“Where?”

“The campsites don’t have names that make sense to anyone but us. I could show you—”

“Wrong. Try your best, Sydney. Tell me where he camps and I won’t have to spray you again.”

She draws up her knees, since her legs are still untied, trying to cover herself from the thought of the ice-cold water. And then she squints her eyes again. I realize this means she’s thinking. But I haven’t had enough personal contact with her to discern if it means she’s thinking up a lie or just regular thinking.

“Always up in Yellowstone. Purple Mountain is where we start. And then we veer off at the second switchback, and continue to climb to the top of the mountain, and then double back on the opposite side. There’s a deer trail—”

“Do you think he’s there?”

“No,” she answers immediately, and I smile.

“No, he’s not. I followed the two of you there several times. So I’ve checked, and had others check, repeatedly over the years. Where else?”

She continues to list their camping spots and each time she says no to my question. I know he’s not camping, but this gives her time to think about how she wants this to go. And since I’m a reasonable guy, I give her this time.

“That all?” I ask, when she’s finally done. Her teeth have been chattering for so long I think she’s probably losing weight before my eyes, that’s how tense her muscles are.

“That’s it, Case. I swear.” It comes out Cccc-aaaase and swww-eeee-aar.

I believe her. I’ve checked all of them several times over the years. It’s like the man really does know how to vanish. Of course, the world is big and I am just one person. I have a partner, but even two people can miss a few places when you have to cover the whole earth looking for someone.

But none of this makes any sense. And it’s all pointless right now anyway. I’m only here to establish control, and I think I’ve succeeded in doing that. “Well, I’m tired. And hungry. So you get some rest.”

I reach into my pocket and withdraw the syringe, uncapping it with a flick of my thumb, and press it into the fleshy muscle of her upper arm. “You can sleep too. But food, Sydney, food is a reward. Not a right. You can go a few more days before I really need to feed you.”

She whimpers, but cuts it off almost immediately. “I’m cold.”

“You’re supposed to be.”

“Pppp-lease,” she stutters, her lips trembling and her legs shaking. “Warm me again. Please.”

I place my hand over her belly like I did earlier, and she relaxes with a long breath of air. “I like to see you suffer, Sydney. Make no mistake. I didn’t warm you earlier to make you happy. I did it to confuse you. I’ll give you a tip. To help you get through the next few days before I kill you—”

“No,” she says, begging. “No, please.”

“I hate your fucking guts. I have been dreaming about killing you for years. Just like I dreamt about how I’d kill your father. I tortured him on top of this very table. It’s stained with his blood. And yours will add to it. So if you want it to go easy, do what you’re told. Don’t lie. And don’t expect me to give a shit. Because I’m more than happy to fuck with your head for a few days as I pry this information out of you. Information I know you have. And I will get it.”

She cries then. Full-on sobs. I wait for the drugs to take over and then I cut the rope that binds her to the wall at the head of the table. She tries to sit up and fails, and then the sleepiness overtakes her pathetic attempt at a fight and she curls into herself like a baby, desperate to find some warmth.

I take a deep breath and walk over to the hose, roll it up and place it on the hook in the connecting utility room, then close and lock the door behind me. I remove my night vision goggles before I flip on the light, and then I place those in the little cubby of gear before walking through the next door and back out into my cabin.

It’s cold in this room. I’ve been with her for at least two hours so the fire has died down. I throw some wood on it and change out of my wet clothes and stir the stew that’s been cooking over the flame all day to stimulate her hunger response. I spoon some into a camping bowl and sit down on the couch a few feet away from the hearth and eat.

When I’m done I stretch out, pulling the bearskin that hangs over the back of the couch over me, and I think about what to do next.

I think up all the ways I might break her. I have no shortage of ways. But even though I knew how I’d kill her father, Senator Channing, from the moment he fucked with my life, I have no such plan for Sydney. I have run it all through my mind over and over again, but how to do it so it’s satisfying? I’m not sure.

Strangulation during sex is currently at the top of my list. But I’ve always enjoyed slitting throats. It’s quick, which I hate. But messy, which I love.

Then there is my specialty, of course. Assassination-style. Bullet to the back of the head.

I don’t know. I can’t decide. If I get her to take me to Garrett, I could do them both each way. I know exactly how I’m gonna kill that motherfucker.

I smile at the thought and then I turn over and close my eyes, enjoying the warm fire and the stew in my stomach.

It surprises me how satisfied I am with her first real day of questioning. I broke her quickly. A lot quicker than I expected. She’s grown weak, perhaps. He beat her down pretty good, but his absence makes her weak. He must know this. She’s been away from him. Living her seemingly normal life in Cheyenne. Running her little country western bar. Theme nights and live bands replaced her militia training.

But that shit never goes away, I remind myself. It might get rusty. You forget what it feels like to live minute by minute, struggling to go on. But it comes back quick enough if the training is done right.

And her training was exceptional. Garrett knew exactly what he was doing when he took her away that night they tried to kill me. He knew. He set me up then and he’s setting me up now. I can feel it. Something is off. Something is wrong.

Maybe he’s good enough to evade me all these years and get away with it. He was trained better than me, that’s for sure. He was a Company kid and I was just a stand-in after the rest of the assassins were picked off one at a time by a friend of mine. But I’m a natural, they tell me. I’m a natural killer. It’s all I’ve ever wanted to be.

A psychopath.

A cold, emotionless, empty shell of a man whose only goal in life is to kill this girl and the man who trained her, so I can set my world straight again.

“When all my power is stripped away, I still have choices. Like choosing not to give a shit. That’s a very powerful choice when a person thinks she has no power.”

– Sydney

When I wake my whole body hurts. Everywhere the high-pressure water touched me stings like I was burned. I’m untethered, but when I move my legs, the knife pricks erupt in pain. One alone is not enough to matter. But dozens of them all up the inside of my thigh are far, far harder to ignore.

I swallow and realize I’m thirsty again. He’s drugging me. The drugs make me confused. But I’ve always been thirsty. I drink a lot of water on normal days, and being deprived—

Wait. The sink is dripping again.

It’s drugged, my mind tells me.

But why drug it when I just woke up? No. He’s doing something with me. I’m not sure what, but it makes no sense that the water—

I’m cold, I suddenly realize. My whole body is shivering. My dark world comes fully back to me as I wake up from the fog. Everything is so cold, everything… except my feet. They are toasty warm.