Page 60 of The Intruder

I gave Eleanor the gun to make this happen.

“No,” I gasp. “Please don’t do this. Please.”

She shakes the Glock, pointing it directly at my face. “I said sit.”

I almost consider going for the gun—getting shot might be preferable to living out the scene in that drawing. But I can’t make myself do it. I’d rather buy time.

I sit down in the chair, my hands clasped in my lap. But she shakes her head. “Behind your back,” she says.

Damn. I was hoping she would bind my wrists in front of me. But Eleanor still has the gun pointed at my head, so I’m not in any position to say no. I try to keep my wrists as far apart as I can, hoping I can wriggle out later.

It occurs to me that now might be my only chance to escape. There’s no way Eleanor can bind my wrists while holding the gun—at least I don’t think so. I can try to turn around and wrangle the gun away from her. But what if she shoots me? Or even worse, what if I end up accidentally shooting her?

No, I can’t risk it.

Once my wrists are bound, I realize how helpless I’ve become. She can do whatever she wants to me, and I can’t do a damn thing. Even worse, the next thing she does is bind my ankles, which she then secures to the legs of the chair. And then she puts one more piece all the way around my chest. I am basically glued to the chair now. Why oh why did I buy a fresh roll of duct tape last week? I curse myself for always being so dang prepared.

The only positive thing I can say is that she doesn’t put any tape over my mouth. But why should she? If I screamed out here, nobody would hear. Even Lee is much too far away to save me at this point.

When Eleanor is done, she steps back to admire her handiwork. “Try to get free.”

I stare at her. “I can’t.”

She squints at me like she’s not quite sure. But finally, she nods and lowers the gun. “Good.”

The candles in the kitchen have burned nearly half of the way down—it must be two or three in the morning—but I can still see the features of her face, which look even more menacing, partially obscured by the shadows. I can’t stop thinking about that drawing. The woman bound to the chair, bleeding from her missing ear and her gouged-out eye.

I can’t let that happen to me.

But what can I do? I can’t move.

“Please,” I whisper. “Why are you doing this?”

Eleanor looks at me, cocking her head. “It’s nothing personal.”

Nothing personal? She targeted me. She came to my house from God knows where, and she’s carrying a notebook full of horrible pictures of me. How could that not be personal? “Whatever I did, I’m sorry.”

“I said it’s not personal.” She sounds irritated. “Okay?”

I don’t know what she’s talking about. The only way it could not be personal is if she is some sort of hired killer. And I really don’t think this little girl is being paid to be here. The only reason I’m in this position at all is because I was stupid enough to invite her inside and give her a gun.

“I’ll be back,” Eleanor tells me.

Oh no. She’s getting her knife.

44

BEFORE

ELLA

Bettina is grudgingly impressed by how much food I put away.

Over the next half hour, I devour most of the contents of a platter that was left over from lunch. It’s mostly cold cuts and cheese, but everything tastes so good. None of it has a weird sour taste that I have to try to ignore. It’s all fresh and delicious.

“Gosh, you were hungry!” Bettina exclaims. “How do you keep yourself so tiny?”

I suck down the remainder of an apple juice box that doesn’t even taste like it’s turning into alcohol. “I missed lunch today,” I say, which is true.