Tabula Rasa(25)

The cat probably did have a name for him... it was just some version of a meow that didn’t translate straight to English.

“I thought sociopaths killed small animals.” I don’t know why I felt the need to say that. It was out of my mouth before I could stop it. It seemed unwise now that it was out there—like making unappreciated commentary on someone’s handicap.

He gave me a dark look. “You watch too much TV.”

“I don’t remember ever watching TV.” Except the movies at the castle. He must have forgotten the amnesiac trapped in a theme park for months situation.

“You must have watched it at some point. Where else would you get your ideas about sociopaths? The abnormal psychology fairy?”

Had he just made a joke? Possibly his second in the space of a couple of minutes? It was so odd even thinking about him making a joke. I swear his face just had that one expression. I wasn’t sure how he got on in life without every single person near him clearing a big wide path in terror. I thought sociopaths were supposed to be outwardly charming. He was really attractive, but I wasn’t sure I’d call him in any way charming.

“There are plenty of low-level sociopaths in the world who get a lot of evil accomplished with very little feeling involved. More than you’d care to know about have wives, kids, dogs. For most, those things are camouflage.”

“Is your cat camouflage?”

Shannon shrugged. “Not a lot of things make me feel things. When they do, I don’t let them go.”

I’d made him feel something.

I couldn’t bring myself to ask more. He already seemed like he’d hit his human interaction quota for the day, and more frightening than making him feel something where he wouldn’t let me go, was not making him feel something so he would. I was sure with Shannon, letting someone go was pretty much final.

When I was finished shopping, he ushered me out of the office and locked the door.

“I have to finish cleaning up. I’m going to lock you in for a while.”

“I... um... finish cleaning up?”

Shannon looked at me like I was a mental patient. “The body?”

“Oh.” I’d somehow almost forgotten about Trevor’s charred remains. “Okay.”

"I'll get your... toiletries while I'm out."

When I was alone, I finally had time and space to think. I searched the house. Nothing weird anywhere. There were a few locked doors, including what I thought was probably Shannon’s bedroom on the second floor. There was no land line phone anywhere in the house, and no computer outside the now-locked office.

The white cat followed me from room to room yowling in an irritated fashion like she was going to tell on me for checking things out. But everything looked normal. So normal, in fact, that for a moment I could pretend that Shannon was just a regular nice guy and that all the nasty business with Trevor had never happened.

But it had happened. Intellectually I knew I should be searching for a way to escape, but I couldn't bring myself to believe that a man who wanted me dead would have just spent so much money buying me new clothes.





Chapter Five


Eventually, we settled into something resembling a routine. I finally stopped fearing that he’d throw me down and take my imagined virtue, or that he’d kill or otherwise harm me. Shannon treated me like I was his roommate—his deadbeat mooch of a roommate who didn’t pay rent. I actually started to feel guilty about it. I was wearing clothes he’d bought, using his water and electricity, eating his food, invading his space. And so far he hadn’t asked for anything in return.

But still I felt like it was coming. I expected any day now to see some version of an invoice slipped under my door with a demand for immediate payment.

This invasion was clearly uncomfortable for him—like my existence interrupted the flow of his space, like I’d thrown off the feng shui or something. But he didn’t comment on it. He didn’t act like he was going to get rid of me. The cat followed him everywhere, shooting me dirty looks whenever she passed by. If anybody was planning my demise, it was that freaky nameless cat.

So far, despite Shannon’s promise, I hadn’t left the house yet, even though my hair had been short and black for two weeks now instead of its previous long blonde. My eyes were now chocolate brown instead of blue. Or they would be if I ever left the house and wore the contacts. They mainly just sat in their case. A part of me doubted I’d even remember to put them in if and when he ever let me venture outside.

When I looked in the mirror, I felt like even more of a stranger to myself, as if a new wave of amnesia would come along and drag me under its empty dark water, erasing everything before I’d met Shannon.

He left during the day sometimes. Not every day, but most days. And it wasn’t a set schedule like he was going to the nine-to-five grind. Sometimes he was gone when I woke. Sometimes I was sure he left in the middle of the night. Sometimes he left around noon. There was no set schedule, no rhyme or reason. I’d asked once or twice where he went, and he would say, “to the gym”.

I think he probably did go to the gym sometimes. Sometimes he was dressed for it. And there was a gym bag that often left with him. Being as paranoid as he seemed to be about everything, it wouldn’t surprise me if he constantly varied his routine, working out at bizarre hours to throw whoever off this trail.