When he ran out of breath, Nico said, “Gee, I hadn’t tried that.”

Somers bit back the first response that came to mind. He stood there, already hating the cool damp of the stone as it sank into him, and tried to think.

“What did you do to your hair?” Nico asked.

“There has got to be a way out of here,” Somers said.

“Yeah, there’s another door, but the psycho who brought me here made me promise not to use it. It’s kind of an honor system, you know?”

Somers spun on Nico, already opening his mouth, and then stopped. Nico’s face was washed out; his eyes were huge, the pupils dilated from long hours in the dark. He was hugging himself, and on one side of his head, the shaggy dark curls were standing up. From sleeping on the ground, Somers thought. He’s been here a day and a half, minimum, and he’s barely holding his shit together.

“Are you cold?” Somers said, noticing Nico’s jersey shorts and tank for the first time.

“Toasty,” Nico said. Then, eyeing Somers, he said, “Maybe I should let you borrow something.”

“Oh this? Just something I had lying around.” Somers maneuvered around Nico, looked as far into the darkness as he could, and asked, “Where’s Mitchell?”

“What?”

“Mitchell. Is he here?”

“Oh.” Nico looked even paler. “Shit.”

“What does that mean?”

“I—I saw some blood when I woke up. It was, you know. Fresh. Still wet.”

“Shit,” Somers said.

“He kept him here, didn’t he?” Nico said. “He kept Mitchell here until he was ready to torture him or blow a hole in his head or whatever he wanted to do to him. And then he stuck me in here. This is like his storage place, isn’t it? This is like his fucking refrigerator where he keeps his snacks.”

“Let’s not jump to any conclusions.”

“Mitchell’s dead,” Nico moaned. “And I’m next.”

“That’s jumping to conclusions,” Somers said. “What else did you see? Have you explored everywhere?”

“Uh, no. This place is insanely fucking creepy. This is where he . . . where he killed them, right? The first guys, I mean.”

“Yes.”

“Oh my God. Oh my God. Oh my God. He’s going to kill me. He’s going to kill us. Oh my God.”

“Nico, hey. Look at me. Right here. Yep, look me in the eyes. He is not going to kill you, ok?”

“We’re here, and we’re trapped, and he’s going to kill us. He’s going to cut my face off and put bees in my head and—”

Slapping always worked in the movies, and Somers had to admit to a powerful desire, over the last two years, to slap Nico once or twice. Instead, though, he took the younger man by the shoulders and squared their bodies.

“He is not going to kill you,” Somers said, softly, slowly. “That’s a promise, ok? From me to you. He’s not going to hurt you again. But right now, I need you to hold yourself together for a little bit longer. We need to find a way out of here.”