Chapter 1
CHAPTER ONE
THURSDAY
“Going somewhere?” asks a voice from out of the dark.
I clutch my market bag to my chest. “Shit!”
“Didn’t mean to scare you.”
The smile won’t sit straight on my face. Not that he can see it behind my mask. You would think going grocery shopping at nine at night in old jeans and an even older tee would be safe. Of all the times for the dude from across the street to acknowledge my existence.
I’m average height and weight, with my long brown hair up in a messy bun. And there he stands at well over six foot something, shoulders as wide as Montana, dark hair showing traces of gray and giving me daddy issues, along with a jawline sharp enough to make a runway model weep. Shit.
Which reminds me.
“You forgot your mask,” I say.
“Sorry.” He grimaces. “Promise I haven’t had contact with anyone for days.”
“Me neither.”
“You haven’t?”
“No. One of the many benefits of working remote.”
Some tension in him eases at the news. Which is fair enough. “I didn’t think you’d been out,” he says. “But that’s good to hear.”
I lean my ample ass against my Prius and stare at him, bemused. Because what an odd thing to say. But most everyone is stuck at home now. He must be keeping an eye on the street out of boredom or something.
It’s rare for our neighborhood in Portland, Oregon, to be so quiet.
However, traffic tonight is nonexistent.
Besides the ambulance speeding past with its siren wailing.
The Thai restaurant on the corner is sadly closed.
Probably due to staff shortages. It sucks because papaya salad would go a long way toward fixing what’s wrong with me.
That being having just about run out of food.
But the combination of seasonal allergies and some new strain of flu have made a mess of the city this week.
Hot neighbor constantly turns his head, glancing up and down the street.
Just checking things out, apparently. He’s much larger close up than I realized.
Then he looks down at me, and I look up at him and…
yeah. This situation is giving me such a weird vibe.
Though I do find beautiful people stressful to deal with in general.
And when I get nervous, I babble.
“The world is so discombobulated right now. Do you know, I tried to get groceries delivered but everywhere was booked out? I couldn’t find a single place.
Most of their workers must be off sick. I know the government said to stay home as much as possible.
But I’m sure you would agree that when a woman runs out of cake, drastic action must be taken.
Some odds are just insurmountable, right?
A step beyond what’s humanly possible to endure.
Okay. I better go get this done before the shops close.
” I reach for the door. “Nice to meet you.”
“You didn’t tell me your name.”
“You didn’t tell me yours.”
He gives me this smile. The whole time we’ve been talking, he’s had a hand behind his back. I don’t even know why I notice, since it’s just the way he’s standing.
“Dean.”
“Astrid.”
“That’s a pretty name.”
“Thank you.” I open the car door. “See you later, Dean.”
Guess I shouldn’t have turned my back on him. But then, I didn’t expect him to attack. Stupid me.
I catch movement out of the corner of my eye. His arms come swiftly around me from behind. My mask is pushed aside and something covers my mouth and nose. A cloth that’s been doused in some chemical. It smells sort of sweet.
I scratch and kick as my mind spins in dizzy circles. But it all happens so fast, and the world goes dark.
FRIDAY
I wake up on a mattress on the floor. Nothing hurts. That’s the main thing. And my clothes seem to be untouched, only my shoes and mask are missing.
The man sitting on the other side of the room says, “Drink some water. You’ll feel better.”
My mind is a mess. I don’t know whether to be terrified, furious, or what. More information is needed.
On the mattress is a clean white sheet along with a pillow, a padded quilt, and a warm gray woolen blanket.
And on the floor sits a worn Persian rug in shades of red.
The walls are bare brick, the low ceiling wooden, and the only window I can see is high and narrow and covered in some sort of thick, dark padding.
Which means shouting for help is probably a waste of time.
This must be the bottom level of his bungalow.
Which is reason enough to lose my shit in a variety of ways.
But add the fact that I am sitting inside a makeshift cage, a prison for all intents and purposes, and I can’t stop my hands from shaking. Like actual solid metal bars cut across the space between us.
“What the fuck, Dean?”
He nods to the bottle of water waiting beside the bed.
I sit up slowly and reach for it. The seal seems to be intact. But what do I know?
“I haven’t tampered with it,” he says. “It’s safe to drink.”
