Chapter 38th

The sun was setting fast outside, casting a feverish dusk hue across the sky and projecting shadows shaped like the buildings across the street into my corridor. Not that I had stopped to contemplate it… no that they streaked the floor for long, before I closed the door.

I didn't mind it though: that a bright orange sunset spectacularly performed outside and I had closed the door without giving it a second glance – my mind couldn't possibly indulge such trivialities as watching nature in a time like this. That very word – nature – bore a completely different meaning all of a sudden, and it rattled my bones: predation, violence, blood! Such was the nature of… well, nature! And that dark, sick destructive aspect was all my heavy mind wrapped around now. I closed the door and I lingered there, face to the wood, hiding in the shadow I myself created between us and pretending to be isolated, enjoying that very brief illusion of having nothing else around me but that door, like a cat in a box.

Of course, I wouldn't be allowed there long. I felt the air around me shift, buzzing with almost the crackling of static energy, and when I turned, he stood behind me. How silly that I'd gasp, my eyes widening with such a predictable fright, when I knew he would be there! Chris smiled warmly at me, gave out a satisfied sigh, and leaned forward, placing his palm on the door behind, simultaneously cornering me and holding it closed, thus preventing even the thought of escaping from forming in my mind.

From his observing height, he watched and waited for my color to return.

"Shall we?" at length, he suggested.

Then, as I lingered, dumb and defeated, he placed a light hand over my shoulder – careful not to scare me – and patted it, ushering me forward. "Come on -" he called.

I moved. One step, as my body was slowly pushed forward, and then another, just to keep my balance. Before I knew it, I was walking before him – and where was it we were headed? He didn't have to say it for me to follow: back upstairs, to that room, to the things I vaguely imagined he would do to me, where I was the most helpless.

The thoughts raced still – I couldn't help them. I couldn't ignore them either: why did I move so? I wasn't being particularly forced, nor was I restrained. His hand on my shoulder moved me so lightly, I could hardly distinguish the touch. It wouldn't take any strength to slap it away, run back down, gain the streets – why wasn't I trying, when the path ahead consisted of a dead end? I turned my mind for an answer: was it the gun I knew he had behind his belt? Was it that burning smart still reproduceable in my cheek, where I'd been slapped? Yes… that did produce a response, one strong enough that I felt my palm drawn to the affected area in hopes of softening a third assault. 'Pain? Is that what you're afraid of?' the reasonable mind upbraided. Why should I follow obediently, moved by the fear of pain, when the little I had experience couldn't possibly hurt more than what he had in store? A slap couldn't possibly hurt more than dying. And yet, my monkey brain could only focus – only dread – that little punishment I had sustained. 'Well, this just makes things too easy for him…' that angry voice raised once more. 'Easier than you've already made'.

What could be done, then? I consulted the voice, and my mind agitated with ideas again, fleeting images, suggestions: a kick to the knee, a shove down the stairs, myself running up and locking me in that awful room and challenging him to break the door down – in the meantime, I could go over his tool box and look for something that could help me. All of them achievable, all of them perfectly doable within my limitations of size and strength inferiority; nothing to lose as, once inside that room, I'd never see the outside again… nothing to lose but that addictive, fleeting feeling of hope.

But ah, hope, what a treacherous friend! Here I was, rattling my bones, teeth chattering with excitement, extremities burning up with adrenaline, only to have the carpet of it swept from under my feet: Time had passed me by, I found myself stepping in to that room, surrounded by its grey padded walls, turning around and watching the door close behind us, Chris standing between me and any prospects I could have secured if I hadn't been moving like an automaton dreaming of a way out. He smiled me that serene, proud smile… and why shouldn't he be proud, when I displayed such dumb compliance, staring tragically at the doorknob he had just turned? He watched my puppy defeat until my eyes turned down.

"I know I said I wouldn't encourage you with compliments, but… you did well down there!" he broke the silence with an air of pleasant surprise "It almost reminds me of that day… remember the one? The two of us running from that school like two bats out of hell? Partners in crime, huh?" he hinted, disturbing me. "How does a meek 14-year-old get so good at eluding the authorities, I wonder?"

