by Stella Hart
I rolled my eyes. “Slept through what?”
“This.” He grabbed his own phone and clicked a few buttons. Then he turned the screen to show me a flickering video. It showed my apartment at 1:03 yesterday morning. The camera had a night-vision mode, so everything was visible and clear.
“It’s just me sleeping,” I said, rolling my eyes again. “What does that prove?”
“Wait for it.”
A moment later in the video, I got out of bed and stared into space. Then I slid some shoes on and grabbed a coat, blank-faced the whole time. I picked up a key and slipped out of my dorm.
Nate fast-forwarded the footage to 3:19 a.m. I returned to my dorm, removed my coat, and kicked off my shoes, leaving dirty patches on the floor. My pajama pants were covered in blood, and so were my hands.
My knees buckled, and I slid back down to the cold floor. There was a high-pitched sound in my ears, as if my head had been struck with a tuning fork. I had no idea what was happening.
“I… I must’ve sleepwalked,” I said, panic brimming in my words. “I don’t remember leaving my dorm that night at all.”
“You left for nearly two and a half hours and came back covered in blood. The bodies of those girls were found hanging in the quad by a jogger two hours later. You do the math, Alexis.”
“No.” I shook my head wildly. “It’s not what it looks like. I have my period. You can check. Seriously.”
He arched a brow. “Your period?” he said with a scoff. “Do you see the amount of blood on your legs and hands in this video?”
“You don’t get it,” I replied, holding up a shaky hand. “I’ve always had extremely heavy periods. Guys never understand that stuff because it doesn’t happen to them. But it’s not the first time I’ve woken up with my legs covered in blood.”
“And your hands?”
“I must’ve touched the blood when I was sleepwalking.”
“What about your face?” Nate zoomed in on the footage. There was a scratch running across my cheek. “Defensive wound from one of the girls?”
I’d noticed the minor abrasion in the mirror when I woke up yesterday and went to the bathroom to clean myself up, but I didn’t think anything of it at the time. I thought I just scratched myself in my sleep. I’d done it before. No big deal, and easily covered with concealer.
“I scratched my face in my sleep,” I said, staring up at Nate with wide eyes. “Or maybe a twig scratched me when I was sleepwalking.”
“You know what you sound like with all these flimsy excuses, right?” he asked, cocking his head.
I swallowed hard and looked down at the floor. I knew exactly what I sounded like. A fucking lunatic, as he so eloquently put it earlier.
Maybe I really was losing my mind. Or maybe I already lost it.
My heart hammered as a question repeated itself over and over in my brain. What did I do that night when I left my dorm?
I had no memory of it at all, but I knew it happened. It explained the dirt I found on my floor the next morning, so it obviously wasn’t fake footage like the deepfake sex tape. It also showed me coming home covered in blood, which I did wake up to the next morning… but that was just my period.
Right?
I clutched my chest and sucked down deep, heaving breaths. “I… I didn’t do anything,” I finally said. “I can’t explain that video. But I know I’m not a killer.”
Nate packed everything away in his bag and smiled thinly. “You sure about that?” he asked. Then he stepped away, footsteps echoing in the dark tunnel beyond the cell.
I collapsed to the mattress and curled up in a ball as thoughts and emotions swirled around inside me like a typhoon.
The worst part about all of this wasn’t that I was trapped in a cold, lonely cell under threat of torture and death. It was that Nate was right to ask me if I was sure about not being a killer.
I didn’t want to admit it, but after everything he’d shown me… I wasn’t sure at all.
15
Alexis
Grimacing, I rolled over on the mattress and clutched at my belly. My greasy hair was sticking to my cheeks and forehead in knotted clumps, and my unbrushed teeth felt like they’d been coated in cotton.
I’d been out of food for a while now. I had no idea how long, exactly, because there were no clocks down here in my tunnel cell, but I knew how I felt. Every inch of me ached, and my stomach felt like it had shriveled up before being attacked by sharp claws.
