“He’s dead, isn’t he.”
“What does it matter?” he said. “It’s not like you knew him.”
I closed my eyes, which forced the tears to drop down my cheeks. Then the words came drooling
out before I had time to process them. “His family will never know what happened to him, and
they’ll spend the rest of their lives wondering what they could have done to change things.
There doesn’t seem to be much justice in that.”
I fearfully braced myself for the blows that would come next. When I felt his fingers quickly
brush my damp cheek, I opened my eyes. There was no anger on Cameron’s face—but his eyes were
appraising.
I cleared my throat to cut through the pain in my chest, and I swallowed my second pill. My
fingers tingled—the first pill was already working its magic. Whatever I was chugging down, it
was potent.
“Cameron,” I said, “what am I doing here?”
“You’re resting.”
“Who were all those people in the room yesterday?” I probed again, my head falling into the
pillow.
“My colleagues.” His stare was unwavering while my eyelids were getting heavy. I was fading
fast.
“How long are you going to keep me here?” I drowsily continued.
Cameron pulled the glass out of my numbed hands and set it on the table next to me. “For as
long as it takes.”
“And what are you going to do with me?” This came out as a whisper. My eyes were barely slit
open.
Cameron paused on this question. He scanned my face, like the answer was written somewhere
between the freckles.
“I don’t know,” was that last thing I heard him say before I fell comatose.
The next time I woke up, the sun was already setting.
I was feeling better, rested, though my joints and muscles ached from the lack of movement. As
for the bump on my head, it was only sensitive to the touch of my fingers—there was no more
throbbing. My hair on the other hand was a tangled mess; my head felt naked when my hair was
down. I searched my pockets and then the barren room for anything that I could use to tie it
back. The only thing I found was the glass of water that had been refilled, and that I greedily
gulped down.
The bedroom door had been left open, and hollowed sounds from a TV could still be heard. As soon
as the smell of food tickled my nose, my stomach grumbled. The last meal I had eaten was the
stale peanut butter sandwich I’d gobbled down on my lunch break from work; how long ago was
that? My brain was still too foggy to count back the hours—or the days.
Letting my stomach do the thinking, I got out of bed and shuffled to the door on my white-socked
feet.
The darkening hallway had many doors, all the same as the one I had just walked through, and all
closed. The only source of light came from the other end of the hall. I passed a small, white-
tiled foyer … and what looked like a front door, or a way to escape. The door had five
different locks on it: I kept going while I tried to calculate how long it would take me to go
through all those locks before I was discovered. A tiny knot loosened inside of me when I
noticed my worn, familiar sneakers neatly placed next to the pile of large shoes that were on
the floor.
In the living room, the big kid, the one that looked like a big Chucky doll, was sprawled on one
of the couches, remote control in hand, looking utterly bored.
The tattooed man was sitting erect on the edge of an armchair. He shot up and stood as soon as
he saw me; his venomous stare unimproved.
The kid followed his colleague’s gaze and narrowed his eyes, as he scanned me head to toe.
“You look like crap,” he remarked, his lethargic gaze returning to the TV. We had just met; as
far as he knew, I could have looked this awful every day.
I scowled.
“Thanks.” My voice was still throaty.
“Hungry?” asked the only voice that I recognized. I turned to see Cameron strolling out of the
kitchen, a cardboard box with red symbols in one hand, the other stuffing a heap of noodle-laden
chopsticks into his mouth. There was something decidedly different about him. The worried
creases on his forehead and around his eyes were lessened.
I couldn’t stop my heart from thudding. He was handsome … for a kidnapper.
Meatball was at Cameron’s feet, slobbering and eyeing with anticipation every mouthful of food,
hoping that some would fall his way.