“Washington?” I cock my head. “But their figures are low. They’re doing great with social distancing and hand washing.”
“The inner-city hospitals are full and they’re about to run out of body bags. Then they’ll start running out of doctors and nurses. Washington has such a transient and social population. All of those important people, flying around the world and having meetings. And it hasn’t even been a week since we first heard of this thing.”
“I’m just supposed to take your word for this?”
He nods at the TV. “They’re not going to be able to hide the truth for much longer. Not with things going the way they are…”
“I have another question.” I sit up straight and take a deep breath. “Have you ever done anything like this before?”
“No. My worst crimes before this were some speeding tickets and a bar fight in Boulder, Colorado. Which I didn’t start, by the way.”
“And does your friend know what you’re doing to me?”
“She does not.”
“Why me, Dean?” My hand itches to slap him. Not that it would help a thing. “Why am I important to you?”
He doesn’t answer for a moment. “I have clear line of sight to your apartment door from my living room window, and…”
“You’ve been watching me?”
His jaw shifts, but he doesn’t say a word. What an asshole.
“For how long?”
“Guess it’s been a while now,” answers my stalker. “The thing is, your trip out last night would have killed you. Ihadto stop you. But I would have had to do something sooner rather than later. Couldn’t risk someone knocking on your door for whatever reason. Or you rushing off to help a sick friend or family member who could be contagious.”
I shake my head. There’s no talking him out of this delusion, however. “Can I have my phone?”
“Let’s talk about that later.”
“How high exactly is the mortality rate? Do you even know or are you just guessing?”
He frowns. And I mean, he really puts his whole heart and soul into the furrows happening on his high forehead. Then eventually, he says, “My friend was working close protection for a top government epidemiologist the first few days when all of this started. They seemed to think we’re looking at ninety-nine percent of the population. Anything around those levels is Armageddon.”
My mouth opens, but nothing comes out. Not for a while. “You don’t really believe that. Come on. I watch the History channel, and not even the bubonic plague did those sorts of numbers. Not even close.”
He just watches me.
“Dean, this is so wrong. Please. You have to let me out.”
He stands tall and stretches. The man is all hard, lean muscle. And he sure would look pretty with my hands wrapped around his thick neck. “I’m sorry, but I’m not going to do that. You may as well get comfortable.”
And this is when I officially lose my shit. “Let me out of here, you motherfucking asshole! You kidnapping cunt! Open this fucking cage right now. How dare you drug me and lock me up in here, you deluded dickhead!”
But he doesn’t even hang around to hear my rant. His face blanks and up the stairs he goes, leaving me to scream my abuse to no one.
CHAPTER TWO
FRIDAY
My captor returns an hour or so after I stop yelling. Something that happens due to a sore throat and eventually running out of expletives. I sincerely hope he sat upstairs and listened. Because the one about his marked resemblance to a goat’s genitals was honestly inspired.
The first full day of captivity is mostly pleasant, all things considered. Which is surprising. Breakfast is buttermilk pancakes. The man knows how to cook and makes a decent cup of coffee. Both important life skills. My silverware is a child’s silicone spoon. The chances of me successfully stabbing him with it are low. It would take a serious effort along with his cooperation to gouge his heart out with this sucker. And my coffee was served in a cardboard takeout cup, with the pancakes on a paper plate. He’s thought through this hostage situation. Nothing he’s given me can be used against him as a weapon.
I am doing my best to stay calm. It’s sort of working.
The bathroom is small, with modern white tiling. Just room enough for a shower, basin, cupboard, and toilet. An array of products have been left for me. There’s even some decent skin care. Dean didn’t cheap out on anything. Guess if you’re expecting the world to end, there’s no need to worry about credit card debt. No cameras in the bathroom that I can find, thank fuck. Cleaning my teeth, brushing my hair, and applying deodorant have me feeling at least half human.