Nate left food, water, and toilet paper occasionally, but I never saw him. I was quite sure he had a tiny camera hidden somewhere in the cracks of the dark walls, because he always seemed to know when I was asleep. That was when he’d drop off the food—bread, fruit, and the occasional packet of potato chips. Just enough to keep me alive, but not enough to give me any strength.
It was horrible to be dependent on a man like him, but that was what he’d done to me. He’d forced me to depend on him to eat and drink, and he made me crave the sound of his footsteps, his voice, and his woodsy scent, all because it meant I’d be able to eat and drink soon. But it never happened. He was like a ghost, and I was always alone down here.
There was no regularity to the things he brought me. Sometimes I’d wake up after what felt like a twelve-hour sleep to find nothing. Other times I’d only drift off for a few minutes and wake up to see a new bottle of water and a banana.
He clearly knew there was nothing more comforting than routine in a situation like this, and he didn’t want me to be comforted. He wanted me to lose all sense of time, too, and it was working. By my estimate, I’d been imprisoned down here for eight days, because my period had been over for a while, but it could’ve been more or less.
Nate hadn’t cared about my period, either. He hadn’t provided me with pads or tampons even though he was aware it was happening, so I had to scrunch up bits of the toilet paper and stuff it in my underwear to stem the flow of blood. It was the kind of thing I would’ve done in high school when I was caught out without any tampons and too shy to ask someone to give me one.
Later, when the makeshift pad was soaked through with blood and starting to break apart, I squatted over the bucket and used some water from the bottles I was given to remove all the crumbly bloodstained bits that had rolled up between my labia.
It was humiliating, especially because I knew it might be caught on camera for Nate’s twisted viewing pleasure, but I was still grateful that I had toilet paper. If Nate was a worse monster, he could’ve left me to rot without any, forcing me to bleed all over myself and soil my clothes with urine and feces.
Not that I was defending his actions—the paper was just a small mercy.
Wincing, I sat up and looked around the cell that had become my home. Although I knew every inch of it by now, my eyes continually roamed over it when I was awake, because there was always the thought that I might’ve missed something in an earlier search. A rusty old nail I could use to pick the padlock, perhaps, or a loose stone I could use for an attack on Nate when he finally showed up while I was awake.
Before this happened, I always assumed I’d think about my friends, family, and pleasant old memories in order to distract myself if I were ever trapped somewhere. I might even dream up bright, wonderful fantasies to pass the time. But that wasn’t what had happened at all. In my time here, I’d turned selfish and wild in my thoughts, like an animal. Food and escape were all I thought about.
On my first day here, I screamed at the walls, assuming Nate could hear me. What gave him permission to act as judge, jury, and executioner in the new Butcher murders? What gave him the right to decide I was guilty, snatch me from my life, and trap me in the dark with no recourse, no comfort, and no hope of a future?
Over and over, I screamed ‘you can’t do this to me!’ but after a while, when my throat was sore and my lips were parched, I gave up. I was wrong.
He could do this. He already had.
He’d taken me and held me against my will, and
there was absolutely nothing I could do about it. I could scream and cry and utter dark threats as much as I wanted, but in the end, it wouldn’t achieve anything. All I could do was hope that he slipped up one day and left something behind that I could use for an escape. Or maybe I’d get lucky and the Butcher would kill more people, and Nate would finally realize that I was innocent all along.
I cringed every time that thought occurred to me. It was a terrible thing for me to hope for. It meant I was wishing and praying for innocent lives to be taken in the worst kind of way, just so I could be free again.
God, maybe Nate was right. Maybe I was a monster. Or maybe he was just turning me into one.
No wonder solitary confinement was considered to be such an awful punishment. Deprived of human company and everything but the basics, a person could drive themselves mad just from sitting or lying around all day with nothing but their thoughts to distract them. The time dragged by so slowly, too, making the solitude even more torturous.