Our staring competition lasts half a minute or so.
Though conflict may not be the answer to this particular problem.
My current position isn’t exactly one of strength, what with me sitting in an enclosure.
Seems spending all of those hours watching cute animal videos and contouring tutorials instead of learning negotiation tactics and tips and tricks from escape artists might have been a mistake.
I take the top off the bottle and sip cautiously. It doesn’t taste any different. And I am indeed thirsty. “What did you drug me with?”
“Chloroform. Thought you’d only be out for a while, but you slept the whole night. Must have been tired.”
Iron fencing divides the room down the middle. His side has a large TV, a plaid sofa, a punching bag, a bunch of storage boxes, and, most importantly—stairs leading up to the outside world and freedom. My side has a mattress and access to a small bathroom.
He’s placed the bars horizontally. It must have been the best way for the sections of fencing to fill the space.
Then he welded the panels together. And while it may not be pretty, it will keep me here just fine.
One piece of the fence is held in place with thick lengths of chain and padlocks to work as a door.
I nod at the wall of iron. “I take it this used to be your back fence?”
“Yeah. The neighbors aren’t happy.” Shadows linger beneath his eyes and stubble lines his jaw. Seems the asshole needs a nap and a shave. “I want to make a deal with you.”
“Do I have a choice?”
“No.”
“Shitty deal. Why are you doing this?”
“It’s complicated. But I’m not going to hurt you,” he says. “You won’t come to any harm while you’re with me.”
“Beside the harms of abducting and imprisoning me?”
“Yes.”
The urge to scream and start throwing things is immense. But I take a breath and hold my shit together. Just. “You promise you won’t touch me or make me do anything?”
“That’s right. You have my word. But I am going to insist on the pleasure of your company for a while.”
“Why?”
He picks up the remote and the TV comes to life.
The news channel is running the same reports as yesterday.
Photos of a crowded hospital in Beijing.
Sick children in Cairo with mucus running down their faces.
But it’s the dead body lying out on the street in Brisbane and a mass grave in Prague that really get to me.
I swallow hard. “My mother thinks the pictures will turn out to be AI or something.”
“What do you think?”
“Pretty sure Reuters doesn’t print fake news, and that’s where I first saw them. But it’s not going to get that bad here. We’ve been forewarned. We have masks and stuff.”
“Masks are great. But they only filter out particles bigger than fifteen microns. They won’t touch this virus.”
“Well, they’re working on a vaccine.”
“They are. But that sort of thing takes time.”
“Time you don’t think we have.”
His jaw shifts. “No.”
“I believe that we do. This is going to be just like the last pandemic. Fucking awful, but nothing like what you’re talking about. You need to let me go, Dean. Please.”
“I’m glad you have hope,” he says. “But I’m sorry, Astrid. You’re staying in that cage where I know you’ll be safe.”
“What do you care if I’m safe or not?”
“Because I do.”
“That makes no sense.” My whole body starts to shake. Not good. “Last night was the first time we’ve talked. We’re veritable strangers, and you built me a prison cell in your basement.”
“You’re welcome.” His gaze narrows on me. “Just breathe, Astrid. It’s going to be okay. No one’s going to hurt you, I promise.”
“You have to let me out of here. And what happens if you’re wrong about the virus?”
“You go free, and I go to jail,” he says matter-of-factly.
I can’t help but scoff. Though it sounds like more of a choked sob than anything.
My want to scream and rage and cry at him, versus the need to stay calm and be rational and to try and talk my way out of this.
Though I have a feeling I’m fighting a losing battle.
There’s so much fear and frustration inside of me.
“Are you saying you’ll open my cage door and then, what… just hand yourself over to the cops?”
He crosses his arms. Angry red lines are visible from where I scratched him last night. “I might try making it to the border. But yes, I will just open your cage door once I know you’re going to be safe.”
Deep, even breaths. Passing out in a panic isn’t going to help. I need to choose my words with care and talk him into setting me free. Get him to see me as a person with my own wants and rights and needs, etcetera. “How long do I have to stay here? When will you admit that you made a mistake?”
“You want a time frame?”
“Yes, please.”
“I don’t know,” he says. “Say a fortnight to be safe.”
“You want me to sit in this cage for two weeks?”