Six(15)

Dresser with another rabbit eared TV, small table with two chairs, and to complete the out-of-time look, a rotary phone.

I hadn’t seen one of those since my grandmother had one twenty years ago.

How the hell did he find these places? I didn’t think they existed anymore.

“Dear Syfy, I’ve found a hole in space and time. Possibly the Lost Room or its cousin, room 11.”

He turned to me. “What are you babbling about?”

I ignored him as something about the room was off. “Only one bed?”

“If you have a problem with it, I don’t care.”

My lips formed a thin line. “Right.” Not like we hadn’t shared a bed before. Only then, the hotel was much nicer and so was he.

I stood for a moment, taking in my new circle of hell and the fact that I’d be sleeping directly next to the psychopath. Which led me to the realization that he never slept the night before. It had to have been a six or seven hour drive from where we were.

As he rifled through his duffle, I looked him over. He didn’t look tired, but maybe he was an insomniac. Maybe insomnia led to his psycho-ness.

Or maybe he was just psycho.

My focus moved to his face. The empty, black void of emotion. Was he really the same charismatic man who swept me off my feet?

Maybe he had split personality disorder. Simon was the sexy, charming personality, while Six was the killer. There could be other personalities, even good ones.

“In the chair.”

My gaze snapped to his, and my shoulders slumped. “Oh, God, not again with the tape and the chair!”

He didn’t budge. Instead, he pulled out his gun and motioned with it for me to sit.

Reluctantly, because what else was I going to do, I walked over and sat down. It was a similar type of chair as the day before, so once again he taped my forearm at the elbow, my wrists, my ankles, and my calves to the frame.

“Can you at least turn the TV on this time?”

He slapped a piece of tape over my mouth, made sure it was good and sealed, then grabbed hold of the chair to angle me toward the TV. Going over, he grabbed the remote and turned it on, then handed it to me.

“I’ll be back.”

I rolled my eyes and tried to talk. “Bwng fud.”

He nodded, seeming to understand me, and walked out the door, locking it.

The TV sucked, big time. There were only half a dozen channels, and most of them had terrible signal. The antenna the motel had was obviously shit, and I was left with a staticy mess of nothing but crappy daytime television.

Leaving it on some morning talk show, I contemplated my new surroundings and how I was going to make my way out of them.

One thing I could possibly manage was getting the tape off my mouth. While I highly doubted screaming was going to get me any help in the backwoods of Georgia where no one could hear me, I’d at least be more comfortable.

Using my shoulder, I rubbed against the corner of the tape, loosening the edge. It took some time, and some alternating of shoulders, but I eventually managed to work it off.

After that, I tried to see if the same was possible on my arms and legs, but that was quickly answered with a big fat no.

It didn’t take long for boredom to become sleepiness and for the remote to slip from my fingers onto the floor when I began dozing in and out. Add in my lack of food or drink in nearly twenty-four hours, and I started getting drowsy loopiness.

When Six came back many hours later, I was ready to invoke my inner zombie and bite into him.

“Come here so I can eat your arm,” I said as he walked into the room.

His brow quirked up as well as the corner of his lips, an almost smile making the sadist appear near human. Either he was amused by my comment, or the fact that I bested his tape over my mouth.

After setting a few brand new duffels on the bed, he produced a paper bag with the familiar golden arches and delicious smelling contents that had my stomach making the loudest grumbles I’d ever heard. He reached in and pulled out a few fries, and I opened my mouth like a baby bird.

Then he put the fries in his mouth while he looked at me.

The excitement in me drained, reformulating itself into anger. “Fucker.”

“You’re feisty today.”

“Oh, you’re talking to me like a human?”

Joking and sarcasm were my steady companion and defense mechanism. Without them, I didn’t want to think about the broken, frightened girl I’d be. It was the strength I needed to get to the next minute.

He stared at me, then pulled more fries out, holding them in front of me. I gave him my best evil eye as I leaned forward. The farther I craned my neck, the more he retracted. The blood in my veins began to boil, and I was in no mood to play games.

“Assho—mmph!”

He shoved the fries in my mouth before I could finish the insult. However, my anger couldn’t overcome the euphoria of food, of the taste of salt on my tongue, and I greedily chomped them down.

Once done, he held a bottle of water to my lips, tilting it back. Some of it spilled out of the corners of my mouth, but I didn’t care and I moaned, gulping down half the bottle, chasing it as he pulled it back.

“You know, it would be easier if you’d just cut me loose.”

“No. But I will cut the tape.”

Oh, he’s quick.

I hadn’t even thought about the double meaning of my words.