Page 19 of Beyond the Cottage

Unaware of his presence, she scratched a mosquito bite on her elbow and turned a page. In repose, she looked harmless, almost girlish.

Ansel got lightheaded. His gut clenched against…what?Something deeper than curiosity and more irrational than comfort.

Fondness.

What the fuck was wrong with him?

She looked up, and the feeling passed as quickly as it came. Ansel rubbed his neck where she’d bitten him, discarding the odd moment as he had the others.

“What do you want?” she asked.

“I need to speak with you.”

“The only thing I’m interested in talking about is your plan to let me go.”

“As it happens, I can tell you that. I’ll release you in five days.” Ansel paused. “A week at most.”

Surprise flickered across her face. Then her eyes narrowed. “Aweek?”

“It’s the time we need to properly vacate the premises. It will pass quickly.”

She tossed the book aside and stood. “Are you seriously incapable of hearing how fucked up that sounds? How fucked up all this is?”

I am more fucked up than she’ll ever know.

“I’ll do my best to make you as comfortable as possible.”

She leaned on the bars with a frustrated sigh. “Alright, Lab Coat, I’ll play along. You say you want to make me comfortable, but keeping me locked up is barbaric. I need fresh air and sunlight.”

“The opportunity to escape, you mean.” Did she think him a fool?

“I’m serious. Forced confinement is its own form of torture. Do you have any idea what it’s like to be locked in a cage?”

Ansel’s lungs constricted. For a brief flash, he saw a gnarled hand turning a rusty key. Breathing hard, forcing his eyes to stay open, he slammed a lid on his sewer of a memory bank.

Miss Hacker watched him cannily. No doubt she’d concluded he was a madman and was already working out the best ways to exploit it.

Still. Fresh air wasn’t an unreasonable request. And it wasn’t as though she had anywhere to run to. Perhaps if she saw the swamps firsthand, she’d recognize the futility in escaping.

“I’ll be back in a moment.” He rushed to his office, and when he returned, he found her standing in the same place. He produced the handcuffs, and loathing came off her like perfume.

“I’m not wearing those again,” she said.

“I don’t want to use them either, but I don’t trust you. It’s the cuffs, or you can keep reading in your cell.”

She hesitated, clearly evaluating her meager options. Then she sighed. “I’ll only wear them with my hands in front.”

“Agreed.”

“You’re a piece of shit.”

Also agreed.

Once the cuffs were fastened, he unlocked the door and guided her through the dim passageway. She kept her face straight ahead, but her eyes scanned their surroundings.

“How long have you lived here?” she asked as they walked.

“Two years.”

---