He didn’t respond, but he must have heard her. The house wasn’t that big, and his footsteps traveled past her door several times. She would’ve shouted again, but she didn’t dare. The last time she’d bothered him when he didn’t answer he’d entered her room with a loaded gun.
The shower went on in the master bedroom. Closing her eyes, she counted to a thousand over and over again, trying to endure the aches and pains. Usually when he tied her up, she could at least sit-but that was when he shackled her to her own stake in the floor. Last night, he’d chained her feet to her stake and tied her hands. The added security measures suggested he had something big planned.
He finished showering and went outside. A few minutes later, she could smell smoke. Had he set the house on fire? Was he leaving her to die?
Helpless, she whimpered at the possibility. But although she strained to hear the crackle of wood or to see smoke creeping beneath her door, there was nothing.
The bang of the front door told her he hadn’t left. She guessed from his movements that he’d gone into the kitchen. She heard the chime of the microwave, smelled coffee. He was making breakfast, which suggested he hadn’t set the house on fire. So what had he done? Why didn’t he come for her? Why hadn’t he made her do the cooking?
And where was Marcie? That was the question that frightened Latisha the most. Was her sister still tied up in the van? If so, why didn’t he bring her in? It didn’t make sense that he’d leave her out there alone. He had to keep an eye on her, couldn’t risk letting her get free. She was the one who’d almost escaped the last time he took her from the house…
Something was wrong. Latisha could feel it deep inside. This wasn’t Wesley’s normal behavior…
After what seemed like an hour, maybe two, Latisha couldn’t take another minute of not knowing. Maybe he’d kill her for it, but she had to call out again, had to find out if Marcie was okay. “Wesley? You there?”
Finally, he approached. There was a click, then the hinges of the door whined as he pushed it inward. “You awake?” he asked.
The lightness of his tone told her he was pretending he hadn’t heard her yell before. Latisha could tell he had, but she didn’t bring it up. She was still trying to figure out what had changed. He had thick razor stubble on his jaw and chin, and the lines around his eyes and mouth were more pronounced than usual. Obviously, he’d been up all night. But why?
Glad she’d caught him before he fell asleep and left her chained up even longer, she sent him a tentative smile. “My-my head’s killing me. C-can you let me up?”
“Sure. Then I’ll get you some painkillers.” He bent immediately to release her.
Could he see the tracks of her tears? Latisha wondered. Did he care? Her pain had never mattered to him before. But he was different today, nicer…
“Where’s Marcie?” she asked.
He smiled as he finished with her hands and turned his attention to her feet. “I let her go.”
“You did?” Latisha could hardly believe it. Her hands were swollen. They burned as the blood flowed back into them, but she didn’t care. Not if what he said was true. “Really?”
“I told you I would, didn’t I?” he said proudly. “You gave me what I wanted, and I returned the favor.”
Latisha studied him more closely. She wanted to believe him, but what he said just seemed so…odd. He’d been worried they’d get free. Why would he suddenly let Marcie go?
“How’d you do it?” she asked uncertainly.
He shrugged. “Just dumped her on a street corner. I imagine she’s home by now.”
Latisha grasped for some hope in his words. If her sister had escaped, then a part of her had, too. There was also the hope that Marcie would bring help. But if Wesley had let Marcie go, wouldn’t he be scared that she’d tell? Wouldn’t he at least act worried? Or maybe start packing up and moving them somewhere else?
“She doesn’t know where this place is,” he said as if he could read her mind. “It’s not like she’d ever be able to lead anyone here.”
The crazy thing was, for all his fear that they might expose him, that was probably true. The day he’d kidnapped them, he’d tossed them in his van and cuffed them to a bar welded onto the floor. They couldn’t see anything, and they’d been completely overwhelmed and confused, wondering why a police officer, even an undercover officer, would be acting in such a bizarre way. Latisha knew they were out in the country somewhere, but that was all.
Could she trust that he’d really let Marcie go?
His smile promised she could. Now alone and more frightened than ever, she so wanted to trust him.
“I’ll get you some Tylenol.”
He brought her two tablets. Then he freed her from her makeshift prison to clean the house. Movement was difficult at first, but once the pain in her hands went away, she began to feel encouraged. Maybe she wasn’t at home, but her sister was, she told herself. Picturing Marcie falling into Gloria’s arms made her so happy…
But while she stood at the window in Wesley’s room looking out at the backyard, she saw the barrel that’d been the source of that burning smell. There were still wisps of smoke rising from it.
Getting as close to the glass as possible, she tried to determine what, exactly, he’d destroyed. He’d never started a fire before. He must’ve had a reason. What was it?
It could be anything. He was sick, weird. But that was partly what concerned her so much.
Turning, she went back to cleaning his room. But it wasn’t long before she came across the shoes he’d worn last night and concern turned to panic. She picked them up from where he’d kicked them off and was about to place them in his closet when she spotted several flecks of a dark brown substance spattered near the sole.
Licking her finger, she rubbed one of the droplets. It smeared into a red blur that looked just like-she gulped-blood.
Then it dawned on her what Wesley might have been burning in that barrel. Was it the clothes he’d worn last night? She didn’t see them in the room. Maybe they were so soaked with blood he hadn’t wanted her to see them-or hadn’t wanted to deal with washing them.
But if he’d burned his clothes, why hadn’t he burned his shoes?
Because he had fewer shoes. Because he liked this particular pair. Because he didn’t see the blood or thought he could wash it off. There could be a lot of reasons. But if he’d really let Marcie go, why would he need to burn anything?