“What happened?” I ask him. I try to keep accusation out of my voice, but it’s difficult considering how angry I was when I found out what happened.
“I should have seen it coming.” Ford shakes his head, and I can see he’s having a hard time with this. I know he blames himself, as anyone would, but I keep staring at him, waiting for him to tell me. “One minute I was making us food while she slept only ten feet from me, and the next the room was filling with smoke. Then I was chained up in that basement.”
“And who came to see you? Anton?”
He crinkles his brow in confusion. “No, no one came. That was the weirdest part. Margaret had woken up before me, but she was out of it. She didn’t say much except that no one had come to see us. I never saw Anton or anyone else.”
It didn’t make sense, just tying them up and leaving, but it did show that he really did not care if they lived or died.
“How was she?” I ask, knowing how hard this has been on her, how much she’s been through with this whole endeavor.
“She was okay…” he hedges.
“Tell me,” I demand, leaving no room for argument. He sighs and rubs his head, the situation obviously weighing on him heavily. This kind of thing is unfortunately nothing new for us.
“It was hard. She was in and out and anxious. Hyperventilated once, but other than that, she slept. Her body couldn’t take the abuse.”
Abuse—that is what it was. Every part of this is abuse, and I’m responsible for it.
I stare at her, so damn grateful she’s okay and feeling fucking guilty as hell that she almost wasn’t.