I didn't answer. The more Chris spoke – the more that mellow, good mood lingered, the more cowardly I'd get, shrinking between my shoulders.

"…unless there's another secret I should know about? Any… past experiences I'm unaware of?"

After a scrutinizing silence, he chuckled, well aware there was none – merely teasing the rise out of me.

"Don't worry. I'll know exactly just how experienced you are." He flashed me a hinting smile, taking slow steps my way, calculated to corner me and lengthen that torturing expectation with their unhurried tempo.

"C'mon… don't look so frightened." Finally having me against the wall where I couldn't back down any more, he brushed the back of his finger down my chin. "If you think about it, it can't have been chance, can it?"

I let my brows flicker with a light, pensive frown and his smile reacted to my confusion.

"All those coincidences… your doing so well at every turn, always knowing the right actions to take, the right answers to those increasingly difficult questions the cop asked of you…"

Silence. My body tensing, anticipating it. Chris's caress lightly touching the contours of my face.

"…almost as if you wanted this."

Blood rushed to my face, and Chris let out a laugh to see my eyes pierce into his, sharped with sore vexation.

"What? You look like you could kill me right now…" he observed, delighted "…if only you had the means. But why so angry, my otherwise meek little friend?" he cocked his head to the side and frowned while speculating "Am I so wrong here? No… you do see it too, don't you? I can see it in how heavy your eyes become: you just kept getting wrong after wrong, and can you really be that unfortunate? No… it's like part of you does favor it: Me, getting you here, alone."

As my lips puckered with my tensing jaw, Chris relented:

"Ok… 'favor' might be a strong word for it. Relax: I'm not accusing you of actually wanting this, no. You're a good girl, and good girls don't crave these types of dirty things. You don't favor it, Abby…" he sentenced at last "you don't want it… but you accept it – like a brave little soldier whose walked into the wrong side of the battle. You're fighting it, but at the same you're not, because deep down you've accepted it – you know that it's only fair: You've pulled out the board. We played a game and you were bested… whatever victory I claim, I'm entitled to claim it, and I should do it alone… at my own terms."

"You're wrong!" I manifested at last, my chest shaking with agitation. "I'm not letting you claim my life! I'm not letting you do any of this!" I spoke slowly, as Chris seemed interested in hearing.

"No… you're not." He assented, his eyes amusedly starting into mine "…and you're right, you didn't bargain for this. You didn't know what was at stake… otherwise, you'd probably never have asked me to play with you as you did…" those words, followed by his cunning smile, were enough offense as they were. "…but… that's something that should be worked out between the two of us, I'm sure you agree - and that's why I could always count on you to push all those obstacles away. You want to escape me, you do… but you'll only do it on your own terms, won't you? You won't accept their help – you won't risk pulling anyone else into this, where they don't belong… You wouldn't be able to live with that." His eyes narrowed, his evil smile intensified, his fingers capturing a lock of my hair, brushing it against his skin for a distraction.

"…and I belong here?" my chin quivered with bitterness.

"More than those innocent lives who know better than to put themselves in harm's way… yes, you do…" he spoke more quietly, inching closer to me, watching my lips. "You wouldn't want their lives in your conscience."

"Because you'd kill them?" I muttered angrily through my clenched jaw.

"I'd tear them apart." Chris whispered, supporting his weight on the wall above my head as he leaned down over me.

"Then why would that be on my conscience?" I stared into his cynic eyes.

Chris's lips stretched into an amused smile, but they didn't move away as they threatened the distance between us.

"It would be as good as pulling the trigger yourself…" he was all too happy to clarify. "…luring them to their deaths. Those poor, innocent, unknowing things…" he began enumerating, and his eyes took on a light that seemed to reflect something else. "…walking right in."

"I'm no killer!" I shuddered "You are!"

"I'm glad you understand that." His voice sounded altered… chocked, then he leaned in to kiss me, holding me by the back of the head with one hand while the other found and secured my waist, pulling me to him.