Page 14 of The Hangman's Rope
He went to the fridge and brought some things out, carefully making a couple of sandwiches while I watched.
“Don’t really have much to drink,” he said. “Beer, ginger ale, milk.” He pulled the jug out of the fridge and smelled it, wincing and taking it to the sink and pouring it down the drain. “Scratch that – ginger ale, beer, and water seem to be your choices. Got some vodka in the freezer, I think.”
“Ginger ale is fine,” I said and he nodded, bringing out a green soda can and heading over with it in one hand and a plate with a sandwich and chips in the other.
“Nothing fancy,” he said, clearing his throat. “Afraid I’m not much of a cook.”
“That’s okay,” I said. “Me either, I think. Maybe it’s something I could try to learn.”
“What do you like? Do you know what you did for work or if you did work? How old you are?” he asked, watching me with fascination. I stopped, plate perched in one hand, icy can seeping cold into my other hand and already beginning to sweat.
I shook my head. “It’s the strangest thing. It’s like I go to think about certain things and it’s like running up against a wall of blank… Like the information is there, it’s just in the dark and just out of reach of my fingertips.”
“Sorry,” he said, quietly. “Don’t overdo it.”
“I’m trying not to panic,” I said and he gave me a crooked smile.
“You’re doing great on that front,” he said. “You seem like a levelheaded girl, Lorelai.”
“I don’t know how levelheaded I can be, letting myself get roofied or whatever,” I said, averting my gaze to the plate I lowered into my lap.
“No telling that you let yourself be anything,” he said. “You don’t know if somebody held you down andmadeyou take it.”
“No,” I said. “That’s true.”
“You seem like you do a good job at staying cool in stressful circumstances to me,” he said.
“There’s really nothing I can do,” I said. “Panicking isn’t really going to achieve anything,”
“Good point,” he said.
“What if it turns out that I’m no use to you or your leader or whatever he is?” I asked. “What happens then?”
“I don’t have an answer for that,” he said gently. “Let’s not try to borrow any trouble before trouble hits the doorstep.”
I rubbed my lips together and nodded carefully.
“Seems reasonable,” I said.
“Eat your sandwich,” he reminded me gently.
I took a deep breath and nodded, setting the can down on the floor by the couch, unopened for now, and picking up the sandwich with both hands and taking a bite. I made a face like I was impressed because I was. It tasted good. Turkey, ranch, bacon, lettuce, onion, and tomato. Whole grain bread of some kind and lightly salted potato chips on the side. It was simple fare, but after that first bite, I realized just howfamishedI was.
He took his own plate and a beer and sat in a recliner that matched the couch across the room from me, giving me my space and eating with a sort of pleased half-smile on his lips as he watched me practically inhale my food.
“Glad you like it,” he said, as I worked on chewing through my final bite.
“It’s good. Thank you,” I said.
“Not a problem,” he replied, and it felt weird… like I knew I wasn’t free to go or whatever. Not that I really had any placetogo, but at the same time, he was being so kind and patient with me. I mean, granted it was probably just to keep me complacent… but still. I was finding it hard not to like him for it.
I certainly liked him the best out of everyone I’d met since waking up on that cold, metal table with a strange man’s dick in my hand.
“You take the bed,” he said. “I’ll sleep out here.”
“That hardly seems fair,” I said.
“Probably not,” he agreed. “But what it is, is more secure.”
