Abandoned in Death (In Death, #54)(3)

She liked to dance, liked sappy, romantic vids, preferred sweet wines to dry, and had a weakness for her paternal grandmother’s—Nonna’s—sugar cookies.

She reminded herself of all this and more—her first date, how she’d broken her ankle skiing (first and last time)—every day. Multiple times a day.

It was essential she remember who she was, where she came from, and all the pieces of her life.

Because sometimes everything got twisted and blurred and out of sync, and she started to believe him.

She’d been afraid he’d rape her. But he never touched her that way. Never touched her at all—not when she was awake.

She couldn’t remember how she’d gotten here. The void opened up after Teeg ditched her, and all the shouting, and the bitching, her walking home from the bar, half-drunk, unhappy. Berating herself for haunting the damn stupid bar he owned, putting in hours helping out four, even five nights a damn stupid week.

For nothing but one of his killer smiles.

Then she’d woken up here, feeling sick, her head pounding. In the dark, chained up—like something in a horror vid—in a dark room with a cot.

Then he’d come, the man, looking like someone’s pale and bookish uncle.

He turned on a single light so she saw it was a basement, windowless, with concrete floors and walls of pargeted stone. He had sparkling blue eyes and snow-white hair.

He set a tray holding a bowl of soup, a cup of tea on the cot and just beamed at her.

“You’re awake. Are you feeling better, Mommy?”

An accent, a twangy southern one with a child’s cadence. She needed to remember that, but in the moment, she’d known only panic.

She’d begged him to let her go, wept, pulled against the shackles on her right wrist, left ankle.

He ignored her, simply went to a cupboard and took out clothes. He set them, neatly folded, on the bed.

“I know you haven’t been feeling good, but I’m going to take care of you. Then you’ll take care of me. That’s what mommies do. They take care of their little boys.”

While she wept, screamed, demanded to know what he wanted, begged him to let her go, he just kept smiling with those sparkling eyes.

“I made you soup and tea, all by myself. You’ll feel better when you eat. I looked and looked for you. Now here you are, and we can be together again. You can be a good mommy.”

Something came into those eyes that frightened her more than the dark, than the shackles.

“You’re going to be a good mommy and take care of me the way you’re supposed to this time. I made you soup, so you eat it! Or you’ll be sorry.”

Terrified, she eased down on the cot, picked up the spoon. It was lukewarm and bland, but it soothed her raw throat.

“You’re supposed to say thank you! You have to tell me I’m a good boy!”

“Thank you. I—I don’t know your name.”

She thought he’d kill her then. His face turned red, his eyes wild. His fisted hands pounded together.

“I’m your baby darling. Say it! Say it!”

“Baby darling. I’m sorry, I don’t feel well. I’m scared.”

“I was scared when you locked me in a room so you could do ugly things with men. I was scared when you gave me things to make me sleep so you could do them. I was scared when I woke up sick and you weren’t there, and it was dark and I cried and cried.”

“That wasn’t me. Please, that wasn’t me. I— You’re older than me, so I can’t be your mother. I didn’t—”

“You go to hell for lying! To hell with the devil and the fire. You eat your soup and drink your tea or maybe I’ll leave you all alone here like you left me.”

She spooned up soup. “It’s really good. You did a good job.”

Like a light switch, he beamed. “All by myself.”

“Thanks. Ah, there’s no one here to help you?”

“You’re here now, Mommy. I waited a long, long time. People were mean to me, and I cried for you, but you didn’t come.”

“I’m sorry. I … I couldn’t find you. How did you find me?”

“I found three. Three’s lucky, and one will be right. I’m tired now. It’s my bedtime. When you’re all better, you’ll tuck me into bed like you should have before. And read me a story. And we’ll sing songs.”

He started toward the door. “The wheels on the bus go round and round.” He looked back at her, the face of a man easily sixty singing in the voice of a child. “Good night, Mommy.” That fierceness came back into his eyes. “Say good night, baby darling!”

“Good night, baby darling.”

He closed the door behind him. She heard locks snap into place.

She heard other things in the timeless void of that windowless room. Voices, screaming, crying. Sometimes she thought the voices were her own, the screams her own, and sometimes she knew they weren’t.

But when she called out, no one came.

Once she thought she heard banging on the wall across the room, but she was so tired.

She knew he put drugs in the food, but when she didn’t eat, he turned off all the lights and left her in the dark until she did.

Sometimes he didn’t speak with the child’s voice, the accent, but with a man’s. So reasonable, so definite.