Movement behind her. Ellie spun around and saw Elmer standing next to the door now, a meaty hand gripping the knob. She heard approaching footsteps. Frank was coming for her.

Fear blurred the edges of her vision. Ellie wanted the floor to turn into quicksand, suck her down past this room, to a warm womb where she would drown peacefully and not have to face the consequential horror of her choices.

Elmer opened the door.

The man who entered was tall, a good six feet, and had skin the color of cardboard. His thick black hair was cut short, and he wore a black suit, the jacket buttoned, with a lavender-colored tie and a matching pocket square. He smiled warmly, as though she were a guest and not a prisoner.

“Faye, right?” he said, extending his hand.

Ellie straightened, nodded confidently even though she didn’t feel confident. His hand felt warm and dry and strong in her limp, damp grip.

“Nice to meet you,” he said in a jovial tone, like they were meeting at a cocktail party. “I understand you wanted to speak to me.”

“Are you Sebastian?”

“I am. Sorry to have kept you waiting. Some unforeseen circumstances, as I’m sure you heard. Billy here treat you okay?”

Ellie nodded and swallowed dryly, her limbs shaking. She hadn’t known who to expect, but she hadn’t expected to meet a middle-aged Latino who looked like the older version of some guy who might have posed shirtless for the cover of a romance novel. He had a square jaw and sultry lips and the most piercing green eyes she had ever seen in a human being. He also had a drop of blood smeared on his smooth cheek.

He saw where she was looking and, puzzled, touched his face. He examined his fingers and said, “That reminds me,” and then reached into his pocket and came back with what looked like a sealed bag the size of a deck of cards.

“For you,” he said, and handed it to her.

The bag felt light in her hand, the contents as clear as the bag.

“It’s a poncho,” he said. “I don’t want you to get all wet, ruin your clothes.”

Ellie didn’t know what terrified her more—whatever horror was waiting for her downstairs or his cavalier manner, Sebastian acting as though torturing another human being was an ordinary, boring activity, like waiting in line at the supermarket.

“I was hoping we could talk here. About Paul,” Ellie said. “I saw him—”

“Let’s have this conversation downstairs. It will be far more productive and a much better use of everyone’s time.” He stepped aside and motioned to the doorway with his hand. “After you.”

Ellie stared at it as though it were a portal to hell.

Sebastian said, “If you’re having trouble walking, Billy here can assist you.”

Ellie walked, her legs shaky and weak, and when she moved into the hall, Sebastian closed the door behind her. She didn’t have to ask where to go; she knew the way.