Lily
I stare at the clothes Cason’s bought for me, still not understanding why he’d do this for someone he’s holding hostage. First, Doc tells me the guy doesn’t let people live, and now he buys me clothes so I don’t have to wear the same ones all week?
None of this sounds like how someone’s supposed to act when they keep someone captive. Also, none of it meshes with how he’s acted toward me every other moment of the time I’ve been with him. Not including when I burned my hand, which I don’t understand either.
He’s a violent killer, yet he’s worried about my comfort. Even more, he’s a jealous killer. Is he worried Doc or Nate might put a bullet in my brain before he gets the chance to?
None of this makes any sense.
I see by the hint of hurt in his expression that he expected me to react differently to his gesture, so I quickly regroup, pushing aside the pain in my hand to give him a smile. “This is so kind of you, Cason. I’m going to change into a new outfit right now.”
He focuses his attention on my face, as if he’s searching for some answer to a question he’s silently asking himself, so I make sure my smile is as genuine as possible. When I see his eyes lift to meet mine, I know he’s convinced by my acting.
“Wear the pink shirt. I want to see you in that first,” he says as I gather up the clothes to take to my room.
The killer likes pink. Okay. I can give him that. Anything to keep him from barking at me, or worse, threatening me with being tied up again.
I do as he commands and dress in the new pink shirt with my new yoga pants and underwear. Every pair is white, which seems strange. I haven’t worn white panties since I was a little girl, but the killer likes white underwear. Anything to make him happy.
When I return to his room wearing what he wants, he’s standing there in the middle of the floor waiting for me. His gaze travels down my body, like he’s examining his purchases, and then up again until it reaches my face. I make sure I’m smiling so he thinks I’m happy with what he’s done.
In truth, I’m a mixture of baffled and terrified. I don’t understand why a man holding me hostage would give a single damn what I’m wearing or if I’m wearing any clothes at all. Beneath that, though, is the real fear that his kindness is merely a prelude to some horrible thing he’s planning to do to me.
That’s how he seems to work. One minute he’s kind—or at least not awful—and then the next minute he does something that makes me think he’s grown tired of waiting to kill me and will put his gun to my head at any second. I hold my breath and wonder if this is my last moment in this life.
“Are they the right sizes?” he asks almost innocently, like he isn’t sure of what he’s done or if it’s the right thing.
“Yes, thank you,” I answer honestly.
He likely looked at the sizes inside my clothes, but I have no idea how he figured out what size underwear to get me. Half the time I don’t know what size to get since each brand seems different from all the others.
“Would you like to go outside and get some fresh air before it gets too cool out?” he asks in that same tone that reminds me of those boys he likes to reference every time he’s close to me.
My heart leaps at the idea of finally getting to go outside again, so I quickly nod my head. “Yes, I’d love that. Thank you!”
I don’t try to conceal the excitement in my voice, even as I hold my breath and wait for him to pull the rug out underneath me and bark that I can’t go out for some reason only he understands. But he doesn’t do that this time.
A rare smile forms on his lips, and he walks over toward where I stand near the door. “Then we’ll go outside for a little while.”
There’s something surreal about his behavior, but I don’t want to ruin my only chance at getting some fresh air today by second-guessing why he’s being so nice. He’ll stop, like he always does, but until then, I want to enjoy the tiny taste of freedom he allows me, even if it’s only getting to walk outside in the grass and getting to feel its coolness on my feet.
When we make our way out onto the porch, he sits down on the top step and waves me off, as if to say I have permission to go play. It reminds me of when my father would sit outside on our steps and watch me run around the yard when I was a little girl right after my mother died. All day, we’d stay inside as long-lost family and friends of my parents came to visit to pay their respects, but as the sun set and the two of us finally got to be alone, he’d brush my hair and make sure I was clean before taking my hand and walking me out to the porch.
“Time to play, Lily. Don’t worry. I’ll be right here, but you run around and tire yourself out so you can sleep tonight.”
