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In the center of the room, there’s an old, worn farm table covered with white linens and sprinkled with rose petals in shades of pink and red. A crystal chandelier hangs above, illuminating everything with a soft glow. On either side of the room, two tall windows open up to reveal a picturesque view of rolling hills and starry night skies.
The chairs around it are intricately carved mahogany, and on each one is a decadent assortment of food: roasted vegetables on silver platters, freshly baked bread still warm from the oven, succulent fruits. Is this guy rich or what? How does he have all of this shit and who cooked and delivered all of it while he had a kidnapping victim drugged in a bedroom?
“Alana, my love. I’ve been waiting for this moment for so long. Do you like what I’ve prepared for us?” he asks excitedly.
I try to think about how he’d want me to react, but it’s hard. I know he wants me to enjoy the evening, so I need to make it believable.
“You really shouldn’t have done this all for me; we barely know each other. This looks like so much work,” I say.
I’m impressed with myself because my voice doesn’t shake at all when I speak. If I can just keep up the act, I’ll be able to convince him to trust me. Or at least keep me alive long enough so that I can be found.
He leans back, and the emotionless mask makes me feel queasy as it stares back at me. “That’s the beauty of it, Alana. We’re destined to be together. I’ve known that since the first time I saw you, and I know you better than anyone else ever could.”
I glance around the room and try to stay calm and composed. Hysterics aren’t going to work in my favor. I look to the left and see that there’s a bathroom with the door open, and I need a second to breathe, so I ask, “Would it be possible for me to use the restroom?”
He stands and helps me from my chair, “Of course, pet. I want you to be comfortable here with me. You should be able to use the restroom with these handcuffs. They’re much more breathable than the rope I used when I first brought you here. Eventually, restraints won’t even be necessary, but we’ll talk about that later.”
He gives me a gentle push and guides me to the restroom, his shoulder brushing against mine. He turns away, leaving me to my thoughts and sadness. Sitting on the toilet, I close my eyes and unscrew the lid of my emotions as I relieve myself, allowing a few silent tears to slide down my cheeks. I wasn’t going to make it out of here alive. My mom has probably noticed I’m missing by now, and I’ll never get to tell her or my dad how much I love them.
I’m yanked from my thoughts when his fist beats knocks against the bathroom door. “Alana, are you finished? We have much to celebrate tonight, and I’m anxious to get started with dinner. I know you have to be weak from not eating, and I need you at full strength for the days to come,” he calls from the other side.
I stand and wipe my hands on the checkered farm towels hanging from a hoop next to the sink and consider whether I should attempt to escape now while I have the chance. I have the element of surprise if I can just shove past him and make it to the front door. I’m not sure how fast I’ll be with my hands cuffed, but I’ll die trying if it means I can get this over with before he gets any more attached to me. I take a deep breath and try to figure out what I’m going to do. I shove my shoulders back and stand as tall as I can and try to look as confident as possible. I hope he’s swayed by my appearance, and I manage to surprise him.
“I’m ready,” I call out, and he opens the door and stands to the side, blocking my view of the front door.
I’m disappointed because I can’t tell what the distance is from here to there, and I know that I won’t be able to make it there before he grabs me. I’ll have to keep playing along with his games if I want to make it through the night.
“It’s about time,” he mutters, and I plaster a smile on my face.
“I’m sorry, I’ve been holding it for a couple hours. Thanks for letting me go alone. I’m glad you’re beginning to trust me.” I try to sound genuinely happy with him, and I feel bile rise up my throat from the fake candied voice I’m using with him.
He ushers me out of the bathroom and back to the dining room table. He pulls my chair out, and I take a seat, the handcuffs clinking against the wooden chair as I settle in. He moves around the room grabbing plates and filling them with an array of organic fruits and vegetables.
“I grew all of the vegetables in the garden outside. I can’t wait to take you out and show you around the farm,” he says happily.
He brings them to the table with a flourish, presenting each dish like it’s a masterpiece. He serves us both large portions of quinoa and kale salad with pickled onions, fennel, and roasted root vegetables on the side. I make sure to take small bites of each thing and feign excitement over how everything tastes, even though it’s all bland and flavorless.
“Time for our main course,” he announces as he pops open a bottle of dry white wine and pours us each a glass.
Then, he brings out individual plates of grass-fed steak medallions with wild mushrooms cooked in red wine sauce garnished with fresh herbs. The steak is vastly underdone for my taste; it looks blue-rare. I don’t know how he’d react if I protest, so I keep quiet and begin to cut it up into small pieces.
“When are you going to let me see your face?” I ask, careful to keep my tone neutral so I don’t piss him off.
He’s been watching me eat while his own food sits untouched and grows colder by the second. He stares at me for a few seconds, then answers, “After dinner, I have a surprise to show you. After we finish up, I’ll make sure to let you see the real me.”
What the fuck is the surprise?I ask myself as I chew a small bite of the chewy, flavorless steak. I’m terrified to find out, but I know that each second that ticks by brings me closer to finding out. We sit quietly while I finish chewing, and he just sits there. His eyes never leave me, and I swear he hasn’t blinked in fifteen minutes.
He begins clapping his hands together as he stands. “Come now, let’s see the surprise!”
Once he helps me stand, we walk into the kitchen toward a door partially hidden by the refrigerator. He stops in front of it and sweeps his hand toward the door to show me we’ll be going inside. Something about the way he’s standing makes me sick to my stomach, and I know whatever is on the other side of that door isn’t going to be pleasant. The door creaks open, and my eyes take a few seconds to adjust to the absence of light.
It’s a dimly lit garage, and I tremble as he nudges me forward to step into the darkness. One side of the garage seems to be completely empty, and the other side has a handful of dusty, forgotten boxes on the floor. Everything is covered in a film of dust and grime, and the smell of mildew makes it difficult to breathe. He flips a light switch, and a single light bulb clicks to life on the empty side of the garage.
The feeble light is bright enough for me to make out the shape of a person laying on the cold, cracked concrete floor. I cautiously step further into the garage, and my footsteps echo loudly in the cavernous space. I can feel my own heartbeat thumping wildly in my chest, and the shadows in the garage seem to writhe and twist with a malevolent intent.
I hear chains clinking, and my eyes are drawn to the figure on the floor. I see handcuffs connected to a foot-long chain toward the corner, and I see a tattooed arm exposed and stretched painfully. I gasp in shock and cover my mouth with my bound hands.
I cry out, “Andreas?”
