Page 62 of Forensics of a Fable

“I take it you want this?” He shoved the cheesy pasta at her along with a plastic spoon. He set down the rest, and she noted how every noodle, meatball, slice of chicken, and vegetable chunk had been cut into bite-sized pieces. He always cut her food before he brought it down, wary of her skill with a knife, and Bel didn’t blame him. It was hard to stab a man with a plastic spoon, but lord, what she would try if she could get her hands on even a fork.

“This is nice, thank you,” she said with fake admiration as she dug into the mac and cheese. She was starving, and Abel never heated the dinners beyond lukewarm. Seemed he worried about what might happen to him if she decided to throw scalding food at his face.

“I’m glad you like it,” he said, falling silent, content to eat the meatball pasta.

“So, my room?” She asked, wondering if her days of compliance would grant her the freedom to push his boundaries. “Did you design this for me, or was it already here?”

“This was my father’s workshop,” he answered without hesitation. “The man used to make an awful racket, and my mother finally had enough. He built this to be soundproof.”

Bel’s heart sank. She hadn’t expected anyone to hear her scream in this basement, but learning the concrete room was soundproof was a harsh blow.

“It was a special place to me as a child,” Abel said wistfully, and Bel wondered what had transpired to turn a man seemingly raised by a loving family so heartless. “It’s still special despite what happened, especially now that you’re here.”

Bel froze. “What happened?”

“My father died down here,” he answered, and a chill ran over Bel’s skin at his words. She remained silent, though, hoping whatever prompted his honesty wouldn’t pass. “He died of a heart attack in his work chair while I was down here with him. I accidentally locked myself in this room, so I had to stare at his body while he just sat there. Took my mother forever to realize we were missing.”

Pain twisted Bel’s chest at the tale. She saw Abel in a new light, and while she would never forgive him for the heinous crimes he committed, her heart mourned for the little boy who’d suffered. It seemed that was where he got the idea of murdering his victims sitting on homemade furniture.

“I’m so sorry,” she said, placing her palm on his hand, and it was Abel’s turn to freeze. “Is this okay?” she asked

“Yes.” Abel gaped at her. “I like it very much.”

“Good.” Bel patted his hand comfortingly as she planned her next move.

“May I…?” He blushed crimson and looked away for an awkward moment. “May I hold your hand?”

“Of course,” Bel said, her skin crawling at his touch, but she forced herself to remain compliant. He didn’t lace his fingers through hers, though. He simply cupped her palm, but it didn’t matter. She had a firm grip on him, and for the first time in two weeks, Abel Reus relaxed.

“I’ve always loved this room,” he said. “It’s like my father is still here, which is why you’re here. I wanted you to be a part of what makes me happy.”

“It’s a nice room,” Bel said, uncomfortable that she had been sleeping in a dead man’s workshop, and she nonchalantly moved her mac and cheese to the side as she tightened her grip. “I’m glad it’s special for you.”

And with that, Bel yanked his hand hard.

Abel yelpedas Bel jerked him forward, his body tensing to resist her, but she seized his head and slammed his face into the table. He roared at the impact, but Bel didn’t relent. She grabbed his short hair, pulled his head back, and slammed down again. Blood exploded as his nose broke, and Bel could tell she’d dazed him. She had seconds before his brain cleared, and she moved as fast as she could. Gripping his armpits, she heaved his torso across the table to grab his belt. Using it and his arms, she tugged Abel toward her; the pasta smearing his shirt in thick globs as she dragged him.

“What the—”

Bel slammed his face down again, cutting off his words, and hauled him to the floor. Abel struggled to regain his freedom, but she dropped him hard on his knees. He howled at the jolt, only to gasp a strangled breath as she hooked an arm around his throat. Her hold tightened, but in a desperate attempt todislodge her, Abel pitched his weight. Bel toppled backward, her spine slapping the unforgiving concrete, but she didn’t loosen her grip. She dragged Abel down with her, her elbow tightening about his neck despite the bruising pain in her back. She roared through the discomfort. She roared her fear and determination as her legs wrapped around his lanky ones to keep him from thrashing.

“Bel?” Her name was garbled on his tongue as she cut off his oxygen. He punched her arms and elbowed her ribs, all the while bucking against her hold, but she leaned into the pain. She embraced it. It meant that she still lived, that she still fought.

As his blows grew weaker, Bel pictured Cerberus’ face instead of the pain. She imagined Eamon’s whiskey-smooth voice instead of the bruises. She remembered her father’s smile instead of the punches. She held on with every ounce of strength. And held on and held on and held on, and then suddenly, Abel stilled. But he was only unconscious, and she had seconds before he came too.

With a graceful roll, she extricated herself from beneath his body and shoved her hands into his pants pocket. She’d been paying attention for the past two weeks. He never brought his phone into the basement, but he always had his keyring. He tried to be subtle, but she’d eventually figured out which one belonged to her door. But the rest were a mystery. He had never unlocked the chain from her ankle, so she didn’t even know if he carried that one on his person. The first time he brought her a fresh nightgown, complete with generic cotton underwear, they both realized the only way for her to change would be for him to unlock the chain. Realizing how dangerous unlocking her would be, Abel left and returned an hour later with a solution that worked for him but was a disappointment for her. He’d cut every pair of underwear and then used his mother’s old sewing kit to attach short ties to the sides. He’d done everything in his powerto keep her from regaining her freedom, and she prayed the key to her chains was on this hook. If it wasn’t, her small victory would be useless.

Abel’s eyes fluttered, and Bel fumbled the first key into the lock. It didn’t fit, nor did the second. She cursed as she attempted the third and fourth without luck, and Abel’s groans warned she was out of time. She stared at his face, weighing her options. She could kill him. Lord knew he deserved death after what he did to Alana Drie and Rebecca Kolm, but she didn’t want to be the one to end his life. Killing Alcina Magus had been different. The woman was a witch. No jail cell could ever contain her, and in the end, Eamon committed the violence. Bel wanted Abel to stand trial for what he did, and she hated the idea of having to be his judge, jury, and executioner.

Abel moaned, and Bel pulled back her fist. She punched his already broken nose, and his head bounced off the concrete. The blow split the skin on her knuckles, but it bought her precious seconds. She tried another key, and with a sob of overwhelming relief, it slid into the lock with a perfect fit. She unlocked the chain and slipped her grotesquely bruised and chafed ankle free before crawling toward Abel’s legs.

“What…” Abel tried to sit. “What are you doing?”

She didn’t answer as she seized his leg. Realization washed over him, and he jerked, causing her to lose her grip. He kneed her in the stomach, but Bel straddled him with a grunt and captured his ankle. He hit her back as she wound the chain around his leg, but she ignored the blows as her strength pinned him down. Just a few more seconds. She had to survive the pain for a few more seconds and…

Click.The lock snapped around Abel’s ankle, and Bel threw herself to the ground, rolling gracefully to her feet with the keys still in her fist. Abel yanked on the chain, trying to pull himselffree, but they both knew it was no use. He’d welded the chain well, and Bel turned on her heels.

Abel cursed a string of obscenities, insulting her in ways she’d never heard before, but it was music to her ears. She’d won. She was free, and she slammed the door behind her, silencing Abel’s shouts.

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