Chapter 18 #3
He kisses her on the lips, and I want to fucking scream. But Isla looks…happy.
She's gone. Really, really gone. She can't save me.
"Yeah, you love her so much, you've kept her tied to a mattress for half a year. What the fuck is wrong with you?"
"I've been taking care of her," he snaps. "Sometimes, we have to do hard things for the people we love. Isla was sick, weren't you?"
She nods. "He made me believe things that weren't real. I never wanted to leave you."
"And you—" Miles turns to me. "You almost killed her!"
"What are you talking about? I've never met her."
"Whatever you did to me that night—if it had worked, and I'd died, she would have starved to death in here. That would have been your fault! She was terrified."
"That would have been your fault! I didn't lock her in a fucking basement."
So, this is where he had been all this time. He wasn't recovering from amnesia in a hospital up north; he was here, hiding out.
Miles scoffs. "This isn't a basement. And you're awfully mouthy for a girl tied to the wall. But anyway, if you hadn't put her life at risk, I'd thank you."
"Thank me? For what?" For almost killing him? Because I'm happy to do it again.
"I acted irrationally; that's not who I am.
" I scoff, and he continues. "I needed time to sit with my thoughts and come up with a plan—a proper way to get my revenge.
You gave me that time." He sits on the mattress, opening the white paper bag he walked in with—like the ones they have at the food court.
"I was following him, you know, but he never noticed.
I've had a set of his keys for a while…been able to come and go as I please while barely resisting the urge to slit your throats. Like I said, I needed a plan."
He hands her a water bottle, and I watch her empty it. I can't help but stare longingly at the bag, hoping he'll pull one out for me, too.
I'm so fucking thirsty.
It doesn't happen, and even if it did, I probably wouldn't drink it. He takes out two containers of lo mein next, setting one in front of her and then opening one for himself.
"Look," he says, showing her the empty bag. "That's all I have for today. I don't have to leave anything for tomorrow, because it's your last meal here."
"Can't we just do it now?"
"No," he says. "I don't know how long it'll be before we see each other again. It might be a day—maybe longer. I want to spend this time together."
"You know, he fucks other girls," I sneer. "He tried to take me home from a party. He tried to kill my dog, too."
Miles sets his chopsticks down and crosses the room toward me, backhanding me without saying a word.
I steel my jaw, still refusing to cry out, and blink back tears while he returns to his spot on the mattress.
At least he didn't knock a tooth loose this time. At least he doesn't have a gun.
He doesn't have the gun because he put it in Elias's closet. Elias didn't hurt me, and I…I ran from him. And I called the police. And now I'm going to die in this fucking room, and he's going to think I hated him.
"That was part of my punishment," Isla says.
"Don't. I told you not to speak to her. She's his sister, and she fucks him. That's why he used you like garbage—he's a sick fuck who fucks his sister."
I sit, slumped against the wall, watching them eat, my stomach growling. So, he's moving her, and keeping me here. That must be what's happening.
They'll find me.
That's what goes through my head—Dax and Nolan will find me; they won't give up on me.
But it's been six months since Isla disappeared. And no one has found her.
I can't do it. I won't last six months in here with him. I start looking around the room for anything I could use as a weapon, but there's nothing. Maybe if I could get a hold of a chopstick, I could put it through his eye.
But that's a big fucking maybe. And it still won't get me out of here.
I'll have to strangle him. With my rope. I have to find a way to get off this fucking rope.
Maybe I could chew through it; I wonder how long it would take. Months?
Do I have months?
When she finishes, he gathers their trash—including the chopsticks—and heads for the door. "I'm going to get the other bucket now."
Other bucket? Is that my toilet?
"It might be a little cold," he says when he returns. "Sorry."
He sets the bucket beside Isla, and then cuts her zip ties before removing her clothing.
Unlike me, Isla doesn't have a thick rope tied around her waist, but she used to.
A metal ring just like this one has been mounted just above the bed, and she has deep scarring across her stomach, as though the skin had been chafing.
She stands in front of him, naked and unbound, and he begins washing her, soapy water running down her bare skin. It's eerie, but I don't look away.
I try to catch her eyes, begging her to do something—to run, to get help.
"It's not too cold, is it?" he asks.
