The suitcase was red.

If I did nothing, I was going to be a sex toy for a criminal. It couldn’t be good, might be worse than Isak. He’d hinted I might be tortured. Though dead was worse than alive, most times. I imagined an existence of constant pain that might make a person beg for death.

I should be vomiting at the prospect.

In the middle of the night, alone on the bed, I did sit against the headboard for a while, hiding in my hair, my hands at my head, or my fingers stuffed in my mouth, as if that might keep me safe. The cuts throbbed an unpleasant reminder. Normal? Hell, no. And if it hadn’t been for the application of Isak’s will that seeped through the house and into my being, I’d be slumped in a corner shaking.

Should I be raging at someone. Yelling? I’d lost sight of normal. My forefinger ended up with tooth marks, and blood-colored bruises.

By morning I came to the conclusion Isak had gone somewhere. Left the villa. Perhaps to arrange the final points of my sale.

Vitor confirmed it when a servant wheeled in breakfast.

Neither of them blinked at the sight of the staples on my body.

“When he’s back, you’ll be going soon after.” No elaboration except for, “You can wander around in here, to pee and whatever. He said so. But not out there.” Vitor nodded at the deck.

Then he walked out. As if...as if he knew I wasn’t going anywhere.

Eat, then a long hot shower, washing myself clean, hissing at the stings, trying to unfog my brain. I sat in the stream of water, getting tile marks on my back, thinking.

Collared but free. I had a hankering to examine the desk, and that suitcase.

When dry, I wrapped myself in a fluffy white towel and padded over to the desk. His place. I’d raided it before, taken the capsules.

This time I searched thoroughly, not having to worry about Isak catching me. I found the knife, of course, set it aside on the desk top, next to a sculpture of a hunting dog. If Vitor watched via some camera, now would be when he’d burst in.

He didn’t. I waited some more, watching the wall clock tick through ten minutes.

He wouldn’t let me keep a knife, if he knew?

No.

A flaw then. They expected zombie girls to be obedient. But I wasn’t one of them. How long did I have before Isak came back? Could I kill him?

Could I stick this sharp point in his chest or stomach and drive it home?

I sighed, poked the knife handle. No.

So I sat in the chair and searched the other drawers, found the little diary of the day he caught me and he talked to the man, Wolfe. The top pages were dog-eared. The bottom ones were less so. The pages were out of order and the lower ones were those that detailed his earlier life. His fiancée. His almost wedding. It seemed he’d not read these for a while.

My god. He was a human after all. Sitting in a fluffy towel, in a gorgeous room looking out over the sea, remembering what he did when he was bad...I became sad, and how dumb was that.

The suitcase had been sitting like a living lump waiting for me to attend to exploring it. I walked to it. Very wide. Two and a half feet. Four foot long? When I unclasped and unzipped and opened out the side, I found leather straps inside, at middle, and at both ends. The arrangement at one end was clearly meant to take a head. There were covered holes as if to allow someone to look in...or for breathing.

This was meant for a person. I took a few shaky steps backward. For me, most likely...to transport me.

“Holy fuck.” Why couldn’t the man do anything without invoking terror?

My head wasn’t doing its thinking job very well, of course – blame that on Isak mindfucking me. It wasn’t until late in the day that I realized I could run. I could’ve run any time, since he’d left me.

I sprinted through the implications, vomiting logic.

Isak was gone.

I’d glimpsed a boat with an outboard motor below the decks. I could go.

Simple. Just, maybe, wait for darkness.

I found clothes – underwear, shorts, and a top that fitted. Miraculous. When did the man let his victims have clothes?

“When is he coming back?” I casually asked Vitor, when I saw him.

“Late. Ten maybe. Eleven. You eager to go to your new owner?” I couldn’t tell what this man was thinking. His face was as readable as cardboard, though it bore lines, so he must be able to smile. Probably when someone died.

“No.”

That drew a laugh. First ever.

Fuck you.

Ten o’clock. I had hours. The sun was down at six, approximately.

I would do this. What did I need? Or rather what did I dare to take? Knife. Food and water would be nice but I’d leave with nothing but myself if I had to. They’d scour the waters for me, maybe use a floodlight, expect me to stick to land, so I’d chance it and go directly out. No storm, light winds.

And if the boat had no fuel? Pfft.

I could do this. No matter what.

From the noises, the house seemed mostly deserted.

At ten past six, I walked out onto the deck and paused. If he was coming... No footsteps sounded. Just the susurration of my breathing and the sea. I found the stairs that led down and sneaked to the next level, went past the landing, and kept going.

The ground floor was below. The steps leading to the beach and the boat were a few paces away.

Vitor pushed through the door that led outside, staring at a cell phone, then he raised his head and saw me.

So I stabbed him. The knife tip punched through his shirt. Shock hit his eyes. He flailed then sagged. Blood welled. I kneed him, hard, pushed him, left the knife in so he didn’t spurt blood all over me.

The pain of my own cuts made me clasp a hand to my stomach.

What else could I do? Hand to hand combat wasn’t foreign to an agent. Or knife play. Gun would’ve been nice but noisy, was all I thought as he staggered, fell against the closing door, slid to the floor, and died, gargling his last breath.

Massive blood loss. Cardiac arrest.

The knife had gone up under his ribs and reached precisely where I’d aimed. His heart. Surprising he had one. Emotions were for suckers. Hate though, a little hate leaked in. I kicked him in the face after I stole his gun. Stripped the holster from him quickly, extracted the knife, went through the door and down, out onto the sand.

Wait.

Maybe I should drag his body out of the lighted indoors?

I dithered, staring back up the steps. And what about water and food?

