One last look around the room revealed something under the bed—a metal rectangle in the wall, ringed with thick, hardened yellow foam at the same height where a power outlet would be, or once was.

Caitlin couldn’t see any weakness in Branford’s prison.

“Genius,” she admitted, then collapsed on the bed.

*   *   *

A noise woke her. The wall-panel drop box clanged open, and familiar smells attacked: grease, cheese, oregano.

She stumbled to the drop box, saw another bottle of Tylenol, the smiling face of the Pizza Monster, and a message on a yellow Post-it note: Eat what I give you.

She took the pills and box to the table, sat in the chair she’d been strapped in the day before. With help from a Diet Coke, she got three Tylenol and two slices down.

Behind her, the locks turned and the door opened.

“Put your hands behind you,” Branford said, close in seconds.

No way she could fight him yet. “I tried to eat it all, but I’ll vomit if I eat another slice.”

“Caitlin, your hands.”

She lowered her hands behind the chair, flinched when she felt the cold steel of handcuffs latch wrist to wrist.

“Get up.”

She rose.

“If you move, I’ll hurt you. Do you understand?”

She nodded.

He covered her face with a black cloth bag. It wasn’t tight, but offered no visibility other than the light below.

His hand touched the small of her back. “I’m going to take you to the playroom, the place where I was forced to wash you.”

A shudder ripped through her body.

“Don’t ruin your clothes,” he continued. “Don’t throw away the food I worked so hard to prepare. Don’t hide a plastic fork so you can try to attack me later.”

“I won’t—”

“Stop talking. You’re mine, Caitlin. Say it.”

She hesitated. He tugged on the handcuffs. “Say it.”

“I’m yours,” she muttered, aware of the cuffs digging into the flesh of her wrists through the airy gauze.

“Now you know me, Caitlin. My name is Embower and I’ll keep you safe. You’re going to walk backward. If you make any sudden movements, I will hurt you.”

She looked down, saw her feet, and stepped backward. Five more steps took her through the doorway.

“Take a step down.”

She did, felt damp crushed stone under her feet.

“Stop here.”

He turned her ninety degrees to the right, then pulled. “Let’s go.”

She counted the backward steps in her head.

Sixteen.

“Turn to your left, then walk forward until your toes touch a wall. Go slow.”

She turned, took two cautious steps, then reached with her foot until she made contact.

“Step up, Caitlin.”

She did, felt another smooth stone floor.

“Five steps forward.”