I popped the latch on the beer cooler that contained my necessary supplies. Taking a seat, I examined the contents. There were all types of sutures, tape, gauze, vials of drugs, and even surgical instruments in sealed, sanitary packages. “This is what he gives the guards here?”

“He doesn’t want them going to the hospital. Raises too many questions,” Clarence said.

I looked up sharply. “What if they die?”

“Then some of the guards get burial duty.”

I looked out the window. The sky was turning pink. “What about the pets?”

“They don’t bury them out there. Guards go behind the guardhouse, that’s out past the maze. Pets go in the cellar. That’s my job.”

“The cellar? In the house?” I imagined piles of bodies festering below us. It made my skin crawl.

“In barrels. I fill ’em with cement and every other week the guards go out to the lake and dump them,” he answered.

“Like the mob.” If Lake Michigan ever dried up, I was willing to bet they’d find hundreds of such barrels. And crates, and probably shoes perfectly preserved in bricks of concrete. “Well, thank you, Clarence. That was enlightening.”

“I’ll keep an eye out for your young man” was all he said. Then he left.

I took the paper and pen he’d brought and went to my bedroom. I didn’t know how I intended to get the letter to Nathan, or what I should even say. “Hey, don’t be so hard on your runaway gay son” didn’t sound quite assertive enough, and “Get over it, you big, stupid baby” was more aggressive than I’d like to be.

Groaning in frustration, I went to the window. I’d have to close the curtains against the sunlight soon, but in this faint predawn, my gaze fell on something I hadn’t noticed before. A slight gap in the ivy-covered rock wall that surrounded the property. A gate. There were no guards.

I wanted to run downstairs and check it out immediately, but bursting into flames didn’t seem like the best way to start the day. I shut the curtains and went back to my letter.

Nathan,

Ziggy is with me. Wait for me at the gate in the sidewall after sundown. Don’t be late, I won’t be able to meet you after Cyrus wakes up.
Carrie

Dawn came, but I couldn’t sleep. Not until I knew Ziggy had survived. Eventually, exhaustion overtook me as I dozed off in one of the parlor chairs. It was around nine when I woke to the sound of labored footsteps coming through the door. Ziggy hung weakly from Clarence’s frail shoulders as the older man guided him in.

“Give me a hand,” the butler rasped, and I hurried to his side. Ziggy whimpered as he leaned against me, and I felt his nakedness through the sheet he’d been wrapped in. When I laid him on the couch, I saw the fresh bites that marred almost every inch of his skin.

And I saw the one I’d made. My stomach soured.