I screamed, and my throat hurt even worse, tight and dry. Only a few hours ago, I had told myself that I wouldn’t ask him for anything. Funny how things change so quickly.
For a while I didn’t hear anything. He might not be home.
Then a light came on outside the door, the thin light shining at the doorjamb. Steps came thudding down the stairs outside of the basement.
Gav. Would he punish me for yelling? He’d said he didn’t have a gun, but still I imagined him getting sick of me, raising a pistol to my head, pulling the trigger. I would have gulped, but I had no moisture left in my mouth to swallow.
The door swung open, blindingly bright, his figure dark in the doorway.
“I’m back, kitten,” he said calmly, as though he was a husband coming home from work. The coolness of his voice made me sick. “Have you been screaming this whole time?”
“Water,” I croaked. My tongue pressed against the top of my mouth, trying to wet itself. “Please. I don’t have anything to drink.”
He came forward near me. His features focused themselves as my eyes adjusted to the light. He didn’t look angry. That was good. He crouched down next to me and looked into my face, his expression almost gentle. Had he really gone out for a few hours and left me here? Then there was hope that I could escape, sometime when he was out…
“Oh, kitten. An oversight, surely,” he purred. His hand reached out to the handcuff and I offered it to him, hoping that he would unlock it. Instead, he shook his head, his fingers sliding over my hurt wrist.
“Kitten, have you been trying to escape?”
“No!” The word came out of me louder than I’d thought, and the scratchiness in my throat threw me into a coughing fit. “No, I—I—there was a bug, I pulled away and it—it hurt. I didn’t, I swear, I swear...”
I left off, the cough taking me over again. His fingers ran lightly down my arm.
“A bug? My goodness, bugs. Scary things, aren’t they?” Amusement danced in his eyes as he looked at me.
“Please. Water.”
“Oh, yes. Water. You want water. Excellent. Then we’ll have to do a trade.”
A trade? My heart clenched tight in my chest. What kind of trade would he offer? What could I possibly offer? I didn’t have any money, and the only thing of value I owned - my car - was apparently at the bottom of a canyon, thanks to the crazed murderer in front of me.
“What do you want?” I whispered, my throat aching. “Please, I don’t have money—”
“No money,” he said, brushing my hair back with his fingers to look at me. His eyes locked onto mine and I tried hard not to look away. In the dim light, his pupils had grown into pools of black that threatened to swallow his irises.
“Perhaps a kiss?” he asked.
That was it? A kiss? I nodded quickly. There was no more willpower in me left to argue. If that was all he wanted, then let him. My lips were chapped with dryness, anyway.
“Okay,” I said. “Okay, and then—”
“And one more thing,” he said.
“What else?”
“I would like you to tell me about your parents.”
A sharp breath made my throat hurt even worse, but I couldn’t help it. My parents? I couldn’t—I didn’t want to—
“I—I don’t—what do you care about my parents?” I stammered.
“I would like to know the basic facts about them,” Gav said, pulling back and examining my face. “I want to know their names. I want to know where they live.”
“Why do you want to know that?” I asked.
“That’s not part of the agreement,” Gav said. “The trade is for water only. I need information.”
“But, I— are you going to hurt them?”
“No,” he said flatly. “Or yes. Does it matter what I say?”
My mom’s face flashed into focus in my mind, the last time I saw her. A bruise that ran yellow and blue from her left eye down her cheek. She’d begged me not to tell anyone. I hadn’t told. I was a coward. I’d left instead, left her. It was better, I had thought. I thought that maybe my dad would stop if I left. I couldn’t hurt her again. I couldn’t hurt her now.
“I don’t want you to hurt my mom,” I whispered. “I can’t… please…”
“Tell me their names.”
“I can’t.”
“You won’t,” he corrected.
“I can’t!” My throat burned for water. “Please, please. Just a sip. Not my mom. I can’t do that to her. Please don’t—”
He stood up, a frown creasing his face, and turned to leave.
“No!” I cried out. “Please don’t leave me. I’ll die without water!”
He went away, up the steps, leaving the door open.
“Please!” I screamed hoarsely, my words jagged in the chilly air. He did not respond, and on the steps his shadow grew smaller and then disappeared.