“It would be easier to navigate the terrain if my hands were free.”
“Don’t underestimate me, Ray,” said a deep voice that sounded nothing like Lizzy. Perhaps he’d been rash to dismiss her multiple personalities.
It wasn’t a pleasant thought.
He didn’t respond, but continued trudging through the forest taking care to lift his feet eight inches off the ground with each step. Lizzy was right. It helped. Fergus was right as well. Ray was no woodsman. Images of his cozy quarters in the warehouse — watching the drone footage, listening to John Denver, eating hot food — flitted through his mind. He’d been in the woods for a couple of days, but he’d been miserable the entire time. And now, rather than capturing Lizzy, she had captured him. Everything he knew about her must be utilized if he hoped to survive. According to her journal, no one had accomplished that singular feat.
“Here we are,” she said several minutes later, interrupting his thoughts.
A crumbling wood cabin stood before him. Or leaned, rather. A strong wind might reduce it to kindling.
“I know what you’re thinking. It’s not in great shape, but the bones are good. Bones...” She giggled. “Come on. I’ll turn on the lantern.”
He tried to commit everything about the exterior of his would-be prison to memory: rusted corrugated metal sheets served as a roof; a stovepipe in an equal state of decline thrusted through the angular surface on the right side; large rocks shored up the structure’s left front corner where the ground had eroded; a pane-less window framed blackness within.
Another shoulder-poke forced him through the doorway the next moment. He stopped, waiting for light. When it arrived, his heart sank. The interior looked as bad as the exterior. Rotten floorboards, several sections missing, promised to break the fibula of careless tenants. A desiccated pile of firewood in one corner had likely hosted countless generations of rat families, and a squatty cast iron stove with its grate hanging askew cradled ashes from decades-old fires.
Two shiny eye bolts had been screwed into the only solid-looking wall in the place.
“Come on, Lizzy. I treated you better than this.” He struggled to keep the fear out of his voice.
“Be grateful, Ray. It’s better than being outside, exposed to the elements. You’ll have a roof over your head tonight, and I’m going to light a fire for you. How nice of me!”
“I’m talking about those.” He gestured toward the bolts.
“Would you prefer the previous arrangement?”
“No,” he said finally.
The wide grin almost split her face in two.
He looked out the window rather than at Lizzy. “Can we cover that opening with something?”
“Yes. I have some plastic sheeting. At the very least, you kept me warm, dry, and well-fed. I will do the same for you.”
“Thank you.”
Another giggle. “You may not thank me later.”
Next came the familiar pinch in the back of his neck, then blackness.
***
When he awoke again, his mouth felt like it was stuffed with cotton. Not a good kind of cotton, like cotton candy. More like cotton gauze used to wrap limburger cheese.
His stomach rumbled at the thought of cheese of any kind, even stinky cheese.
The sight of a cheerful fire in the wood-burning stove greeted him when he opened his eyes. His arms seemed to be pinned to the wall behind him. He tugged at them, puzzled by their obstinacy, yet finding the position not terribly uncomfortable.
Then the blowflies returned.
Lizzy. His decaying prison. The handcuffs.
Before he could work up a healthy state of dismay, he became distracted by a scintillating aroma.
“Rabbit stew,” a voice said.
Turning his head to locate its source felt like moving underwater. There sat Lizzy, cross-legged on the floor, grinning. The corners of his mouth responded of their own volition.
“Well,” she said, “I haven’t seen you smile in a month. How nice. You’re really quite handsome, Ray. I wonder if you realize that.”
The effort to respond vocally was too strenuous. He just continued to smile.
“I bet you’re hungry. I hope you don’t mind if I feed you. Your hands are out of commission at the moment.” A girlish giggle followed. “Have you ever eaten rabbit stew? It’s normally better than this. Freeze-dried vegetables aren’t as good as fresh.”
Whatever Lizzy had put in the stew, it tasted delicious. With every spoonful she fed to him, his salivary glands spurted. How long had it been since he’d eaten?
“Poor little bunny didn’t stand a chance.”
Another giggle. This one sounded less attractive.
More blowflies arrived. He almost spit out the mouthful of stew, but stopped short. He must navigate this situation carefully.
“What was in the syringe, Lizzy?”
“If you think hard enough, you can figure it out. I’m sure you did an inventory of everything that was missing after I left. You probably had printouts of all your little spreadsheets.”
He hadn’t because everything that was relevant these days was stored in his head. He remembered the missing midazolam, then a few seconds later, the ketamine. Special K would explain much about his current state. Despite knowing that the drug coursed through his system, he felt no anxiety — a side effect, no doubt. Depending on the dosage, there could be many more side effects, and not all beneficial.
“You could accidentally give me an overdose.” The words came out slurred, but understandable.
“Did you notice that I never made any references to a job in my journal, Ray? There was a reason for that glaring omission. If it had fallen into the wrong hands, the authorities would have no trouble tracking me down. But I’ll tell you now. I was a doctor.”
Surprise filtered through the mental fog.
“I know,” she continued. “It’s an odd occupation for someone like
