“He gave me a sandwich—ham, cheese and tomato. It was the first vegetable I had eaten in weeks and my body lit up with it. I used to push the tomato round my plate, before, in my old life. Makes me laugh, now. While I ate he cleaned up the box and put new blankets in there. I shivered at that—I wanted to scream. It meant I was going back in. The second I finished my sandwich, he put the music back on. That woman. How I hate her.

“‘Get in,’ he said. I shook my head. ‘I made it all nice for you. Get in.’ When I wouldn’t he poured something from a gallon jug into the bottom of the box. It had a sour smell that made my throat tingle. ‘The blankets are all soaking wet now,’ he said. ‘What a waste of my time.’ Then he picked me up, put me back in the box and closed the lid. I’ll never forget the sound of the padlock closing, right next to my ear. Snick, like a blade through an apple.

“The bottom of the freezer was filled with vinegar. It was like fire on my burned skin. The fumes caught in my throat and made my eyes water. He poured more hot water in through the air holes. That was bad, it seemed like the air had turned to acid.

“‘When the music plays, you get in and stay there, quiet,’ he said. ‘No dilly-dallying. No argument. Every moment it plays, you stay inside, being quiet and good.’

“I don’t know how many times we went through it. I was slow to learn, I guess. In the end it wasn’t so much that I gave in. It was like, my body just started obeying him. Now I can’t get out of here when the music is on, no matter how much I want to. If the house was on fire, I couldn’t do it.

“I can take more than the others, so I’ve lasted longer than usual,” Lauren says. For a moment her voice has an edge of pride. “Ted says it’s because of my psychological issues. But it’s not enough to survive. I want to live. I’m going to get out and you’re going to help me.”

My brain reels with everything she’s telling me. I try to focus. Of course I’ll help, I say. We’ll get you out.

“Well, we have to try,” she says. She sounds so adult and exhausted. It makes it all real. I feel it in my tail, the horror.

Up in the bedroom, Ted groans. His head must be very sore. The bed creaks as he turns over. His feet hit the floor with a thump. I hear him shuffling, bare feet on tile. The shower comes on.

“Olivia,” he calls, thick. “Kitten.” The music grows louder.