Shannon had left her a new toy—a dangerously huge silicon penis. Abbey held it up to the camera, hefting it, milking the suspense. Getting everyone’s attention. Then she said: ‘My name is Abbey Chapman. I’ve been kidnapped by Shannon Luxford. I’m being held prisoner in a two-storey house in Westbranch. Please help—he’s going to kill me. My name is Abbey Chapman. I’ve been kidnapped by Shannon Luxford …’

•

This time Abbey was ready. She was strong, and she wasn’t handcuffed to the bed. She had psyched herself up. If he switched off the lights and starved her, she could take it. But hopefully he wouldn’t. Hopefully he would come in here to beat her or stab her—and she would kick him to death.

He did neither thing. He came in like everything was normal. He opened the slot and gave her a tray of stir-fried noodles, a new shade of eyeshadow and a cheerleader’s uniform. Then he replaced the battery in the camera and left.

He hadn’t seen the broadcast, she realised. A grin spread across her face. When the cops showed up on his doorstep, he would be completely blindsided.

She waited, tingling with excitement.

Hours passed.

Days.

The police didn’t come, and Shannon kept behaving as though he hadn’t seen her message. Abbey was adrift on a sea of confusion. Was it possible that no one else had seen it either? Or had thousands of people decided she didn’t matter?

‘What do you think this is?’

When the question came, she was sitting cross-legged on the bed with her eyes closed. Trying to imagine she was in a cornfield on a sunny day, nothing but yellow in every direction. She had taken a half-day meditation course on Spring Break, and it was really starting to pay for itself.

She opened her eyes, and immediately knew that Shannon had seen the video. He didn’t just look angry. He looked hurt.

‘I think this is a fucking prison cell,’ she said. It was such a relief to drop the act.

‘Fred saw your little message,’ Shannon said. ‘He told me about it right away. What did you think was going to happen?’

‘Who is Fred?’

Shannon gestured at the camera. ‘The guy you’ve been performing for this whole time.’

Abbey was confused. ‘He’s one of the people on the site?’

‘There is no goddamn site, you stupid bitch. Did you really think I’d connect this camera to the internet? Fred mails outfits and toys to me. I record you, and mail the recordings to back to him.’

The dawning horror was too much to take. ‘But … so he’s paying you to …’

‘No. It’s a trade. He makes his own recordings and mails them to me. Everybody wins. And nothing touches the internet.’

Abbey couldn’t speak. Her last hope, sucked down the drain.