Caitlin shrugged, shook her head side to side.

“By now you’ve intuited there’s no way out of the playroom unless I release you, yes?”

Caitlin nodded, but her mind drifted to the other room, trying to picture the sealed power outlet under the bed frame. The story of Paige Lauffer’s escape lived under the fragments of things she’d seen.

“Fine,” Branford continued. “I’m going to leave you alone for three hours. Since you haven’t chosen a movie for today, any choice you make will be for your next time in the playroom.” He gestured toward the bookshelves. “I also have a fine mix of plays and popular fiction, even the recent memoir of a famous journalist.”

The screen switched to a second-story video feed looking down at a cornfield. At the far end of the green, Caitlin could make out Branford’s duplex, but saw no sign of her rental car.

She sat on the couch and spent all three hours watching the wind barely move the world.

Chapter 66

CHAPTER

66

HE CHECKED THE feed. Caitlin was still watching the TV.

Not bad, considering yesterday’s lesson. How long will it be this time?

Angela, his Angel, had fought for a month before relenting. He’d tried a kinder approach with Paige, his Barbie, and paid the price. Still, Embower hoped Caitlin would understand soon. He had so much to share with his Writer.

Back to the purse. He’d gone through Caitlin’s bag on the first day, found her wallet, minimal makeup, and not one, but two cell phones. The iPhone had been powered on, so he incorporated that into his plan, but didn’t dare turn on the cheap black model until he knew why Caitlin had it. He needed to understand every move she’d made. No false steps, not with a piece this valuable. He rifled through a wad of credit card receipts, smoothed each, and typed the date, amount, and vendor information into a spreadsheet on his laptop.

Seven slips in, he found a receipt from Bloomington Cell in the mall that listed an 812 number.

So the iPhone is your personal device and the second is a burner you bought to appear as an anonymous local number. In disguise like me, Caitlin.

The police would hunt for his Writer unless she’d dropped off the grid on purpose. He needed to close their file.

Embower ran upstairs and checked his costume closet. Dropping the rental car off had been easy enough. He’d thrown on one of his brown pageboy wigs, a black sport coat, and Caitlin’s sunglasses. But to really make the woman disappear, she needed to be seen in public, safe and alone. He dug through his bins for five minutes, then returned to the kitchen, convinced he had the necessary ingredients.