Page 93 of A Step You Shouldn't Take

“He controls us in other ways,” Jacqueline explained. “Tells us what to do, what to wear, what to say. He makes up these scenes, and we’re supposed to act them out with him.”

“Last year, he decided we should all learn musical instruments,” Emma said. “The noise was horrible.”

“At the moment, it’s ballroom dancing. He almost broke my toe last week. Uh, if you need Kleenex, there’s a box by your Porta Potti.”

“My what?”

I looked around my cell properly for the first time. The bed—more of a cot, really—took up most of one side, and a nightstand held a plastic cup of water and a book.The Art of Ballroom: Step-by-Step. Wow. Seemed as though Jacqueline was serious about the dancing thing. I’d taken lessons as a child, so I didn’t need a manual, but—

Kim, what are you even thinking?No. I didn’t want to dance with my freaking kidnapper.

Plastic bottles of water were stacked on a shelf along the back wall, together with crackers, a fruit bowl, a box of chocolates, and a greetings card with a picture of a house on it.Welcome to your new home!the message on the front read.

Tim, Peter, whatever—he was certifiably insane.

The aforementioned Porta Potti, a squat cream cube, sat between two short screens for modesty. Nobody would see me poop, at least until Marnie or Mindy or Meryl moved into the cell opposite. Sweat trickled down my spine at the sight of all the empty beds. What was he doing? Collecting us?

“I’m Kimberly, by the way.”

“Kimberly?” Jacqueline asked. She seemed the most talkative. Katia just watched me through wary eyes. “But you’re in the ‘N’ room.”

I closed my eyes for a second, hoping it was all a bad dream. “My middle name’s Noelle. Maybe that’s why I’m in here? And my friend’s Leanne. Annie for short.” A chill ran through me as I realised how Peter found that out. “Dammit, he must’ve been looking at our company website. The staff page has her full name.” I got up and pressed closer to the bars, careful to step around the pool of vomit. “Annie?” I called. Nothing. “Has she moved since she got here?”

Katia finally spoke. “Not yet, but she’s breathing.”

That was a small plus point, at least. I checked the rest of my cell, hoping for something, anything that I could use as a weapon.

A hairbrush but no mirror. A single wooden chair against the bars opposite the cot. A clothes rail with a few dresses and a bathrobe on plastic hangers, but no underwear that I could see. And no footwear.

“We don’t have shoes?”

Jacqueline shook her head. “He’s always worried about us escaping. I guess he thinks a lack of shoes’ll make it more difficult.”

“Has anyone ever gotten out?”

“Fern tried before I got here, but there’s a combination lock on the outer door, and she didn’t know the number. And he punishes us for disobedience.”

Another chill ran through me. “What kind of punishment?”

“It varies. Anything from days without food or loss of clothes privileges to… No, I don’t want to scare you. Just don’t make him angry.”

Scare me? I was terrified. The only reason I didn’t puke again was because I’d already thrown everything up, and even then, bile rose in my throat.

“Just tell me, would you?”

A pause, then Jacqueline spoke again. “He’s smart. Rather than punishing you, he’ll hurt one of the others instead. Would you risk somebody else suffering because of your disobedience? When Fern tried to escape, he raped Emma with a hairbrush.”

Jacqueline had been right; I really didn’t want to know. And poor, poor Emma. She’d been through quite enough even before she came here.

“People are looking for him. They’ll find us. Reed and Wyatt and the police will find us. Does anyone know where we are? What state we’re in?”

Silence.

Then I heard another voice, thin and reedy, coming from behind me.

“Y’all are in Virginia.”

I turned around slowly, conscious of eleven pairs of eyes watching me. In the shadows on the other side of my cage, I glimpsed another woman hovering in the corner, in her late twenties or early thirties with blonde hair piled on top of her head. She wore a dark-red dress with a long skirt and tight bodice, something from the early twentieth century at a guess, and the colour matched the bloody hole in her neck.

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