Page 8 of Theta

"And they never come in? Just open the door, shine the light, leave the tray?"

“So far, yeah." I wait until the sound of footsteps has receded before crossing the space carefully, using memory to guide me across the container. I find the trays—a plastic bottle of warm water, a much-too-soft apple, some sort of sliced meat that feels a bit too slippery, and rice. I hope it's rice. It’s not moving, at least.

"The food…?" Story asks, tentatively. “Is it…?"

"I mean, it's pretty fucking awful, but I haven't gotten sick from it."

"Where are you?"

“Here."

"Where?"

"Here."

I hear her tentative steps, and I put my hand out. She bumps into me and her hand finds mine, clutches, and I guide her around the trays. She sits beside me with her back to the wall near the door. She's close—knee and thigh touching mine. I feel her moving, assessing the food.

“Oh, ew. The meat is slimy." I hear a sniff. "Smells okay, though."

"Not like we have much choice," I say. “As I said, I haven’t gotten sick from it yet, and it’s been a few days at least."

"Try nearly two weeks, Killian."

"What?" I feel faint, and I'm glad I'm sitting down. "Two weeks?"

"Yup."

"Holy shit."

"You've been in here the whole time?"

"Almost, yeah. I was taken from Zermatt the day after Bryn disappeared. At first we just thought she was fucking with us. She does that. She'll sneak off to do her own thing. Especially after Zero died. But she's never gone long, and after that thing with the photo that got posted, she's more careful. But then she didn't come back and it was more than twelve hours. So I called Mom and Dad. Cal and I waited around the lodge, but then eventually we figured we had to look for her. So we had our guards drive around Zermatt. Like, maybe she got lost or something, y'know? We checked the hospital, the police, everywhere. We even went to the nearest club, which is where she'd have gone. The bouncer I talked to remembered her, because duh, it's Bryn. She went into the club, but he doesn’t remember her leaving. Roger even got their security guy to show him the footage, and you can see her going in the front door, but she never leaves. Through that door, at least." I swallow hard. "Cal and I had split up. He went to check internet cafes while I tried the train and bus stations. Roger is sort of…intimidating, you know? So I convinced him to stay in the car while I ran into the bus station and looked around and asked the ticket people if they'd seen her. When I…when I got back to the car." My voice gives out and I try again. "When I got back to the car, Roger was dead. Someone had shot him in the forehead. Blew his brains all over the back seat." I push my index finger into the pitifully small pile of rice. “And then I felt a jab in the side of my neck, and then I woke up hogtied in the backseat of a car in a port somewhere. I only saw a quick glimpse of the water and container ships and a river cruise ship, and then they put me under again and I woke up here."

She tells me about going to her car after her shift and being taken, and waking up here.

"And you have no idea where we are?" Story asks, then. "Like, no clue?"

“No. I have no way of knowing how long I was out. Whatever they used to knock us out is powerful shit, if you stayed unconscious all the way from Minnesota. My guess is the Mediterranean or the European coast of the Atlantic somewhere. I also only got a very quick glimpse of the port."

"We have to do something, though, Killy. We can't just let them kidnap us."

"I know, and I agree, and I have every intention of escaping," I tell her. "But we're on a boat. Where are we going to go? Off the side? The draft will drag you under and keelhaul you and then mince you up in the prop. And if you can get away from that, we swim…where? And they're armed. I think they get bored and shoot stuff because I've heard both fully automatic weapons and pistols. Escaping while on this boat is not a tenable plan, Story."

She sighs, although it's more of a hiss. "Yeah, I guess you're right. I just don't like it."

I laugh. "Yeah, I'm not a huge fan of it either. But I'm even less of a fan of being shot or drowned or chopped to pieces by a giant propeller."

I hear her chewing. "Ew. I don't know what this meat is and I don't want to know."

"Right?"

She gags. "If I wasn't already so starved, I probably wouldn’t eat this, but I was at the end of a sixteen-hour shift when I got snatched, and I haven't eaten since before my shift started."

"We'll need our strength for the getaway anyway," I point out. "But yeah, it's pretty nasty."

"Do you think it's rat?" she asks.

I stop chewing. "Wow. I've been trying really fucking hard to not think that. Thanks, Story. Really."