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“Wait,” I said. “You’re going to let me go, right? I won’t… I won’t tell anyone. I promise, I swear I won’t.”
He paused in the doorway and looked back at me.
“Come downstairs, Colleen Colley,” he said. “We need to talk.”
He disappeared around the corner without another word.
I felt a sob rip itself from my chest. I clenched my jaw and nearly bit my tongue open forcing the tears away. I wouldn’t cry, not right now. I had to keep myself together or else I wasn’t going to get through this.
At the very least, I knew he didn’t want me dead, not yet. If he wanted me to die, he would’ve finished me last night while I was unconscious. That meant he had some other use for me, and maybe it would be worse than death, but I couldn’t let myself go down that road just yet.
I stood up, took a few deep, calming breaths, then walked to the bedroom door.
I stood and looked down a short hall. The floors were a light brown wood and looked new. The walls were a light beige color. There was an end table to the left in front of a mirror, and flowers sat in a vase on top of it. There was another door across from mine, another door beyond that, and a staircase leading down at the far right end of the hall.
I walked to the stairs. There was another door on the right, a bathroom on the left, and stairs leading up in the far left corner. I hesitated at the top of the steps leading down, but slowly took them, inching my way forward. My shoulder hurt with each step, but it wasn’t so bad and I forced myself to ignore the pain.
The downstairs surprised me. It was bright and airy. The front window curtains were pushed back, and the early morning sun streamed inside. There were low leather couches with big, fluffy cushions, a flat screen television mounted on the wall, and an industrial style coffee table on top of a gray rug with red and blue geometric patterns.
I looked to the left and saw a long wooden kitchen table, some bookshelves with leather bound books lined up in neat rows and a few framed pictures lining the walls. Beyond the table was the kitchen, and I spotted Steven standing in front of the stove, moving something over a burner.
I thought about running. I looked at the front door and saw that it had multiple locks, and they were all shut tight. Maybe I could rip the chains free, but I didn’t think I’d get it all unlocked before Steven ran in and grabbed me. I could scream and someone might hear, but I didn’t know what he’d do to me if I began to make problems.
So I turned and walked toward the kitchen. The smell of coffee and bacon filled the downstairs. I saw photographs of Steven when he was younger, arms around the shoulders of some other guys out in a park. There were more landscape photographs on the walls, and I got the sense that they were all taken by the same person.
He turned and looked at me. A small smile played at the corner of his full lips.
“Take a seat,” he said. “Want some food? I have bacon and eggs.”
“Bacon,” I said. “And coffee, please.”
He nodded and looked pleased. I decided that I’d play along, play nice for a little while, at least until I got my chance to get away.
He came over with a plate. Four strips of bacon sat in the middle, with some eggs to the side. He placed a fork down on the plate and a mug of black coffee to my left. Steam rose up from the plain dark blue mug.
“Milk in there,” he said, nodding at a tiny stainless-steel pitcher. “I can get you sugar.”
“That’s okay.” I poured some milk into my coffee, stirred with my fork, and sipped it. “Thank you.”
He nodded, got himself a heaping plate, and sat at the table across from me. He stared at his coffee for a long moment before drinking it black.
“Steven?” I asked.
He nodded. “Yeah.”
“Why am I here?” I bit my lip and stared at him, afraid he’d get angry.
But he just looked up and seemed exhausted.
“I understand you’re confused,” he said. “This is a little… unorthodox.”
“That’s putting it mildly. You kidnapped me. You shot me. I think… I think you killed some men.”
He sighed. “I wish you hadn’t just said that.”
“I’m sorry,” I said, fear spiking again. I leaned back in my chair, eyes wide. “It’s okay, I just, I didn’t see anything. I don’t know anything. You can just… please, you can just let me go.”
“That’s the problem,” he said, sipping his coffee again. “I really can’t.”
I had to dig my fingers into the gray cloth-wrapped chair to keep myself from freaking out too much. He looked at me, his face calm, his eyes tired, and he tilted his head.
