Page 78 of Corrupting Ivy

“When I was fifteen, Doug, the man that liked to pretend one day out of the year that I was his son, came to visit.” I glanced at Jake. “He never left.”

My stomach churned asit digested the unfamiliar meat. Veronica stared at me throughout the entire meal and after, even though I’d told him partway through him feeding me to fix her. Apparently, ‘she has a mind of her own,’ he said.

That was when I shot back at him, ‘I do what I want as well,’ then spat the piece of steak at him, earning myself another stitch on the opposite side of my mouth. Eventually, I’d look like the zombie from Hocus Pocus, but I prayed to God, and to everything else out there, that I didn’t make it to that point.

Just let my heart give out. Or let the Sheriff come through that door and kill him. I was good with either. I’d watched those real crime shows on kidnappings. The first twenty-four hours were crucial in solving the crime. I don’t know how much time had passed, but I knew the window was closing quickly, and whatever luck I had would disappear with it.

My lips stung as the thread pulled on the tender, swelling flesh.

The more time I spent with him in this dark and gloomy prison, the more I realized how nuts he was and marveled at how no one had suspected him of anything. Was he a master of deception or a talented actor?

“Now what?” I asked, speaking around the stitching. I used to be one of those people who always wanted to know how a movie or book ended. I didn’t like surprises, and it drove Billy crazy. How strange was it that I wanted to know how I’d meet my demise? As if it would make the event somehow better.

“I thought we could take a nap or watch a movie?”

I sighed and rolled my wet, puffy eyes. “You have power here?” Hope burned hot in my veins, all the way down to my bones. If he had power, that meant we were close to civilization, unlike the people who lived deep in the woods of Greenville. They were so far out, they required generators and solar panels. Strange things happened out there without services and cell signal.

He burst out laughing. “Of course,” he said. “Or perhaps Veronica could sing us a beautiful tune. In college, she was a vocalist for the Oklahoma play.”

I shifted my attention to her, then back to him.

She couldn’t have been dead for very long, could she? Isn’t she going to stink and bloat? I had no idea about decomposition timeframes, but how could one maintain a body in their house and make it appear fresh?

“How long have you and Veronica been together?” Why did I ask this?

Shivers ran up my spine as a sinister smirk slithered across his face. “Have you ever heard the expression ‘death by a thousand cuts?’” The blood drained from my face, and the world swirled. “I mean, I’ve always wanted to do it, but I’ve never had the patience.” He stood from his chair and cleared the table. The knife I tried getting disappeared along with him as he took it down the hallway.

I jerked on my bindings again, hoping that, this time, they would snap before he entered. But they didn’t. It only caused the blood to spill down in thick, steady droplets. It was pointless. If he was the serial murderer, which I’m willing to guess he was, he’d have plenty of practice tying up his victims. A tiny nagging thought urged me to give up, that it was futile.

He emerged from the room, holding a silver tray as if he were serving tea and crumpets. I wasn’t so fortunate when he placed it on the table. Three knives of varying sizes, all of which you’d find in your kitchen, were strewn across the elegant silvery sheet. The knives were a solid piece of stainless-steel metal from tip to butt.

“I thought maybe we could give it a go. How does that sound?”

I screamed, pulling the stitches against my aching lips. Tears streamed down my face and landed on the lace dress below as I jerked and twisted in my chair.

Mr. Grady grinned, disintegrating the illusion he’d constructed of a tranquil lunch. Sweat broke out on my skin as my lungs struggled to get enough air.

He picked up the paring knife.

“Stop, please.” I shook my head. “Don’t do this.”

My muscles shook like small dogs do when they're scared as I braced myself for undoubtedly the worst pain I would experience in my life. Billy didn’t even compare to this level of evil. And I thought he was the Devil incarnate.

He gave me a slimy smile before pressing the blade to my forearm, then drew it over my skin with steady pressure.

As the knife cut my arm apart, blinding white-hot agony seared my flesh, tainting it with more blood. My ears rang as I wept, tears obscuring my vision as I pushed my lips together to prevent them from tearing.

He paused in the center of the cut. “This isn’t going to work.”

My chest tightened as I took a deep breath, fighting back the vertigo.

I clenched my eyes tight as he raised the knife to my face. That’s when I felt the chilly, slick metal touch my lips. He slid it over my lips, severing the sutures, allowing my mouth to open.

Opening my eyes, I watched him glide the knife to the second stitch and cut through it. Has he changed his mind? Was he going to release me? What weird game was he playing now?

“I need to hear your unfettered screams.”

My shoulders dropped as my foolish optimism faded, followed by his knife pressing down on my arm again.

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