I wake up on a mattress on the floor. Nothing hurts. That’s the main thing. And my clothes seem to be untouched; only my shoes and mask are missing.
The man sitting on the other side of the room says, “Drink some water. You’ll feel better.”
My mind is a mess. I don’t know whether to be terrified, furious, or what. More information is needed.
On the mattress is a clean white sheet along with a pillow, a padded quilt, and a warm gray woolen blanket. And on the floor sits a worn Persian rug in shades of red. The walls are bare brick, the low ceiling wooden, and the only window I can see is high and narrow and covered in some sort of thick, dark padding. Which means shouting for help is probably a waste of time. This must be the bottom level of his bungalow. Which is reason enough to lose my shit in a variety of ways.
But add the fact that I am sitting inside a makeshift cage, a prison for all intents and purposes, and I can’t stop my hands from shaking. Like actual solid metal bars cut across the space between us.
“What the fuck, Dean?”
He nods to the bottle of water waiting beside the bed.
I sit up slowly and reach for it. The seal seems to be intact. But what do I know?
“I haven’t tampered with it,” he says. “It’s safe to drink.”
Our staring competition lasts half a minute or so. Though conflict may not be the answer to this particular problem. My current position isn’t exactly one of strength, what with me sitting in an enclosure. Seems spending all of those hours watching cute animal videos and contouring tutorials instead of learning negotiation tactics and tips and tricks from escape artists might have been a mistake.
I take the top off the bottle and sip cautiously. It doesn’t taste any different than ordinary water. And I am indeed thirsty. “What did you drug me with?”
“Chloroform. Thought you’d only be out for a while, but you slept the whole night. Must have been tired.”
Iron fencing divides the room down the middle. His side has a large TV, a plaid sofa, a punching bag, a bunch of storage boxes, and—most importantly—stairs leading up to the outside world and freedom. My side has a mattress and access to a small bathroom.
He’s placed the bars horizontally. It must have been the best way for the sections of fencing to fill the space. Then he welded the panels together. And while it may not be pretty, it will keep me here just fine. One piece of the fence is held in place with thick lengths of chain and padlocks to work as a door.
I nod at the wall of iron. “I take it this used to be your back fence?”
“Yeah. The neighbors aren’t happy.” Shadows linger beneath his eyes and stubble lines his jaw. Seems the asshole needs a nap and a shave. “I want to make a deal with you.”
“Do I have a choice?”
“No.”
“Shitty deal. Why are you doing this?”
“It’s complicated. But I’m not going to hurt you,” he says. “You won’t come to any harm while you’re with me.”
“Besides the harms of being abducted and imprisoned?”
“Yes.”
The urge to scream and start throwing things is immense. But I take a breath and hold my shit together. Just. “You promise you won’t touch me or make me do anything?”
“That’s right. You have my word. But Iamgoing to insist on the pleasure of your company for a while.”
“Why?”
He picks up the remote and the TV comes to life. The news channel is running the same reports as yesterday. Photos of a crowded hospital in Beijing. Sick children in Cairo with mucus running down their faces. But it’s the dead body lying out on the street in Brisbane and a mass grave in Prague that really get to me.
I swallow hard. “My mother thinks the pictures will turn out to be AI or something.”
“What do you think?”
“Pretty sure Reuters doesn’t print fake news, and that’s where I first saw them. But it’s not going to get that bad here. We’ve been forewarned. We have masks and stuff.”
“Masks are great. But they only filter out particles bigger than fifteen microns. They won’t touch this virus.”
