“You don’t even know me.”
“We were meant to be. As soon as I saw your picture, I knew it. You’re even named after my favorite poem. ‘The Raven.’ Edgar Allan Poe. You must know it. It was a sign.”
“A sign?”
“That you were meant to be mine.”
“You’re insane.”
He only laughed, the sound slightly crazed.
I tried to hold down my building fear. His laughter, his words were signs that he himself was descending into madness like the man in the poem.
“I’ll read it to you later,” he offered as if we were simply passing time.
“No thanks. I hate that poem.”
He waved me off. “You haven’t listened to it properly. I’ll teach you to love it.”
The same way he wanted to teach me to love him. It was never going to happen.
He straightened and approached me. I scrambled back until I hit the wall. I trembled as he stood in front of me, shudders of revulsion racing down my spine.
“You must be hungry,” he said softly. “Thirsty.”
I refused to answer.
He lifted a finger, tracing it along my cheek. “How long do you think you can go without food or water, Raven?”
I stared at his feet, trying to escape his touch. It filled me with dread.
“Stubborn little pet.” He traced a finger over the collar on my neck. “Such a pretty little pet.”
I lifted my head, meeting his eyes. They were cold, empty.
“I’m not your pet, you bastard.”
Then I drew back my arm and punched him. As hard as I could, right in the nose. Blood spurted, and he howled in pain. I smiled in satisfaction.
He grabbed the collar, yanking me close, furious. His cloying cologne washed over me, and I tried not to gag. Punching him had drained the last of my energy, and I stumbled. He held me up by the collar, cutting off my breath. I gasped, fumbling, clawing at his hands. He held me until black spots formed in front of my eyes, then he stepped back, dropping me to the ground where I lay, terrified and gasping for air.
“Let’s see how you feel tomorrow,” he muttered and walked out, slamming the door behind him.
Blackness exploded, and I welcomed the dark.
Andy and Stew were the same person. He had seen Damien earlier.
Did Damien know?
I shut my eyes as tears gathered. He had to know. He was coming for me. He wasn’t what Stew thought he was. He was acting as well. I was certain of it.
Damien was coming for me. It was a mantra I kept repeating in my head as Andy continued to torment me.
In and out of the room.
Taunting. Blackness. Bright lights. Loud, jarring music. A bottle of water with just enough in it to wet my mouth but not slake my thirst. A crust of bread tossed to the ground that Andy called “my scrap for the day.”
He made me stand, my legs shaking as he chained my wrists to the ground and removed the collar. The weight of the heavy chains locked my arms down, no doubt in retaliation for punching him. I blindly kicked out with my leg, my foot connecting hard with his groin. He yelped, backing away, bent over, and I kicked again, but this time, he grabbed my foot, knocking me to the ground. My head hit the ground, exploding in pain.
He cursed and yelled, leaving me on the ground. He stormed away, plunging me back into darkness, the metal door slamming so hard behind him it shook my body. I heard him screaming profanity as he moved away, and despite the ache in my head and the knowledge I would be punished for my attack, I had to smile. I was going to fight back as much as I could.
The jarring music started playing again, the sound ringing in my ears. Of all the things he did, I hated that the most.
I lay on the ground, letting the tears roll down my cheeks. I didn’t move, not wanting to activate the camera.
I refused to let Andy see me cry.
To let him know that I was, perhaps, already breaking.
Then it began to rain.