“A Japanese businessman built this twenty years ago, but I renovated it when I bought it last year,” Peter says as we go up the steps. “I didn’t know we’d be coming here so soon, but I figured it’s best to be ready.”
I don’t respond, because if I try to talk, I might break down and cry. At this very moment, the FBI could be telling my parents about my disappearance, and I undoubtedly have dozens of missed calls and messages from my work, as well as the clinic where I volunteer. One of my patients is supposed to go into labor this week, and I have a C-section scheduled for tomorrow. Or is it today? It’s early morning in Japan; does that mean it’s evening back home? I don’t know what the time difference is, but I can’t imagine it’s less than ten hours. If so, I must’ve already missed a full day, and people are looking for me. Maybe even checking with my parents to find out where I am and why I’m not responding to any of their calls or messages.
My poor parents must be sick with worry.
“Can I call them?” I ask thickly as Peter leads me into a spacious bedroom. One of the walls is made entirely of glass, revealing a breathtaking view of snow-capped mountains in the distance and the lake spread out below. Or at least the view would be breathtaking if I could concentrate on it, instead of the suffocating lump in my throat.
Please let my dad be all right.
“Not yet,” Peter says, his expression softening as he releases my wrist. If I didn’t know better, I’d think he shares my concern about my parents. “We need to review the camera feeds to see what’s been happening, and then find a way to reach out to your family without alerting anyone of our whereabouts.”
I swallow and turn away before he can see the tears filling my eyes. This is all my fault. If I hadn’t come home, if I’d confided in Karen in that locker room, everything would’ve been different. Yes, my parents and I would’ve had to go into protective custody, and most likely relocate, but that would’ve still been preferable to this nightmare. I don’t know what I was thinking when I drove home from the hospital last night. Did I imagine that if I showed up at home as normal, Peter wouldn’t know that the FBI had spoken to me? That the Feds might not realize that the man they’re hunting had been all but living with me, and we’d go on as before?
That if I warned my tormentor about the impending danger, he’d thank me and quietly go on his merry way?
“Don’t, Sara.” He steps in front of me, forcing me to look up to meet his gaze. His jaw is tight, his eyes gleaming darkly as he says in a low, hard voice, “Don’t pretend like you didn’t want this. I know you’re scared and you’re having second thoughts, but you chose me; you chose us. That’s why you told me they were coming for me, why you came home at all instead of letting them whisk you far away. I waited for you. I knew they were close, and I still waited, because I needed to see if you truly hated me… if you wanted me gone from your life. But you didn’t, did you?” He cups my jaw, his thumb brushing over my cheek. “Did you, ptichka?”
“I did.” My voice shakes, and to my shame, hot tears trickle down my face. I don’t want to show weakness, but I can’t help the toxic cauldron bubbling in my chest. “I was exhausted, and I had a headache. I wasn’t thinking straight. On any other day—”
“Oh, really?” His mouth twists with cruel amusement as he drops his hand. “Is that the lie you’re telling yourself? That I took you against your will… that you didn’t want any of this?”
“I didn’t!” I step back, staring at him incredulously. He can’t seriously believe what he’s saying. “I would never agree to this. My parents, my patients, my friends, my whole life—it’s all back there. You abducted me, Peter. There’s no ambiguity here. You stuck a needle in my neck and you carried me away while I was drugged unconscious. How can you possibly think I came along voluntarily? Did you miss the part where I screamed and pleaded for you to leave me behind when I woke up? Were you deaf when I cried and begged you not to do this?” I’m beyond furious, but the tears won’t stop flowing, and I swipe at my cheeks with the back of my hand, trembling with rage from head to toe.
Peter’s lips flatten into a hard, dangerous line, and I again glimpse the terrifying stranger who broke into my house and tortured me. Only this time, I’m too angry to feel any fear. If he wants to punish me for this, let him.