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"Eat," he rumbled at me while dropping a bottle of water before moving toward Chris to drop a plate, then finally, Mary.
With that and nothing else, he moved back up the stairs at an annoyingly carefree pace.
Click, slide, click.
My body seemed unable to come back down from the surge of fear - and the accompanying adrenaline - making me feel shaky and cold all over.
"Eat," a voice demanded, making my head shoot up, finding Chris sitting up, cringing slightly as her body shifted to reach for the plate. "You don't know the next time they'll give us food," she added, gaze lowered.
That seemed like fair advice since a couple of days had clearly passed already, and this was the first food I had seen.
As much as I wanted to engage Chris, wanted to try to keep her here with me, my stomach let out another growl, dragging my gaze down to the plate, noticing for the first time a pile of scrambled eggs and a single piece of toast cut in half, spread with butter soggying the bread.
I reached for it like the half-starving girl I was, digging in with a claw hand since there were no utensils available.
There was a moment of crippling fear that the food was laced with something that would make me like Mary, barely able to find her mouth as she ate, but once I started, there was no stopping it as the hunger overtook me. I barely even registered that all of it was stone cold and overcooked, so intent on having a stomach with something in it.
I wiped my hand down the thigh of my dress, wishing for more, even though my stomach felt full to bursting already.
Leaning back into the wall, I sucked in a deep breath, almost a little upset with how much relief I felt right at that moment. There shouldn't have been any relief. I was shackled like property in a basement of a house full of men who violently beat and raped women, would set their eyes on me eventually.
How could a simple full stomach make a slow contentedness creep over me like it would at home in bed after a great night out with friends, or taking down one of my instructors who had proven impossible up to that point.
It was amazing what your body could find comfort in.
"You'll get used to it," Chris said, again initiating conversation, pulling me out of a pre-sleep daze.
"Used to what?"
"The spans between meals," she told me, slowly making her way through hers still, somehow bypassing the urge to hoover it like I had. "Your stomach will shrink, and it will hurt less."
"How often do they feed us?" I asked, almost not wanting to know the answer, but wanting to keep Chris talking, even if it was simply about the awfulness I had to look forward to.
"It depends. Every two or three days."
Every two or three days.
I wasn't sure I could ever get used to the grumbling of my stomach.
I hoped I wouldn't have to.
"Are you from the area?" I asked.
"I don't even know where we are," she admitted. And, well, neither did I actually. But unless I was passed out for longer than I realized in that trunk, I was pretty sure we were still in Jersey. "My mom and I lived in Farehold before she died. Then I was placed in a foster home in Hadlet."
"We were practically neighbors," I told her. Farehold was where the mall was, where Iggy, Heather, and I would walk for hours, buying cheap accessories, browsing the shelves at the bookstore, touring the food court. Hadlet was where the movie theater was, literally five minutes from Navesink Bank. "I live in Navesink Bank. Look," I said, voice going serious. "Do you know who The Henchmen are?" I asked.
"The bikers?"
"Yeah. What do you know about them?"
"That they're dangerous."
Fair enough.
"My father is the president," I told her, watching as her head jerked over, eyes always so empty suddenly working wildly.
"You're serious?"
"Yes. My dad is the president. My uncles are vice president and road captain. My aunt runs Hailstorm. They are looking for me right now. And they are going to find me. Find us."
It occurred to me then what a poor choice I had been for abduction.
Mary seemed alone in the world.
Chris had been in a foster family, and while I was sure they would have reported it, and the cops had done some looking, there was no one to spur the search on.
It was easy for the world not to miss women without loved ones.
My heart, what little was left of it anyway, ached at that realization, that so many women went missing, never to be heard from again, with next to no one looking for them, missing them, demanding answers.
But that didn't mean they were hopeless.
