In the middle of the night, alone on the bed, I did sit against the headboard for a while, hiding in my hair, my hands at my head, or my fingers stuffed in my mouth, as if that might keep me safe. The cuts throbbed an unpleasant reminder. Normal? Hell, no. And if it hadn’t been for the application of Isak’s will that seeped through the house and into my being, I’d be slumped in a corner shaking.
Should I be raging at someone. Yelling? I’d lost sight of normal. My forefinger ended up with tooth marks, and blood-colored bruises.
By morning I came to the conclusion Isak had gone somewhere. Left the villa. Perhaps to arrange the final points of my sale.
Vitor confirmed it when a servant wheeled in breakfast.
Neither of them blinked at the sight of the staples on my body.
“When he’s back, you’ll be going soon after.” No elaboration except for, “You can wander around in here, to pee and whatever. He said so. But not out there.” Vitor nodded at the deck.
Then he walked out. As if...as if he knew I wasn’t going anywhere.
Eat, then a long hot shower, washing myself clean, hissing at the stings, trying to unfog my brain. I sat in the stream of water, getting tile marks on my back, thinking.
Collared but free. I had a hankering to examine the desk, and that suitcase.
When dry, I wrapped myself in a fluffy white towel and padded over to the desk. His place. I’d raided it before, taken the capsules.
This time I searched thoroughly, not having to worry about Isak catching me. I found the knife, of course, set it aside on the desk top, next to a sculpture of a hunting dog. If Vitor watched via some camera, now would be when he’d burst in.
He didn’t. I waited some more, watching the wall clock tick through ten minutes.
He wouldn’t let me keep a knife, if he knew?
No.
A flaw then. They expected zombie girls to be obedient. But I wasn’t one of them. How long did I have before Isak came back? Could I kill him?
Could I stick this sharp point in his chest or stomach and drive it home?
I sighed, poked the knife handle. No.
So I sat in the chair and searched the other drawers, found the little diary of the day he caught me and he talked to the man, Wolfe. The top pages were dog-eared. The bottom ones were less so. The pages were out of order and the lower ones were those that detailed his earlier life. His fiancée. His almost wedding. It seemed he’d not read these for a while.
My god. He was a human after all. Sitting in a fluffy towel, in a gorgeous room looking out over the sea, remembering what he did when he was bad...I became sad, and how dumb was that.
The suitcase had been sitting like a living lump waiting for me to attend to exploring it. I walked to it. Very wide. Two and a half feet. Four foot long? When I unclasped and unzipped and opened out the side, I found leather straps inside, at middle, and at both ends. The arrangement at one end was clearly meant to take a head. There were covered holes as if to allow someone to look in...or for breathing.
This was meant for a person. I took a few shaky steps backward. For me, most likely...to transport me.
“Holy fuck.” Why couldn’t the man do anything without invoking terror?
My head wasn’t doing its thinking job very well, of course – blame that on Isak mindfucking me. It wasn’t until late in the day that I realized I could run. I could’ve run any time, since he’d left me.
I sprinted through the implications, vomiting logic.
Isak was gone.
I’d glimpsed a boat with an outboard motor below the decks. I could go.
Simple. Just, maybe, wait for darkness.
I found clothes – underwear, shorts, and a top that fitted. Miraculous. When did the man let his victims have clothes?
“When is he coming back?” I casually asked Vitor, when I saw him.
“Late. Ten maybe. Eleven. You eager to go to your new owner?” I couldn’t tell what this man was thinking. His face was as readable as cardboard, though it bore lines, so he must be able to smile. Probably when someone died.