My stomach started growling again, and I slumped back on the mattress with a groan. How long had it been since that last piece of bread? How long had it been since my last sip of water? I truly had no idea. It felt like days.
A faint sound echoed in the tunnel outside the cell, and I sat up again, heart pounding. It could just be a mouse or rat, but I had to hope it wasn’t.
Maybe it was the police. Maybe my friends and family had realized I was missing and called them, and then they’d tracked me all the way down here. Maybe Nate was in custody right now, wishing he never met me and regretting all the terrible plans he had in store for—
My train of thought was derailed as Nate stepped up to the bars. He held a large, heavy-looking bag in one hand and the black knife roll that used to be in the torture room in the other one.
“Miss me?” he said with a cocky smirk.
“Fuck you,” I hissed. I couldn’t admit that I actually did miss him, purely because I was so starved of human touch and company. I wouldn’t allow him to have that satisfaction.
“I know I promised you pain, but I thought I’d mentally torture you first.” He carefully placed the bag and knife roll down on the ground. “Seeing you slowly lose your shit down here is almost as good as physically hurting you… but not quite.”
A shiver ran over my skin. I knew what that meant. The real torture was about to begin.
Suddenly I missed the solitude. Missed the mind-numbing boredom and soul-crushing isolation.
Nate pulled a bottle of water out of the bag. “Drink,” he said, tossing it to me through the bars.
With a shaky hand, I raised it to my lips, wondering if it was poisoned. It tasted fine, though, and the cool liquid was a welcome respite from the dry, sandpapery feeling that had developed in my throat over the last several hours. It instantly made me feel more alert, too. Unfortunately, I had a feeling that was exactly what Nate wanted.
“Strip,” he commanded when I’d drained the bottle.
“No.” I threw the bottle through the bars, just missing his head. Damn.
Nate wasn’t fucking around today. He pulled out a knife from the black roll on the floor and waved it in my direction. “Strip, or I’ll start taking strips off you with this. Your choice.”
My choice. Sure. As if anything in this hellhole was really my choice.
“Are you sure you have the guts for that?” I asked in a low voice, even though I knew it would earn me more punishment. What did it matter? He was going to hurt me either way. I might as well try to emasculate him and make him feel like shit in the process. He deserved it.
Nate unlocked the door and let himself in. Then he grabbed my arm and brought the knife down, slicing my coat open and tearing into the skin below. I shrieked and jumped back, clutching my now-bleeding forearm.
“Does that answer your question?” he asked, cocking his head.
I nodded silently.
“Good. Now fucking strip.”
I gritted my teeth and removed my coat, sweater, and jeans, shivering as the cold air hit my bare skin.
“Bra too,” Nate said, eyes glittering with malice as he brandished the knife.
With halting movements, I unhooked my bra and let it fall to the floor. I slid my hands down to my panties, too, but Nate shook his head. “Leave them on.”
I did as he said, and he stepped out of the cell. “Follow me.”
I took half a step before Nate turned back to me. “No. I changed my mind.”
I swallowed hard. “What do you mean?”
He smirked again. “Crawl.”
“But—” I bit back my retort and lowered my eyes to the floor. It was filthy, covered in dust, twigs, dried leaves, and stones. Crawling was going to be hell on my hands and knees.
I looked back up to Nate to see if he’d change his mind and grant me the mercy of walking. He didn’t say anything. Just stared at me with murder in his eyes and waved that glinting knife around.
My shoulders slumped as I realized I couldn’t figure out a way to escape from this place if Nate got sick of my attitude and decided to kill me fast. That meant I had to play by his rules. Degrade myself to stay alive.
Once I was free and clear, it wouldn’t matter what I did to make it happen.
Resigning myself to my fate for now, I dropped to all fours and started to crawl. He led me out of the cell and down the tunnel, toward the maze of smaller passages that led to the torture room he showed me on my first day here.