He said the same thing every time. I never had trouble sleeping, even in those weeks after she died. Losing my mother exhausted me more than he could ever know. He couldn’t rest, though. Every morning he’d show up to the kitchen table looking like he hadn’t slept for even a few minutes, the dark circles and bags under his eyes evidence of how impossible sleep had become now that my mother wasn’t by his side each night. I was only a little girl, but I knew he looked tired.
I didn’t find out until years later that he never slept a whole night through again after she died.
Lost in memories about that time long ago, I don’t hear the footsteps of someone walking up the front sidewalk until out of the corner of my eye I see Cason jump up and begin walking toward me. Startled, I look around for any hint why he suddenly wants to be with me in the yard, and I see Doc standing there smiling.
“You finally got to come out, huh? Good for you,” he says with a broad grin that would make me want to smile in return at him if Cason hadn’t told me never to speak to him or Nate again.
I give him a slight nod and look away, directly into Cason’s eyes. Dark and angry, they look right past me to Doc.
“Why are you up here at the house again for the second time today? Some silent alarm we can’t hear keep going off, so you need to come scurrying up here to check it out?” he asks, his voice edged with a flintiness I’ve never heard him use before now.
Behind me, I hear Doc chuckle. “Actually, our boss wanted me to check on things every night, so here I am.”
Cason’s expression grows dark. Narrowing his eyes to squints, he practically growls as he listens to Doc’s explanation. “Well, you’ve already been up here today and you can see everything is fine, so get lost.”
I sense the tension between the two men and hold my breath, hoping Doc just goes away quickly, but then he speaks again and I know he’s ruined everything I’d hoped to enjoy with just one question.
“You okay, Lily? You don’t seem as talkative as this morning. You’re not still upset about that dish breaking, are you?”
I don’t turn around and answer him with as few words as possible. “I’m fine.”
But those two words are enough to make Cason’s eyes flash with rage.
He grabs my arm and tugs me toward the front door as he snaps, “Thanks for checking, Doc. We’re all fine here, so blow.”
I stumble up the front stairs he pulls me up them so fast. Flinging the door open, he nearly tears it off the hinges before shoving me inside the house and slamming the door behind him.
As much as I want to run away because I know what’s coming next, I stand perfectly still where I land, cowering next to the doorway that leads to the kitchen. All I wanted to do was get to enjoy the nice weather and feel the grass under my feet, but now that’s all ruined.
I don’t know who I blame more. Doc for asking his stupid question or Cason for taking out his dislike of him on me.
Cason marches over to where I stand and leans down so his face is level with mine. The rage in his eyes terrifies me like it always does, and I recoil in horror even before he starts to speak.
This time, though, he doesn’t yell. He doesn’t even raise his voice. In fact, it’s barely above a whisper but more frightening that way.
“So you broke a dish and Doc was kind enough to help you this morning? You neglected to tell me about that.”
Barely able to form words, I stutter out, “I—I did br—break a dish, but he didn’t help me with anything. He came in after it happened, and I cleaned it up all by my—my—myself, Cason.”
Grabbing my upper arm, he squeezes tightly, hurting me as he yanks me into the kitchen. He points at the garbage, and again in a voice barely above a whisper, he says, “I didn’t see any broken dish in there when I cleaned up the mess you made with dinner. Where is this dish, Lily?”
My heart skips a beat as I try to imagine why he didn’t see the pieces of that broken dish in the garbage. I set them all right on top. Where could they have gone?
“I don’t know. Maybe the pieces slipped to the bottom?” I suggest half-heartedly, too afraid to think of any other reason they wouldn’t be there.
In a flash, he has the garbage can above his head, and he tips it over, dumping all the food and everything else. The broken pieces of the white dish hit the tile floor, each one clanging when it lands.
But something snaps inside me, and as he’s staring at that disgusting pile of garbage in front of him, I rush over to the countertop and yank a knife from the wooden block sitting under the cabinet. Cason spins around to look at me, and I point the knife at him, my left hand shaking uncontrollably.
“Stay away from me! I didn’t lie about anything with that asshole! I broke the dish and cleaned it up myself. I don’t know what your problem is with him, but I did nothing wrong!” I scream, tears clinging to every word.
Cason watches me silently, saying nothing to my outburst but never taking his eyes off my hand with the knife in it. The two of us stand like statues with only our eyes and my trembling hand moving for so long it feels like I’m frozen to the spot on that tile floor.
