Page 61 of The Captive Missing

“What?”

“I get it from kitchens just like this, in apartments just like this, deep down in the belly of Cambric. I get it every time I have to-”

Eyes opening, Charlie looked at the ceiling instead of her.

“Every time you have to what, Charlie?”

“Don’t you get it?” He was angry all of a sudden. Shoving off from the door, he stomped to the kitchen and flung open the cupboard. “Don’t you recognize some of the food? I come down here and I try like hell to get someone pregnant, then I get to take some extra food when I leave.”

The implication rung like a bell inside Val’s head. She threw her hands over her ears, as if by refusing outside sound she could make what she just heard not true. She was in the breeding program. With Charlie. They wanted her to get pregnant. With Charlie’s baby.

She took a step back. Then another and another until she bumped into the corner where the living room met with the hallway. Whirling to the side, she ran the few steps into the bedroom and slammed the door.

* * *

By the time Val was able to collect herself, several hours had passed. Charlie had not come to the door. He didn’t knock or push his way in. He didn’t even call out to see if she was alright. Tired of pacing in uneasy silence, Val returned to the living room and leaned for a moment against the wall.

Charlie was busy, his figure hunched over the stovetop. Smoke curled in the air, but was sucked up by a loud ventilation fan. His back was to her. His well-defined shoulders flexed beneath his white polo shirt as he poked at the thing he was apparently cooking.

Scooting to one side, he grabbed for a pair of gray-striped oven mitts, and slipped them onto his hands. So focused was he, that he didn’t notice Val lingering, didn’t feel the track of her eyes upon him. Bending low, he opened the oven and pulled out a pair of baked potatoes. He set them on the counter, then poked at one with a fork, testing to see if they were done.

Seeming to find satisfaction, he slid to the refrigerator and rummaged through it. Opening drawers and shoving items around, he fished noisily until he found what he was searching for. A head of lettuce and some dressing. Ranch dressing.

“Ranch.” The word tumbled unbidden from Val’s mouth as saliva began to flow. “They have Ranch dressing.”

“Jeez, you sacred me.” Charlie huffed a breath, jumping at the sound of her voice.

They eyed one another for a beat, Charlie clutching the dressing in one hand, the refrigerator door still hanging open behind him. Val twisted her fingers together at her waist, one bare foot tracing a nervous pattern along the plush carpeted floor.

“It’s still me, Val.” Charlie began finally, shifting to shut the door. “They’ve made me into a lot of things, but I’d never force you.”

Val bobbed her head, noting the faint sting of hurt that passed over Charlie’s face. He was bothered she would think that of him, even for a second.

Turning away from her, he resumed his hunt through the cupboards, opening them and pawing around before moving on. When he grabbed down a large mixing bowl, it dawned on her that he was preparing a salad. Tipping forward off her post at the wall, she padded to the kitchen and took the lettuce from the counter. Quietly, she set about rinsing it in the small sink.

“You cook?” She asked, glancing at him over her shoulder.

“I’ve picked up a few things.” He rewarded her with a soft smile. “You like steak?”

“Steak?” Val sniffed the air. “Is that what you’re burning?”

“Hey! Hey!” Charlie frowned. “It’s not as easy without a barbecue.”

They fell into a comfortable silence then. Charlie working at the stove top, and Val hunting down things to add to their salad. She sliced tomatoes and mushrooms then shredded some cheddar cheese. All the while she wondered when he had the opportunity to try a barbecue. Maybe one of his clients had one, she thought.

When they settled at the small table together, there wasn’t an inch of empty wood to spare. Val had set it formally, like the staff had back in her free life. There were water glasses, wine glasses, plates, utensils they wouldn’t even need, and napkins.

All of the fixings for the baked potatoes were in tiny little serving dishes. Bacon bits, sour cream, chives, and butter. She even dug up a small candle and lit it off the flame from the stove. A few drips of wax melted down its side.

Charlie clutched an open bottle of frosty beer in one hand and scooted a few things around to wedge it down onto the table.

“This is really nice,” he commented, cutting into his steak. “Thank you.”

“I should thank you. The steak is actually really tender. Almost as good as on a barbecue.”

He winced at her use of the word, seeming to catch his earlier mistake. Glancing up quickly, Charlie eyed the corner of the room. Val followed his line of sight. There was a small black camera attached in the upper corner. A red dot blinked just beneath it. Cambric was watching.

“So, how does this work?” Val lowered her voice, and focused her attention on her plate.

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