The distance felt like an impossibility, but I finally made it to the other room. My knees and shins were grazed and stinging like mad, and my hands were covered in grime.
“Good girl,” Nate said, petting my head like a dog. Then he kicked my left side, sending me flying across the floor. “Get up.”
With a clenched jaw, I shakily forced myself to my feet.
“Go inside,” he said, nodding toward the open door. “Get on the table.”
“Which one?”
He narrowed his eyes. “Which one do you think, stupid slut?”
I went over to the exam table with the stirrups, hoping that was what he meant. It seemed to satisfy him, because he didn’t shout at me or slash me with the knife again. He simply smiled and put his bag and knife roll down on the other table.
He unrolled the black fabric so I could see every other knife and scalpel he had in his collection. Then he started unloading things from the big bag next to it—antiseptic wipes, tissues, ropes, bandages, red and black alligator clips attached to long cords, and a large black device that I didn’t recognize.
“Please, Nate,” I said, panic rising in me as I watched him fiddle with the clips. “You can still stop this before it’s too late. You don’t have to hurt me.”
“I know. But I want to.” He smiled nastily and held up the alligator clips. “Wanna guess where these are going?”
“I don’t know,” I whispered. I didn’t even want to think about it.
“Put your feet in the stirrups. I don’t want you struggling.”
With every inch of me trembling, I managed to stick my feet in the stirrups at the end of the table. They were set quite low, so my legs weren’t bent at the knees, but they were still splayed. If I wasn’t wearing panties, Nate would be able to see every inch of me right now.
When he was satisfied that I was in position, he grabbed the rope from the other table and tied my arms up behind my head. Then he picked up the clips again.
I screamed when he attached them to my nipples, letting the cool metal bite into my sensitive flesh. “Stop. Please!”
“I haven’t even started,” Nate replied. He went over to the other table and clicked a button on the side of the mysterious black device. “This is a battery, by the way.”
I frantically shook my head. “No, no, you can’t—” My words were cut off, replaced with howls of pain as electricity jolted straight into my nipples. It felt like someone had poured lava directly into my veins.
Nate flipped the switch off a few s
econds later. “Where did you keep Claire and Nessa before you killed them?”
“I didn’t do anything to them!”
I shrieked as the battery switched on again, making me convulse in agony. When Nate finally turned it off again, I sobbed with relief.
“Why did you pick them?” he asked, eyes glittering with hatred.
“Nate, please! I didn’t do anything. You have to believe me!”
He switched the battery back on and twisted a knob on the side to lower the intensity of the electric shocks. It was still painful, but I didn’t feel like I was dying anymore. “I think I’ll leave this on for now,” he said coolly.
I whimpered as the sharp clips zapped me over and over, making my torso thrash on the table. My legs were held fast by the stirrups, which Nate had tightened earlier.
“What sort of knife did you use to cut them up? Was it like this?” He slid a large knife out of its pocket on the black fabric roll.
I shook my head, tears streaming down my face. “I can’t admit to something I didn’t do,” I choked out, squeezing my eyes shut as another jolt bit at my nipple.
He sighed and brought the knife over to me. “Where did you go that night when you sneaked out of your dorm?”
“Nowhere. I—”
I stopped and screamed louder than ever as he brought the knife down to my left inner thigh and carved a straight line into the soft flesh there.
“You clearly went somewhere.”
I shook my head wildly. The movement made the clips pull on my nipples, sending more fiery bolts of pain through my chest.
“I didn’t mean it like that,” I said. “I just meant I don’t know where I went. I don’t remember because I was sleepwalking.”
He carved two more angled lines, both joined to the first one. They were excruciatingly slow. “If you don’t remember anything, how can you possibly know if you were actually sleepwalking? How do you know you weren’t lucid, and then your crazy fucked up brain blocked it all out?”
“Stop! Please!” I shrieked through the pain. I looked down to see a sideways K on my thigh. He was writing something on me.