Sand under my feet. Freedom under my feet. Dithering...not the best way to act. I bolted for the boat and, grunting, heaving, pushed it out into the water then leapt in. The waves were small. Even the weather wanted me to go.

Then fucking go.

My calm had fled.

I seated the oars and began to row. Getting out through the breaking waves wasn’t easy, and using the motor would’ve been better if not for the noise. I managed. A breeze tousled my sweaty hair. Only a few lights were on at the mansion. He’d return by car, most likely. I’d seen no headlights signaling his return. I should keep watch for that.

I should try to get a half mile out? The motor would take me a lot further, fast, but would be loud. I’d need to judge when to use it, then head back to land at a wide angle, and find what? How would I leave this country?

I paused to try to figure that out, with my head in my hands. One thing at a time. Planning used to be a strong suit but I was a little messed up. With more distance from him, I’d improve, wouldn’t I?

After I seemed to have rowed a fair distance, I pointed the boat squarely into the waves to give myself time to start the motor.

Waves slapped the underside, splashing spray into the air, onto my face, arms. The moon was rising, sending a dribble of light over the sea. The villa lights showed but I’d heard no sirens. Headlights had shone there but I couldn’t tell who they’d been or if they’d stopped at the villa.

They’d call the police when they found Vitor.

Unless Isak told them not to.

It must be nine or ten by now.

The motor... A big wave slapped the boat’s bow up then down.

The air rang with a high pitched background whine that terminated in a need.

He’d given me some hidden command.

I froze, clutching the sides of the boat with claw-hands.

I knew what was wanted. At the bow was a compartment. The moon couldn’t reach there and it lay in shadow.

Water sloshed under my feet as I moved forward, dreading, ice and heat flushing my veins. He’d put something there, and I had to see what it was.

Had to. I shouldn’t. Eyes wide, heart thumping...I reached.

I flicked open the catch, opened the little compartment door. There sat a device. Sealed in a plastic bag to protect it.

He’d left it for me.

He knew I would be here. My hand shook but I picked it up. Weighty.

It fitted into my palm and I pressed the arrow-shaped play button.

What did I tell you? Follow my rules. Don’t try to thwart me or there will be suffering. Immense suffering. You’ve been bad, Red. Come back to me and I will show you how bad.

“Then I shouldn’t come back,” I whispered, as if he were here beside me.

Come back.

I jumped. Fuck. Tears sprang. I dropped the device into my lap, and it almost slid into the water at the bottom of the boat, except I caught it, saved it. If it fell, he’d be gone. No voice. My fingers wouldn’t let go. Whimpering, I pressed it hard to my forehead.

A recording but he knew me well.

Now, Red.

Mouth trembling, face twitching with muscle tics, I coughed. I swiped my face with my forearm, then pulled up my shirt and wiped off the sweat and spray and tears, again. Don’t do this. Shhh. Shhh.

I very firmly told myself not to do this, again, then I started the motor in two tries, turned the boat, and headed back, jarring over the small waves, with the villa dead ahead in my line of sight.

He’d known I’d do this, had planned this.

He wanted me to try to get away. Why?

Why?

To break that so-called agreement between us? An agreement he’d set up.

Maybe.

Why?

He could’ve done anything to me anyway, couldn’t he?

Why, rattled through my brain as I drew close to the villa.

Because...doing this had let the monster have fun.

He’d turned on floodlights so I could see...them. I passed the first one floating in the sea. The first upturned white face, though she rolled as I chugged past, her clothes swirling, a wave washing over her.

The girl with the chestnut hair. No blood coiled in or stained the water.

Perhaps she’d drowned.

Perhaps an accident. Knew it wasn’t.

I motored further, crunching the bow into the sand, and found three wallowing near the shore. All dead, drowned or strangled or poisoned, what did it matter how it had been done?

I heard him walk up behind me as I stood staring, mind blown by grief.

“What did you do?” I choked, blinded by tears.

“This is the suffering.”

“What did you do?” I demanded, if quietly.

“They volunteered, as you will. Recorded a video, wrote their little notes, and walked into the sea.”

“I won’t.”

But I was lying, wasn’t I.

“Tsk. You’ll do whatever I ask. You know that.” He put his hands to my shoulders. “Go out there and talk to them. Don’t kill yourself. See what you’ve done, this night.”

The cruelest thing he could have asked me to do, was this.

I couldn’t say no. Of course I couldn’t. I waded out and kneeled in the small surf, among the bodies. The sting from my wounds faded in, out.

There were five in all. All of the girls were gone.

They washed against me.

Trailing hands, swimming hair.

Mouths sucking on my skin as their faces rubbed past my thighs.

Suffering, it was this.

The young girl mocked me most.

Small fish nibbled on them, scales flashing in light.

Crabs found the fingers of the one who strayed closest, her eaten hand delicately feeling the sand on the bottom. Loosened pieces of her skin eroded and washed away, drifting in the froth and eddies.

What did you do, Red?

I wept forever. Though warm and soft, the ocean drained everything of use from me, my hard-fought righteousness, my worth, my sanity, and left me empty.

And he came and took something from inside me, from my head, rummaged inside me and took.

“There. Wasn’t hard. I have my answer now, broken girl. My extra broken girl.”

He kissed my nape and swept me up. Water dribbled and dripped from my swaying arm and hand. Down below were his feet and sand. I spewed water and watched it fall away in a trail as we walked.

Upside down, I watched the girls get further and further away then I shut out the world.

Warmth.

His eyes bored in from above and fingers hooked at my mouth, probing teeth, tongue. “Don’t die on me, Red. I can make more of you but I like you. A lot.”

Then he wrapped me in blankets on the floor. Cocooned in pain.

“And I really have to fuck you once before you die.”

His boots walked away.

Silence. I shut my eyes again.