Page 10 of These Cold Strangers

“We have to get out of here,” I say, voice low but determined.

“I tried, in the beginning. I fought him, and he drugged me. He never unlocks me, just brings me rewards when I’m good.”

“Rewards?” The term is made all the worse as I remember him saying, “Be a good girl, and you’ll get your reward” earlier, upstairs, when I was happily under him and begging for release.

You had sex with a man who has a woman chained to the wall of his basement. God, Addison.

I fight the hysteria rising in me by focusing on Julia.

“There’s a cot. A compostable toilet. Fruit. A pillow, blankets. You know. Go along, and you get rewarded.”

“And when you’re bad?”

Her silence—again—tells me all I need to know.

“What’s his schedule? How often does he ... visit?”

“Not as much lately. In the beginning, a few times a day. I think. He said ... he said he gets bored easily. So long as I keep him happy, he won’t ...”

“Kill you?”

Another small sigh in the dark, and I squeeze her fingers in reply. I’m shocked to realize she is okay with this concept. She wants to be out of this basement, out of this misery, and she’s more than happy to do it without a pulse.

I am not. I will not die down here. Not after all I’ve been through. I survived the worst, and I refuse to let Todd Preis, monster that he is, get the better of me.

And here I thought he was a hero. I’m learning the hard way that one good deed does not a hero make.

“How did he take you?” Julia asks, genuine curiosity in her voice.

“He didn’t. I came here myself, like an idiot. Of course, I had no idea he was ... this. Todd saved the life of a man in DC a few weeks ago. The video of it went viral. No one knew who stopped to help, but I recognized him. I’m a journalist. I was after the story. I tried to talk to him last week, but he refused. I thought I’d try again.” It strikes me that Julia was here, in the basement, the whole time Todd and I caught up, sitting outside by the fire, cozy and charming. “There’s more. You’re not the only missing woman from this area.”

“I know. He told me. He likes to talk. After.”

“How many are you aware of?” I ask, horror growing inside me.

“He didn’t say exactly. It’s so weird that you’re here. He’s been talking about you.”

“Tonight?”

“For a few days. He hates your dad. He talks about the colonel like they spoke yesterday. I mean ...”

The colonel. I haven’t thought of him like that in years. Even though he’d retired, that’s how everyone referred to him. “My dad is dead,” I whisper, the words a knife to the heart.

“I know. I remember. So does Todd. He talks about their murders all the time.”

I feel a spike of pride that my father was such a good judge of character. And a spill of sorrow that I didn’t listen to him. That I fought against his iron fist when I should have listened. God, I should have listened.

“Why?”

Before she can answer, there is a creak above us, and we freeze. Todd is moving around upstairs. Has he heard us talking? He could have the whole place miked for all I know. I am tempted to scream, to draw him down. But he might hurt Julia, and I don’t want to be the cause of more pain.

He gets bored.

Now he has a new plaything, and what does that mean for her?

The door opens with a smallthwang, and he comes down one step at a time, slow and heavy,dread, dread, dread, dread, making sure we can hear him coming. Damn it, hewaslistening.

“Wakey wakey,” he sings, shining a flashlight in my face.

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