Page 57 of Forensics of a Fable

“But then Eamon Stone moved to town and ruined everything. You were supposed to fall in love with me, but the minute he showed up, you couldn’t focus on anyone else,” Abel spat. “It was embarrassing how your eyes followed him everywhere that night during The Espresso Shot Fundraiser.The way you and your friends fawned over him right in front of me. It was disgusting, and I needed to show you we were meant for each other. I’d been planning this for a long time, but I’d hoped you would recognize the truth of your own volition. See that we belong together. Unfortunately, you were led astray, so I am here to help you.”

Bel sat frozen in her chair, rage and disbelief and fear racing through her veins. He killed those girls to make her fall in love with him. He was happy Garrett was dead. Abel Reus was lucky she was chained to the floor, otherwise, she would be across the table with her fingers around his throat for his sins. How could he think she would love him after he murdered those women? After he’d kidnapped her?

“Please, Bel, eat your breakfast,” he begged. “You let it get cold, and it’s not as good when it’s cold. Now that you know the truth, you know I’ll never hurt you. The porridge is safe.”

“You wouldn’t hurt me?” Bel asked incredulously. “You already have.” She fought to keep her tone even, but she was failing. “You killed those girls. That wasn’t a love letter to me. That was a nightmare. I hate seeing death. I hate seeing young women cut down by arrogant men.” She put her hands on the table and leaned forward, rage in her eyes. “You took me, chained me, drugged me.”

“It was for your own good,” he argued. “For us.”

“There is no us,” she spat. “I’ll never love you.”

Abel stood so abruptly that she recoiled on instinct, but he seized the bowl instead of striking her before storming for the exit. Pausing in the doorway, he glowered at her with an expression born of anger and disappointment. “I don’t want to hurt you, Bel. I wish to make you happy here with me, but if you can’t behave, you don’t deserve to eat. I’m sorry, but there are rules, and if you can’t abide by them, then you’ll starve.”

Bel laybeneath the light blanket, trying to ignore how cold her empty stomach had left her. She wasn’t sure when she last ate, and without her metabolism burning, her body had succumbed to the slight chill in the air. The mattress wasn’t the worst. At least she couldn’t feel its springs through the padding, but it was a far cry from the last bed she’d slept in. The night before Abel took her, she’d been in Eamon’s bed. His scent had wrapped her in safety. The sheets were cool and luxurious. The blankets warm. She’d slept beautifully in her beast’s space, and she tried not to cry as she clutched the thin green covering. Eamon would come for her. He would find her. He had to. She wasn’t one to give up and wait for Prince Charming to save her. She wasn’t a damsel in distress, but as her stomach cramped and her ankle ached, she let herself pray for salvation. Only the man she prayed would rescue her was no white knight. He was the devil.

The lock rattled, and Bel sat up, refusing to let Abel see her resting. The room was pitch black save for the emergency light he had the decency to install so she could use the tiny restroom at the foot of the bed. Her chain just reached the tub, but there was neither a shower curtain nor its rod or a door. Abel was smart in that respect. She was resourceful, and all three objects would be worthy weapons in her hands. A large, single towel hung on the wall, but it had been sewn around the ring to keep her from removing it. It would be easy to rip free, but it was in full view of the main door. It would take seconds for Abel to realize she’d taken it, and she didn’t care to be drugged again.

“Good morning, Bel,” Abel said, placing two bowls and spoons on the table as he flipped on the overhead lights, and Bel tried not to smirk at his guilty expression. Regardless of hisdelusions, it seemed he didn’t want to harm her, in his own twisted ways, and Bel studied him as a plan formed. She was at a disadvantage. She was chained to a bed and locked in what she assumed was a windowless basement. There was no muscling her way out of this situation, but what was that saying? You trapped more flies with honey?

“Are you ready to behave?” Abel asked with a wounded expression. “Because I don’t enjoy punishing you. It hurts me more than it hurts you.”

Bel bit her tongue to keep the smart remark from escaping her lips. If she opened her mouth, she’d make him angry again, so she simply nodded.

“Good, that makes me so glad.” He gestured to the table. “Come sit with me. I made you breakfast. You must be hungry.”

Bel stood and moved to the chair. If she was going to survive, she needed to eat, but as she stared at the oatmeal, all she saw were Alana Drie and Rebecca Kolm’s lifeless bodies. The steam delivered the scent of cinnamon to her nostrils. It looked like a normal breakfast, but she couldn’t bring herself to take a bite. Her stomach cramped in painful knots, and suddenly, she was no longer hungry.

“Bel, I made that for you,” Abel said firmly. “You need to eat.”

“I…” she trailed off. Was this how he forced his other victims to eat? Had he held them until they were starving before convincing them their meal was a kindness? Did they devour the porridge thinking it was a blessing?

“How many times do I have to tell you I won’t hurt you?” Abel said through gritted teeth. “I did this because I love you. I would never hurt you like I did those girls. They were meaningless.”

Bel swallowed her horror and picked up the spoon. “Can you prove you care, then?” she asked, trying to keep her voice steady. “Can you take a bite first?” She shoved the spoon intothe oatmeal and held it out to him. She expected him to refuse, so when he leaned forward and swallowed the bite in one gulp, she jerked in surprise. It seemed, at least when it came to her breakfast, he was telling the truth.

“See, isn’t this nice?” Abel asked with a big grin as he watched her eat, and Bel hated to admit how good it felt to finally have food, even if it was bland. It was nothing like the brown sugar oatmeal that The Espresso Shot served, and Abel’s order suddenly made more sense.

“Isn’t this nice?” he urged, and she nodded, trying not to eat too fast and make herself sick. “My mother made oatmeal often when I was growing up. Said it was a good way to start the day. I never go a morning without it, and I’m happy we get to share this tradition now.”

Bel perked up at his mention of his mother, despite the depressing promise of hot cereal every morning for the rest of her life. He’d offered that slice of information unprompted. What would he reveal if she played along with his delusions?

“Your mother sounded wise,” she said, pushing more food into her mouth to keep from grimacing.

“She was a wonderful lady. Those are her nightgowns, actually. She loved them, and when she passed, I kept them all. Now you can wear them.”

Bel willed herself not to choke and focused instead on the implications of his confession. If the nightgowns had been his mother’s, it made sense why they hadn’t found the store they were purchased from.

“They’re very nice,” Bel lied. “What about the furniture?” she pushed, but when he eyed her suspiciously, she added, “Were they family heirlooms like my new nightgowns?”

“Not these.” He gestured to the table, pleased that she referred to the clothing as hers. “These are from the store. I wanted the best for you, but the smaller set that Rebecca sat onwas my father’s work. He used to build children’s toys when he was still alive.”

Bel’s memory flashed back to the Alcina Magus case when they’d searched for suspects with construction experience. She had been so focused on Eamon’s assumed guilt that she forgot Sheriff Griffin mentioned Abel Reus’ father had carpentry knowledge from his toy business. How had she forgotten that? How had she been so stupid?

“The furniture that Alana sat on was my design,” he said with amusement, as if this was a game. “I watched my father work as a child, but I don’t have his skill. It is why I bought you furniture instead of making yours. I know using my hands means more, but I want you comfortable. My father’s designs are special to me, but they would be unsuitable for you, so I used them for Rebecca. I wanted to give you something from both of my parents, but unfortunately, only my mother’s heirlooms are adequate.”

“But you made the pieces for Alana?” Bel pushed.

“Yes, but I was no good. My skill is unworthy of you.”

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