“The TV doesn’t get good reception here in the woods,” she says.
I don’t answer because she hasn’t asked a question, and I don’t speak unnecessarily. Besides, she wouldn’t appreciate the answer.
“What scratched your face?” she asks after some time.
“A woman.”
“Did you clean the wound?”
Staring at her, I don’t answer. Should I lie or share the truth as I did with Mary? I have no preference either way, but I think keeping Odessa around longer would be best.
“What now?” she asks after the channel goes out and we’re left in a dark room with only the static to keep us company.
“You return to your room.”
“Is there anywhere else I can sleep?”
Standing up, I stare at her long legs spread out on the couch. “This cabin has three bedrooms. One is mine. One is yours. One is the trophy room.”
“So no.”
When I reach for her arm to lift her up, Odessa shrinks away, and I hesitate. Her expression rips away my confidence for only a moment, but it’s long enough to startle me.
“Why did you kill the man?” I ask.
“He wanted to kill me.”
“Why did he want to kill you?”
“I didn’t love him.”
“Why didn’t you love him?”
“He wasn’t worth loving.”
“Few people are,” I say, grabbing her arm and forcing her up.
Odessa stumbles a few times on the way to her room down the hallway. I sense some of her clumsiness is to test my reflexes. Does she plan to escape? I don’t doubt she’ll try. They always do.
Chapter Nine
Odessa
The mind can’t sit idle for long before fighting back. I’m trapped in a room with no stimuli. The view outside is blocked now by a wooden plank. Quill made the adjustment the morning after his hunt. I pretend this gesture is to protect me from what’s in the woods rather than to drive me mad.
I stumble around the small room, examining every marking. How many trophies left behind their blood? Would any of them find relief in knowing Tom was dead? Why did so many violent perverts gravitate to this place? What did it say about me that I ended up here too?
Without the sunlight through the window, I lose track of time. Quill only visits to bring water and bread. He doesn’t speak to me. He shows no reaction when I ask if I can come out.
Losing my appetite, I stop eating the bread. I sit on the ground and hum any songs I can remember. Ain’t No Sunshine by Bill Withers becomes stuck in my head. Even when I dream, I hear the song and can’t forget I’m trapped.
My dreams offer no reprieve. In every single one, I run through the woods, never finding an escape.
I notice something about Quill during one of his visits. Despite not knowing how long I’ve been in the room, I do know it hasn’t been long enough for the scratches on his face to heal completely. However, after a few visits, his cheeks reveal not a single mark.
Stunned by how the deep cuts are completely gone, I reach for his face. He snatches my hand mid-air and frowns at me.
“Don’t touch me.”
“Why?”
“Do you want strangers touching you?”
“You touch me.”
Quill blinks a few times as if he hadn’t considered the idea he needed to follow the same rules. I doubt he mulls over many things. He seems more reactionary than analytical.
“If you grab me, and I feel under threat, my instincts dictate I kill you.”
“That would be a real shame,” I mutter, yanking my hand free. “Imagine all of the beautiful experiences I’d miss of staring at the same walls.”
Quill doesn’t smile. I don’t know if he’s capable of such a gesture. My mind can imagine him spending a lifetime with only frowns and blank stares.
After he leaves me alone again, I think about his wounds. My leg still throbs, but he’s completely healed. Somehow, this revelation inspires me to escape.
At some point over the last few days, weeks, eons, in my cell, I noticed the cameras. Two of them face the mattress while a third is pointed at the bathroom. Though Quill can see me, he makes noise before opening the door. His movements are typically silent, but the tray and cup clink when he reaches for the lock. If I can time his arrival and my move to behind the door perfectly, I might get the drop on him.
I sit on the mattress and stare at the door for hours. Calming my breathing, I wait for the right moment. If it doesn’t come the first time he enters, I’ll wait until the next. Or the time after that. In my current situation, time and patience are luxuries I have in spades.
During his next visit, Quill manages to open the door without making a single noise. I wonder if he’s figured out my plan. He shows no sign of knowing I want to lock him in my room and make a run for freedom. Of course, Quill’s face remains a puzzle. Even if he were preparing to kill me, I doubt I’d know it.
The next time Quill arrives, I’m in the bathroom. Now I’m convinced he knows my plan and is timing his visits accordingly.