Wheaton stopped chaining me up after that, and he stopped handcuffing me to the bed at night, but I didn't run. Some time passed, and as the summer gave way to fall I felt my sanity slip further and further out of my grasp. Without hope, I'd become numb, and soon I was letting Wheaton do whatever he wanted with my body, without the will to muster up a fight. We'd talk for hours about dumb, everyday things, but what else was there to do? Wheaton was the only person in my life. If I didn't talk to someone, I was truly going to go insane.
The marks on my wrists and ankle began to fade, but my burn scars were still a raised, angry red. I started to forget the sound of my chain dragging on the concrete behind me. But sometimes as I slept the noise invaded my dreams, like I just couldn't shake it. While my physical bonds were gone, my mental ones were stronger than ever. Every time I thought about escaping I was haunted by the memory of what I had done in that warehouse, the blood that stained my hands. Wheaton had his fingers wrapped tightly around my throat, slowly suffocating me. I couldn't continue like this forever, but if I ended my own life there was nothing to hold Wheaton back from killing again.
So far he had honored our deal and hadn't kidnapped anymore people, but as the fall continued on I noticed he had started getting nightmares again. I tried my best to comfort him, but one night he woke in a panic and almost choked me to death before realizing what was going on. After that, I let him sleep through them. I had to keep him satiated, keep him satisfied. The lives of innocent people rested on my shoulders. The responsibility kept me up at night, and I couldn't shake the feeling that I was trying to hold back a rabid dog with a piece of twine. Eventually the leash would snap, if he didn't turn on me first. So far Wheaton hadn't been too violent towards me, but sometimes I caught that glint in his eye, and I knew he had torture on the brain. He'd pull out his box full of polaroids he had taken of his victims, including me, and carefully pour over them, one at a time. The images made me sick, but I'd rather he relive past atrocities than commit new ones.
I was almost convinced that I would live out the rest of my life in the monotony that characterized those days, but I should have known the universe had more to throw at me. It was late September, and Wheaton and I were eating dinner upstairs. We had been talking about our favorite authors.
"Tolkien is a masterful writer. Seriously, his stories are amazing, and his characters are balanced between flawed and heroic. It makes them relatable! I mean, Sam's character is the most humble, and yet he's the one to save the day in the end. Frodo wouldn't have succeeded without him," I argued.
"I just can't get over his descriptions. I mean, that man could spend eight-hundred words describing a single tree. It's ridiculous, and what the hell was up with that Tom character? What was even his purpose?" Wheaton said.
"You just don't understand his genius," I sighed.
"Well I think you're just caught up in the nostalgia of them, and you're not thinking about the books critically. Didn't you say you read them when you were really young?" he pointed out. I slumped in my chair a bit. I hadn't told Wheaton much about my father, and I didn't plan on changing that. So, I'd been vague when I talked about my childhood. I was saved from the awkward silence when Wheaton's phone began to ring.
"Hold that thought, It's Ben calling," Wheaton mumbled. "Hello?...Woah, slow down... You did what now?" Wheaton snarled. He listened for a moment with his lips pressed together in a thin line. "I see, okay, calm down. I'm heading there right now." He hung up, and I gave him a questioning look. "Get dressed in real clothes. We are going to the cabin," Wheaton ordered.
"What's going on? What did Ben do?" I asked, but Wheaton shot me a sour look.
"I don't have time to answer all your questions. Now go do as I said," he growled, and I shot out of my seat and ran downstairs to throw on pants, shoes, and a jacket. When I was ready I came upstairs, and Wheaton all but dragged me to the garage.
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...
