The fabric breaks and the tension eases.

“Pretty good. Those pokes were on purpose. If you’d moved, there’d be slices.”

I say nothing.

“Let’s do the other one.”

He pokes me again. More than he did with the first leg. But this time I stay still. I let him do whatever he needs to. I can smell myself now. Blood, and piss, and sweat, and fear. I don’t know how long I’ve been here, but the stench coming off me says it’s more like days than hours.

“And now the pretty panties.” He cuts those easily, one snip over each hip. “And the nightie.” One cut on each shoulder strap and then he sets the knife down, grabs my breasts for a moment, giving them a hard squeeze, before ripping the front of the nightie straight down the middle.

I am naked. I am bare. And never in my life have I ever been so happy to be in the dark. I sob, as silently as I can, as he walks around.

The room goes silent and I admonish myself for not paying attention. Did he leave? Is he still here? Why didn’t I pay attention?

The silence drags on as I lie there. Then a roar fills the room and I recognize it as the sound of water running through pipes.

A moment later I hear his boots. He was gone. That makes me feel better. He’s creepy enough. I don’t want to start imagining him as some psycho who stands in the dark pretending to not be here.

“I’m gonna clean you up, Sydney. You reek pretty bad.”

I don’t know why, but an image of a warm sponge bath presents in my mind.

That’s when he blasts me with the hose. A punishing stream of ice water that hits my body like a thousand stones. I scream, I can’t help it. It hurts. I turn my body away, so that the left side of me takes the most punishment, but he doesn’t linger in one spot for too long. He blasts me everywhere. Even between my legs.

That’s it. I sob uncontrollably. It hurts so much. My whole body is on fire from the raging water hose.

But then, as quickly as it started, it turns off. I can hear the water in the pipes still, so I know it’s only temporary.

“I’m going to wash you now.” And even though it was my first image when he said that earlier, I’m more surprised at the hot rag dragging down my skin at this point than I was the fire hose.

He is gentle. He dips the washcloth into a tub of water, squeezes it out, and then caresses my whole body with it. He washes me everywhere. But there is no hint of sexual meaning behind this gesture. He never says a word and neither do I. He just swipes away the filth of me and replaces it with something new. Something fresh.

“I need to use the bathroom,” I say, hoping he will untie me and give me some clothes.

“I have to rinse you off now. Feel free to relieve yourself as I do it.”

“How?” I ask, before I can stop myself. “Please, not that hose!” I choke on a sob as the word comes out.

The ice water is my only response. It pelts me, erasing any soothing sensation from the washing. I close my eyes tight and let him do it this time. The piss leaks out of me from the fear and the need. I don’t even try to move my body away. What’s the point? I’m spreadeagled on top of a wooden table. I’m going nowhere. He’s made that very clear.

I lose time from the punishment, but eventually it does stop. I am not even crying now. I’m freezing. I’m in pain. I’m scared. I’m hungry. And I have no fight left. A chill runs up my body and I take deep breaths to keep the cold from taking over.

His footsteps appear again. Only this time they are not boots. Bare feet.

He comes up next to the table and stands quietly.

My whole body begins to shake uncontrollably again. My teeth chatter and all my muscles tense up as the fear takes over.

“Are you cold?” he asks.

I can’t even make myself relax enough to answer, but I grunt out a response to keep him happy.

And then his hand is on my stomach. It’s so warm, like he just pulled it back from a fire. Nothing—and I do mean nothing—has ever felt so good to me.

“Is that better?” he asks.

I nod and open my eyes. It’s still black in this room. But I don’t want him to pull his hand away. It’s the only place on my whole body that feels good right now. And then he lays his chest over mine. His whole body feels like it was warmed from a fire. I crave the heat. I need it so bad.

“Do you want me to stay here with you? Wrap you in my arms and warm you up?”

“Yes,” comes out immediately. There is no hesitation.

He climbs onto the table and presses his body next to me for a moment. Then he sits up and leans forward. The tension holding my left leg open wide disappears. The same thing happens on the right side.

I close my legs and bring them up to my chest, trying to get warm. But he gently repositions them. He slides his body up next to mine and we scissor our legs together. He’s bare-chested, but he still has his jeans on. His arms wrap around my waist and he pulls me in tight against his body.

Everything else disappears. The thirst. The humiliation. The smell. The hunger. The cutting. The bath. The cold. It all goes away in a single moment. The moment when Merric Case leans in my ear and whispers in a deep throaty growl, “I own you. I think you forgot that, Sydney. But I’m patient. I will remind you. Over and over. Until you come to terms with what that means and I can finish what I started eight years ago.”

“Do I believe in right and wrong? Sure. As long as we understand I’m always right.”

– Case

She lies completely still as the words sink in. Silent. I reach up and pinch her nipple, making her squeal. “I never talk for the sake of hearing myself, Sydney. When I talk, even if there is no question, you will respond to me. You can choose the way in which you respond. I’ll correct you if it’s wrong. But you will always respond.”

“OK,” she whimpers.

“Now that you’re comfortable”—she lets out a tiny huff of air to let me know she disagrees, but I ignore it this time—“let’s talk about Garrett. Where is he?”

“You killed him.”

“I did not kill him. But I’d very much like to.”

“He disappeared years ago. And if you’ve been watching me, and I know you have, then you already know this.”

She’s brave, I’ll give her that. Because that was a statement of defiance. Arrogant, almost. But she is also stupid.

I sit up and remove my body heat from her. She takes a few quick breaths, but then calms herself and whispers, “Wait.”

“Too late, cowgirl. Or should I just start calling you wildcat? Hmmm? Too fucking late. You’ll learn. Eventually.”

I get off the table and walk over to the water hose and turn it on again.

She does not move as I spray her a third time. But she bites her lip hard enough to draw blood and when I turn the water off, she is practically convulsing, she is so cold.

I drop the hose on the floor and walk back over to her.

“I thought you killed him, Case. I swear to God. I thought you killed him and my father. I don’t know where he is.”

“I did kill your father. Right here on this table.” That makes her whimper. “But Garrett got away. Where did he go and what is he doing?”

She squints her eyes and shakes her head a little. But she knows what will come if she doesn’t answer now. She knows I’m not fucking around. I’m not here to coddle her through this. I’m not here to pry it out of her. So she gulps down some air and responds.

“Maybe he went to our cabin?”

“I checked. And then I burned it down.” She sucks in a breath at that. And why does she care? It makes me wonder. It pisses me off, actually. “So try again.”

“Camping somewhere?” she offers.