When he does finally speak, his voice isn’t that icy whisper from just a few minutes before but soft, like he’s placating me just as I’ve been doing with him. “Lily, put down the knife. Put it back where it belongs.”
“No!”
“Don’t make things harder on yourself than they have to be.”
I want to throw that knife straight into his chest for that comment. As tears well in my eyes, making focusing on him more difficult by the second, I calm my shaking hand and scream, “Harder on me than they have to be? They don’t have to be hard at all! You took me because my father needs to pay your boss. I shouldn’t even be here! Harder? How much fucking harder do you think this could be on me? You keep me tied up or threaten to, and when I’m not stuck in that fucking chair in front of your TV, you force me to stay in this gilded cage all day. When people come to the house, you blame me, not that either one of those assholes would ever help me get away from you! Then when you finally let me out to get a breath of fresh air, you blame me when Doc shows me a shred of kindness by asking if I’m okay. What exactly is harder, Cason?”
He stands in front of me stunned by my words, but by the time I’m finished, my emotional outburst has sapped all my strength. My hand begins shaking again, and the knife drops to the floor, skidding over the tile until it comes to rest right in front of his feet.
Cason looks down at the knife and bends over to pick it up, but I won’t stand there and let him punish me. I run out of the kitchen, bouncing off the walls because my tear-filled eyes make seeing where I’m going nearly impossible.
I reach the front door feeling bruised from all the times I’ve hit my arms and reach for the doorknob. I don’t know where I’m going since that damn fence he warned me about is electrified, but I can’t stay in this house with him anymore. I have to try to get away.
But he reaches me just as I grab for the doorknob, wrapping his arms around my waist and yanking me away from freedom. We stumble backwards, and he throws me onto the floor with such force that it knocks the wind out of my lungs.
Wiping the tears from my eyes, I try to get away, but it’s no use. He’s on me in a second, pressing the tip of the knife to my throat and straddling my hips so I can’t move.
He stares at me like he’s in disbelief that I could do all of this. Like because he bought me some clothes and underwear that I’d want to stay with him and not try to get free the first chance I got.
Cason tightens his thighs against me, crushing my body between his legs, and presses the knife into my skin. His eyes flash that usual rage that seems to nearly always exist in him, but I’m strangely calm now. He doesn’t terrify me anymore.
Either he’s going to kill me now or in a few days. Somehow, my failed attempt at escape has made that crystal clear, and I’m not afraid of dying.
“You might only have days to live, and still you insist on making me hurt you.”
“I don’t insist on you hurting me ever. That’s all you. You like hurting me. That’s who you are.”
My words stun him for a moment, and then he throws the knife away near the stairs. Knives aren’t his weapon of choice, so why would he need that anyway?
Seconds pass while I wait for him to take out his gun and shoot me. I think about my father and my mother and how happy I am that they can’t see me when I die like this. I try not to cry, but as much as I want to believe I’m not afraid to die, that’s a lie.
I don’t want to die. I just want to go home and try to forget this all ever happened.
Unable to face what’s about to happen, I close my eyes and take a deep breath. I want the last one I ever enjoy to be as full and pure as possible.
I feel Cason’s hands press against my shoulders, and then the pressure on the outsides of my legs disappears. Am I dead? Is that what this is?
A second later, he lifts me up, and without a word, he carries me up the stairs. I don’t open my eyes, too afraid if I do that I’ll realize this is all a dream, or worse, all in my head as I lay there dying on the hardwood floor in the entryway to his boss’s home.
When he sets me down on the bed, I don’t know if I’m still alive. All I know is I didn’t hear his gun go off. But that’s not possible. There’s no way I could threaten him with a knife, try to escape, and then get to live.
Doc’s words echo in my brain. “He’s not the type to let people live.”
I open my eyes and see him standing over me, just staring down at me like he doesn’t understand what I am. The look in his eyes isn’t that rage-filled one like usual. Now his eyes study me intensely, like he can’t believe he didn’t kill me for what I did downstairs.
Cason’s a killer, so why am I alive?
