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He sits down in the chair and opens the drawer next to the bed. He places a remote control on the bedside table.
“The blue button will open the curtains and the red one will close them. Can I just ask that you keep them closed at night, for your own safety? I have plenty of security on the property, but I don’t want to take any chances. This other button is to turn the lights on and off, and this one will adjust the brightness.”
He points to a door on the other side of the bed, opposite where he is sitting.
“That’s the bathroom. I had it stocked with a number of things, but if there’s anything missing, you just let me know.”
He does not seem in the least bit bothered by the death stare I have been giving him this entire time and the muscles of my face are hurting. The bruised skin is tender. So, I let out a soft sigh and relax my eyes.
I lean against the headboard and try to pull my legs against my chest, but it hurts too much so I just wrap the blanket tighter around myself.
He watches every movement I make closely.
“What is your name, little rabbit?”
I purse my lips. There is no way in hell I am going to tell him my name. If he knows my name, he can find out things about me. What if knowing things about me puts the people I love in danger? Lauren. What if they tried to take her too? I can’t risk that. I don’t say a word.
Lauren has proven to be the most dedicated, unwavering friend I could ever ask for in life. She gave up having a family to stay with me.
I remember, a few years ago, when I got really sick, she didn’t leave my side for three days. She drops everything in her life to be there for me. I cannot, in any way, ever, put her at risk. I would rather lose my own life.
“That’s okay, you don’t have to tell me now. I will just keep calling you little rabbit.”
Little rabbit. What am I? Prey? Does that make him the wolf? Does that make him the hunter?
“Can you tell me anything?” he asks. “Anything about yourself? Or maybe you can just tell me how you’re feeling? Do you need anything? The chef is busy making you some food. I ordered a few different things as I wasn’t sure what you wanted. But is there anything specific you want?”
He reaches into his pocket.
“You have to take these with food. They’re painkillers. I’m sure you are feeling pain and the doc left these for you. Just wait for the food, alright?” He slides the bottle onto the table, and I stare at it. Do I trust it? I am hurting so badly; I would love to take painkillers.
I feel my lips sneering again.
“I promise you they are painkillers,” he tells me. “Nothing more than that. Here, let me show you.” He shakes the bottle, then pops the cap and puts one in his mouth. He swallows.
I squint at him. He does not keel over or start foaming at the mouth.
“Little rabbit, if we were out to kill you, you would not be lying in a comfortable bed. I would not hide something in your painkillers. These are for pain. You’re safe here. All I want to do is take care of you.”
The chef arrives with a tray of food, which he places on the bed. I can’t take my eyes off it. It is a small platter of what can only be described as exquisite cuisine. There are chicken strips, sliced vegetables, fruit pieces, cheese, crackers, cold meats, and olives, amongst other things.
He is watching my face. “Go ahead,” he says.
I don’t want to give him the satisfaction, but I am so weak with hunger. I know that the only way I am going to get my strength back and heal is to feed my body.
I reach out and take a piece of fruit. It is sweet, juicy, and fresh. I sigh and close my eyes as I chew. Then I grab another one. He pushes the tray a little closer to me, so I don’t have to reach as far. I eye him as I chew. I push piece after piece of food into my mouth. The more I eat, the more I want.
“Slow down, little rabbit. You haven’t eaten in days, and you’re going to make yourself sick. Chew slowly. If you’re still hungry, I will have more made for you. There is plenty of food. As much as you want.”
Why is he being so nice? Is this a ploy? A plot to pretend to be the nice guy? Good kidnapper versus bad kidnapper?
He is right, though. I will make myself sick. I chew slower and wash each bite down with a sip of fresh fruit juice.
He leans back in the chair again, smiling, satisfied that I am eating.
“My name is Kiril,” he introduces himself.
“My brother and I are the ones who found you in that—in the container. Do you remember?” His voice thickens when he mentions the container. He practically spits the words out as though they are foul.
