Page 192 of Hunting Pretty

I unlocked the basement bedroom prison where I’d stashed the doctor.

He jolted in the small chair I’d tied him up in as the door slammed against the concrete wall.

“Where is Ava?” I demanded as I stormed toward him.

“What? I don’t know—”

I grabbed his collar and threw him across the small room. He slammed against the closet, the thin wood panel shuddering in its hinges.

Then his chair toppled over, bringing him down with it. Dr. Vale lay on his side, coughing and gasping for air.

I’d secured him in that chair nice and tight. I’d used handcuff knots for his wrists onto the arms of the chair, a harness tie around his chest and torso securing him to the back, and a figure eight knot for both his ankles to the chair legs.

I’d even bandaged his finger like a considerate host.

I swept my arm across the bookshelf, knocking books and dolls onto the carpet, pages fluttering like frightened birds and plastic cracking under my feet.

“Someone took her.” I brandished a knife. “And you’re going to tell me where she is.”

“She… she… she said you can’t torture me!” he wailed as I brandished my knife.

“She… she…” I mimicked his pathetic whimpering, “she isn’t here!”

I kneeled beside the doctor.

His glasses were askew from the fall and sweat covered his brow.

“Lucky me that you soundproofed this room, am I right?”

His eyes told me I was right. Whoever he was planning on keeping down here, no one would ever hear their screams.

The twisted irony wasn’t lost on me and my body flooded with righteous anger.

No one would hearhisscreams.

“I named this knifeJack.” I placed the tip of the knife against his cheek. “Can you guess why?”

The good doctor trembled in my grip and flinched away from me. “P-please…”

“Wunh wunh,” I made the wrong answer buzzer sound. “He obviously doesn’t know his nineteenth century London serial killers, Bob. Maybe he’ll do better on the next question.”

I pressed the tip of the knife into his flesh, just enough to draw a bead of blood. “Whotook Ava?Wherewould they take her?”

“I d-d-don’t k-know.”

I sliced his cheek and he bucked against my tight grip on him, his scream echoing in this tiny prison.

“Oops, guess my hand slipped.” I tilted my head so I was eye to eye with him and I placed the knife on his opposite cheek. “Unless you want a matching scar, you tell me where Ava is.”

“I swear, I don’t know,” he sputtered as blood dripped from his wound into his mouth.

I ground my teeth in irritation. I was normally such an immaculate butcher. I was being sloppy. Messy. Leaving too much DNA evidence. But right now, I didn’t care.

“Then tell mewhothey are,” I pressed the tip of the knife into his flesh just enough to draw blood.

He screamed and sobbed. “I d-don’t k-know. They made me—”

“I know that your family photos are fake, Doctor.” I jabbed the point in the air in front of his eyes. “It’s clear no one lives here except for you. You don’t have a fucking family to threaten. So don’t play games with me… Who are they?”

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