder than necessary, and the sound nearly made me jump from my skin. He turned on the tap without looking at me, washing his hands. “Did you enjoy the show he put on for you?” he asked casually. My heart quickened, but I didn’t answer. I just watched the basin fill with soapy water, watching the bubbles rise like they were the only safe thing in the room. He leaned in and inhaled deeply. The stubble on his chin scraped my skin as he lowered his mouth to my throat.

“Don’t forget,” he murmured against the damp line of my neck, voice almost gentle in the worst possible way. “If you try to leave…he’ll be the first to go.” I sank my teeth into my bottom lip to trap the sob inside. “I’ll gut the cunt,” he continued softly, like he was discussing something routine, “and his little family right in front of you.”