The next few weeks passed by slowly. True to his word, Wheaton kept me locked up in the small room and only let me out to eat my meals at the card table, use the bathroom, and occasionally shower. All I had to do all day was sit on my mattress and stew over my situation. I knew I had missed what was probably my only chance at escape. Wheaton was unlikely to let his guard down around me anytime soon. He had once again started to handcuff my wrists together, along with cuffing my ankle.The only solace I had was that Quinn and my mother were safe, for now. But soon he would kidnap two new victims, and there was nothing I could do to stop him.
Wheaton started to rape me again. Despite all that I had suffered in it, I began to miss his bedroom. At least his mattress was comfortable. I knew it shouldn't matter where he assaulted me, but if it was going to happen regardless I would've rather it been upstairs.
I didn't understand why Wheaton wasn't hurting me. He said it himself that he wasn't satisfied. Maybe it was the boredom messing with my head, but I almost wished he was still furious with me. If I had to stay on my toes to avoid pain that would've at least broken up the monotony. I knew from before that he needed no reason to hurt me. If he really wanted to, he'd make up an excuse. So why the change of heart?
Despite some of my burns blistering, slowly my wounds began to heal, but so did Wheaton's. His bandages came off of his nose and eventually his stomach as well. The only evidence of my attack was a small, red scar right underneath his ribcage. I often ran my hands over it, wondering what might have changed if I had stabbed him anywhere else.
One night Wheaton brought me out to the card table to eat, but there was no food laid out. I let him lead me over and down into a chair, but I was weary of what this change in routine could mean for me. To my surprise Wheaton pulled out his phone from his pocket and leaned over to show me his screen.
"You're going to help me decide who to kidnap," he said, and I saw a candid picture of a woman in her fifties pushing a shopping cart, and then he scrolled over and there was another woman, this time a redhead, who was loading bags of groceries into her car. I shoved his hand away from me.
"I'm not picking anyone. I refuse to be a part of this sick game," I spat, surprised by my own boldness. Wheaton chuckled.
"Well, if you don't choose, then you don't eat," he said, but I shot him a glare.
"Starve me all you want, I'm not choosing," I stated firmly. Wheaton sighed and scrolled through his phone for a while before shoving it back in my face. This time it showed a picture of my mother. It was taken from outside one of our windows that looked into the dining room. She sat there eating dinner, oblivious. I gulped.
"I didn't want to do this, but if you don't do what I tell you to, I can't promise your mother's continued safety," he said, gently taking a strand of my hair and rubbing it in his fingers, and just like that my resolve melted away.
"F-fine, I'll do it. Just please, leave her alone," I stuttered. Wheaton beamed down at me.
"That's my girl. Now you can pick between these three." Wheaton showed me the two pictures from before, along with another snapshot of a white woman with blonde hair getting into a car. My stomach felt queasy. I didn't want to do this! None of these women deserved what Wheaton would do to them.
"This one does charity work at a local homeless shelter on Wednesdays. This one has a few kids still in school. Oh, and this one is on food stamps," Wheaton explained, flipping through the photos.
"You really know a lot about them," I whispered, horrified at the level of detail Wheaton had on each one.
"I like to be thorough. Alright, time to choose. One, two, or three?" Wheaton asked like he was the host of the world's most demented gameshow. I felt my stomach drop to my toes, and I started quivering. I had to do this for my mother. I had almost got her killed once already. But could I really follow through with this? Live with the blood on my hands? I gulped and spoke with a shaky voice.
YOU ARE READING
Trapped With A Killer
Horror"You must be a very lonely person," I said. He leaned over to cup my cheek, and I flinched at his touch, but allowed it. "Maybe, but most people aren't worth the shit they flush. So, I don't mind being alone. But I don't feel lonely with you," he wh...
