It had been the weirdest and quietest twenty-four hours since Barbara had been murdered. I couldn’t help but watch a little when Cain was doing what he was…doing. He was oddly kind. I hadn’t expected to think that he’d been “kind” after seeing the photos of the bodies, but that was the only word for it. He spoke to her mostly like they were friends, sat quietly as he worked on his art, and then told her, ‘it was time,’ before he stabbed her through the heart. It was sick and so not right. Yet, the scene was strangely beautiful, like a ballet with death.

To add more confusion to my already muddled brain, Cain had carried Barbara out and then cleaned his work area as if it was a normal job. He then disappeared and returned with my favorite dinner, sketchbook, and paints. Then he handed me an ointment for my wrists. They had begun to rub raw. Once more, the vortex of emotions whipped me around until I was too tired even to understand if I was horrified, angry, felt invaded, or flattered that he was putting this much effort into taking care of me after what I’d seen.

I knew for certain that I would’ve already been dead if he wanted me to be. I also knew that there was something seriously wrong with me. I felt emotions. I wasn’t like him, and yet…there was something in the way he spoke and talked about what I liked and needed that rang so true.

Sitting on the foam bed with the purple blanket wrapped around my waist, I was currently painting a portrait as I sang along to the endless loop of “You Are My Sunshine.” Just another thing that was growing on me as time passed. I didn’t know what day of the week it was or what time of day it was in this windowless space, but it felt like daytime. It felt like early afternoon, and I missed going for my daily runs and sipping on my favorite coffee. I wondered if Jorge was worried about where I’d gone.

Kind of a sad thought that Jorge, someone I barely knew, may worry more about my sudden disappearance than my own mother. The television screen flashed in the corner, making me jerk.

“Get ready for an Oscar-winning performance, Sunshine,” Cain’s voice came through a speaker in the wall.

He was standing in the garage and looked like the sexiest mechanic in the world as he wiped off his hands. The sun beamed into the open bay door and smiled at seeing those golden rays. Placing the painting aside, I stood and moved as close to the screen as the chains would allow.