38
For two nights Emma had struggled to sleep on the hard floor, memories of her mother swirling in her head.
The big man had stopped talking to her yesterday after telling her that mother had been in this horrible place too.
Which had sent her brain into overdrive.
Last night he’d given her a pillow and blanket from one of the bunks, saying she hadn’t earned the right to sleep on one of the thin mattresses yet.
Then he’d tied her securely to an iron bar set into the rock wall.
She could tell the bar was newer than the wall because the mortar around it was a different color from that around all the other rocks. He’d noticed her looking at it.
“Yank all you want. It won’t come out. Trust me, plenty have tried.” Then he smiled, his teeth showing, his scar puckering.
The smile had made her stomach heave.
Is he talking about other women? How many is plenty?
Was my mother one who tried?
Emma had lain awake for many hours, listening to him snore, wondering what he’d done to her mother and where he had buried her. And wondering what he meant by bait.
And she prayed that someone had found Ollie. Tears welled as she thought about him, lying helpless in his truck.
I had no choice.
Another reason to despise the man holding her.
This morning he’d taken her to the outhouse, fed her a PB and J, and then left for several hours.
At first she was relieved to be alone, but it hadn’t taken long for her to wonder what would happen to her if he never returned, picturing herself slowly dying of starvation, unable to escape.
So she’d turned her attention to the metal bar he’d said would never come out and dug at the mortar with her fingertips until two of them bled.
And after studying it closely, she could swear the little gouges in the mortar were from other people trying to scrape it off with their fingernails.
More indication that he’s held others here.
When she’d finally heard his vehicle return, she’d been disgusted by how quickly the sound had consoled her anxiety.
He gave her a cheese sandwich for lunch and watched her eat.
The intensity of his stare made the food go dry in her mouth, and so he’d stepped outside to refill her water.
When she’d first arrived, all his supplies had been kept on the porch.
Today he’d started moving some of them indoors, piling the cardboard boxes in the corners, but the coolers and water jugs were still outdoors.
He didn’t seem as angry as yesterday, but she wished he wouldn’t stare.
She felt as if he was studying her for the easiest way to cut off her limbs.
She had no doubt he was capable of murder.
“Don’t worry,” he said as he handed her the plastic glass of water. “You’re too young for me.”
She clung to the glass with her tied hands. “What?”
“I don’t want you.”
I think that’s good.
“Then why am I here? Why did you take me if you don’t want me?”
“I told you. Bait.”
“Because you want Noelle or Max to come after me?” she asked, wondering if he had something against law enforcement.
“I don’t know who they are.”
“Then what am I bait for?” She froze, picturing the dense forest outside. “Oh my God, am I bait for a bear?” She fought back the bile that rose in her throat, and water sloshed out of her glass as she shook. Her lungs refused to work, and her vision tunneled.
I’ll be ripped apart.
“No!” He held up his hands. “Calm down. No bear.”
Her heart thudded heavily in her chest, and she fought to make her lungs behave. “I don’t understand,” she forced out.
“I was confused when I saw you at that coffee place,” he said evenly. “I knew you. But I didn’t know you. Thought I was seeing things.”
It was the most words he’d said at one time.
“This is my place.” He frowned and looked around the room.
“I know which floorboard creaks. I know where the light falls at different times of day. I know every approach to it from the woods. It’s mine.
” He pointed at one of the window slits.
“I added those after I decided to bring you here. This building is prepared for whatever will happen.”
She nodded, too terrified to speak.
Something has made him talkative.
“Every time I return, my place is here, waiting for me.”
A nod.
“This is where I bring them.”
Who?
Emma shakily set down the cup. Those words had made her fingers grow numb. “Were they bait too?” she asked softly.
“No. They were my wives.”
“Wives”? Past tense?
“Your mother too.” He scowled as he stared at her, growing anger in his gaze as he touched his scar, running a finger along its length. “You have the same eyes,” he spit out. “Hers have haunted me for a long time.”
“What happened to her?” Emma dared to whisper.
He looked away. “You don’t need to know.”