“You need to take a breath. That doesn’t work, you need to take another one. Then you need to feel it. Feel it. And you know exactly what I’m talkin’ about. When you feel it, you’ll know this shit isn’t crazy. This shit is something else. I don’t know what the fuck it is. I just know you’re not gonna get dead because of it, seein’ as I’ve waited three lifetimes for you, and now that I’ve got you, I’m keepin’ you.”

I stared into his eyes, unblinking, not speaking, my heart racing, his words freaking…me…out.

“I’m gonna go,” he finished. “You shower. I want their stench gone by the time I get back.”

Then he did just that. He went, pulling the big steel door open like it was made of flimsy plywood and slamming it behind him.

I stared at the door.

I’ve waited three lifetimes for you.

What did that mean?

I’m keepin’ you.

I knew what that meant and I didn’t like it one bit.

Then it hit me that I was sitting on an unmade bed in the basement room occupied by a crazy, murderous man who could move as fast as lightning and tear apart humans and animals in the blink of an eye.

That was when I burst from the bed and ran to the door.

I pulled on it, putting all my weight into it, but it didn’t budge.

“Shit,” I hissed and tried again.

No go.

“Goddamn it!” I yelled and whirled, taking in the room.

It was not small, not large. It had cement floors. Down one wall, in the far corner, I could see a shower cordoned off by glass block. No shower curtain. Next to that, a swaybacked, claw-foot tub, which, if I wasn’t in my current circumstances, I would have thought was pretty cool. On either side of that, against the wall, narrow wire shelves holding towels and toiletries, not many of either, most of the shelves bare. A sink next to that, exposed piping under it, a utilitarian medicine cabinet over it. Next to that, glass block walls on both sides of a toilet. No door. No privacy. He either lived alone or his company didn’t mind sharing a variety of intimacies.

I turned and saw stacked milk crates lining another wall, most of them with the openings pointed out, the top ones with the openings facing the ceiling. Jeans, sweaters, tees, boots, running shoes, Henleys, thermals, all stuffed into the ones on their sides, a passing try at folding them—a poor passing try. Belts, socks, underwear shoved into the ones on top.