He’s grabbed rope from a rack beside the table. All it takes are three short strides for him to be right behind me, the rope wrapping around my waist and chest as he binds me tightly to the chair. He scoots the chair next to the table Chastity is laid out on before pulling his Macbook from a drawer built into the table.
“As I was saying…” He plops the laptop over a puddle of blood in front of me. The splat sound makes that pit in my stomach feel like a lead weight. “Details. I’ve always prided myself on vivid descriptions. The accurate descriptions of death and dying. No matter how good of an imagination you have”—he chuckles—“nothing short of experience can justly recreate it.”
This man is mad. Insane. And I’m locked in this shed, tied to this chair with him and her and that poor dead woman in the corner. Rain pummels over the roof of the shed. The muffled sound of thunder barely rattles the walls, and from the way the ground just shook beneath my feet, that noise should have been much louder. Screaming will do me no good—just as his victims in the books are told. Screaming will do no good. There's no one for miles.
“Edwin.” I swallow, fighting the urge to allow my gaze to fall to Chastity. “Please, don’t do this.”
He cups my jaw, his thumb rubbing over my cheek. “It’s what must be done. You’ll see how beautiful this will be. How perfect we will be together. How wonderful our words are. And when they read them…” A pleased smile interrupts his speech. “They will read our words. Our words. They will read our words.”
Edwin checks my restraints before he boots up the laptop. While he waits, he drags a satchel from beside the table and lays out tools: a knife, an ice pick, a hammer, a lighter, and… a hacksaw. He runs his fingers over the jagged teeth, his eyes locking with mine.
Shaking my head, I glance at the computer screen. He jabs over the keys. The writing program opens, and he scrolls to the end of the document then shoves the computer back in front of me. “Write.”
“Write?” I stare at the keys. “Write what?”
“My every move. Every cry and sound she makes.” He picks up the knife and holds it over her face, his attention now directed at her. “As much as I enjoyed that mouth of yours on me…”
He places the blade inside the corner of her mouth, slowly slicing from it to the middle of her cheek. Her legs pull against the restraints. She screams—fuck, does she scream—her back bowing from the metal table only to slam back down.
He leans over her, his face inches from hers. “Shhh.” He takes the knife and tears through the other side of her mouth and cheek, his eyes glued to hers. “I don’t hear you writing…”
“I… I…” I shake my head as I stare at the keys, my heart banging against my ribs with such force I fear it may stop at any moment.
When Edwin slams his fist on the table, the handle of the knife clanging against the surface, I jump and Chastity wails. “Fucking write.”
The knife rips through her fair skin, ruby blood weeping from the cut and mixing with her tears…
Edwin peers over my shoulder and nods. He points a bloody finger at the words on the screen. “Worthless. Say ‘her worthless tears.’”
I type in the word, and he pats me on the back, making me cringe.
One thousand thirty-four words later, Chastity is barely able to keep her eyes open. They flit and flutter. She moans. Every once in a while, her fingers twitch. And I’m in tears, sobbing as my fingers shake over the keyboard.
Edwin uses the back of his hand to wipe away the sweat beaded on his brow, blood smearing across his forehead in the process. “I want us to do this last bit together. We’ll write it together once we’re finished.” He reaches for me, and I jerk away. “Come now, Miranda.”
He picks up the blood-stained knife, slips it underneath the rope, and quickly cuts it loose. Just as I go to stand, he grabs me by the throat, his fingers digging in so hard I can’t manage to drag in a decent breath. He lifts me, my jaw pressing hard against his hand. I can’t help the desperate gurgle that comes from my throat nor the way I’m clawing at his hands.
“Don’t make me kill you.” He releases me, takes the hacksaw from where he left it in her thigh, and hands it to me. “Take it.”
I back away with a small step.
“Take it.” He shakes it at me, a piece of mangled flesh falling to the floor.
Another quick, short step backward.
“Where do you think you’re going to go, huh?” His eyes narrow, his gaze flicking to the locked door. “There’s no way out.”