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But that’sallthere is. A torso. Why would Red keep a woman’s bust on his kitchen table?
Dahmer did. He was obsessed with the male physique, to the point where he stole a store mannequin and hid it in his bed.
I summed up Red as nothing more than an intelligent sexual sadist…but this? This speaks of something far more disturbed.
Where the fuck is Charlotte?
I glance behind me, and my heart slams to a halt. Red is gone.
My entire body tingles with a rush of adrenalin. He’s obviously behind one of the tall pines scattered between the house and the lake, but I can’t shake the feeling that this is a trap. That he put a mannequin with dark hair just like Charlotte’s on display to lure me inside.
I look back at the island.
That’s one damn convincing wig. So neatly brushed, styled, arranged. This speaks of ritual. Of compulsion and obsession.
There’s no time to psychoanalyze this maniac, I have to find something to defend myself with before heading to the Toy Box. That’s where Charlotte is.
I veer to the left, grab a chef’s knife from the wooden block neatly positioned on the white granite counter beside the gas stove, and turn to head into the dining room.
The knife clatters to the floor, falling from nerveless fingers. I’ve never heard myself make a sound like the one I just did, a half-gasp, half-gag. But I’ve also never seen anything as sick, as depraved, as fuckinggrotesqueas what’s on the kitchen island.
My stomach heaves, and I barely manage to turn my head before puking on the glossy white tiles.
10
CHARLOTTE
The world shifts. There’s a very faint ache in the back of my head as Red pulls me up from the floor by my hair.
“That was a big hit,” he murmurs in my ear. “Is my little dolly going to make a mess on the floor?”
I smile, because this little doll doesn’t have a single fuck to give about Red and his demonic proclivities.
A big hit.
A hit of what? It’s insanely difficult to focus, but my mind drifts back to the feeling of a needle pricking my skin. He injected me with something. But why? Someone like him wouldn’t use a drug that made his captive feel this good. He’d want me to feel pain, terror. So why? Why is he giving me this relief?
Nausea wells up inside me, the first awful thing that I’ve felt since he injected me. It comes on hard and strong, my stomach clenching painfully. When I blink again, my head is being shoved into a toilet bowl.
Even throwing up is a transcendental experience, and what was an already pleasant high becomes as smooth as fucking butter. My entire body is warm and soft and relaxed. I can feel other things—the tight grip Red has on my arms as he draws me away from the toilet, the cool tiles under my bare feet—but those sensations are so easy to ignore, so easy to dismiss.
The best part is that I’m not scared anymore. I know I should be, but I just can’t find the energy to care. What will be, will be.
I collapse back against Red, and he holds me gently for a moment, fingering my hair, drawing it over my shoulder. His hand trails down my breast, cupping it, tweaking my nipple through the silly dress. I hover, weightless, as a slow smile spreads on my mouth.
“Feels good, doesn’t it?” he says, his deep voice sending a wave of pleasure through my body.
“So good,” I whisper.
I want to ask him what it is. I want to know what he’s going to do to me. But it’s so much nicer, so much easier, just to stand here and watch from a million hazy miles away as he starts undressing me.
Every time his fingers brush my skin, I let out a soft sound. He’s being so gentle, and I love it. I lovehim.I’m not even angry that he cracked my skull, and that the blood I smell in the air is coming from the back of my head. I don’t even mind that he’s probably going to fuck me now.
I think I might even want him to. But only if I don’t have to do any work. God, what I wouldn’t give to lie down in a warm little nest and just take a nap…
I’m in the living room downstairs, cuddled up on the couch with a warm mink blanket over my body. The furniture didn’t look comfortable, but my God, I could sleep for a year. Arrow is lying on my legs, her weight solid and so reassuring. I feel so safe, so happy. But where’s Gideon? There’s a fire flickering on the hearth, and it bathes me in warmth that sinks right into the marrow of my bones.
Dig, Charlotte. Dig until you see bone.I hear his voice, but I can’t see him. Where is he?