Isla shakes her head.
"I'm going to miss this. I look forward to this all day—you know that? Maybe we can keep doing it when we get back. You'd be in the bathtub instead, of course. I bet you miss the heated towel racks, hmm?"
"Yeah," she says softly.
Her eyes meet mine briefly before she lowers her gaze, but all I see is elation. I'm fucked.
"We'll have to ease you back into your freedom. It won't be like this, but…you won't be able to leave the house for a while. I'll still have to tie you up when I'm not home. You understand, right? You're the most precious thing in the world to me. I have to keep you safe."
"I understand. I don't need to leave the house, anyway. I have everything I need there."
"That's right," he says, moving to her legs. "And I'll leave the remote for you; you'll get to watch TV."
Her eyes light up. "I can?"
"Mmhmm. All done," Miles says before drying her from head to toe with a hand towel. "You can lie down now, angel."
Isla lies with her back to the mattress, and Miles walks to the foot of the bed. With his back to me, he drops his pants and then kneels on the bed between her legs.
No. No, no, no, no, no. This is so fucked.
I turn, facing the wall, and cover my ears, but I can still hear him grunting. I can still hear the mattress springs each time he thrusts into her.
I want to go home. I want to go home to Dax and Nolan and never leave again.
I try to go somewhere—anywhere else—in my head, and end up back in Toronto, lying in bed with Elias.
I wish I'd never left that room.
When it's finally quiet, I take my hands off my ears, risking a glance over my shoulder.
Miles helps Isla dress before zip-tying her hands again. "Now, it's time," he tells her. "You know what to do, right?"
"I-I think so."
"You can't think; you have to know," he says, cradling her face in his hands. "I'll wait for you, and then once I'm sure it's done, you'll run to the house up the road. Do you remember which way?"
"Yeah, I'll go right, and then the house is on my left. A woman lives there."
"That's right. And then you tell her Elias did this, and that you got away, but the other girl didn't make it."
"I tried to save her, but I couldn't."
"Exactly. And if you don't say what you're told, Isla…I will kill your sister and her daughter. And I'll tell them you set the fire. They'll know you killed her."
Fire? "Hey! Hey, I'm right here, in case you fucking forgot!"
"Not for long."
"You don't need to worry. I'll tell them that he did it. It's his fault; he did this to me."
He steps outside the door again, and when he comes back, he's holding a box of matches and a canister of gasoline.
"You can't do this!"
"You know, the funny thing is that I wasn't going to.
I'd given up on that; I just wanted him to go to jail for kidnapping Isla and assaulting you in that alley.
And I wanted you to believe he did it—which you did.
But then he had to run. At least now, if they never find him, he'll know you're dead.
He'll know I killed you, and he'll never be able to live a normal life.
He'll either be on the run or in prison. I win."
"You'll never win," I sneer. "You'll never be better than him. And he's going to fucking kill you!"
"Eh, maybe. You won't be around to find out." He leans down and kisses Isla again. "I'll be waiting. See you soon, angel."
What? What's happening?
Miles leaves without closing the door, and it's just me and Isla in the room, her hands bound in front of her.
"Isla," I whisper. "Get me out of here."
"I can't. I'm sorry."
"Just…give me the matches."
She ignores me and picks up the can of gasoline, emptying it onto the mattress.
"Isla, please!" I don't bother whispering anymore. "I'm begging you—please! You don't have to do this! You know it isn't right! If you help me, I can get you away from him. You'll never have to see him again."
"Why would I want that? I love him."
"He's fucking evil, Isla. You know it, and your sister knows it, too. We can help you." She ignores me again, striking the match. "Please!" I beg. "Please don't, Isla; please stop. You don't want to live with this—you don't!"
"It's not my fault. Elias did this to you…to both of us. He deserves this."
She drops the match on the mattress, and instantly, it's engulfed in flames.
"Please! Cut my ropes! Please, Isla. Throw me the matches. Just throw me the matches…he'll never know. I'll never tell; I promise. Just…please!"
She tucks them into the pocket of her robe. "Just try to take deep breaths," she says. "That way, the smoke kills you before you burn up."
Then she leaves through the same door, closing it tightly behind her.
"ISLA!"