The Perfect Couple (Last Stand #4)(10)
Author: Brenda Novak

He didn’t answer. "Did anyone see you?" he asked, his tone tempered with caution.

"No one," she said. "I swear it."

Stepping over her, he hurried to the stairs and took them two at a time.

Chapter 5

Heavy footsteps pounded down the hall. Sam heard them, knew instinctively they weren’t Tiffany’s. Tiffany wasn’t much bigger than she was.

It had to be Colin. He was finally home.

She tried to feel some relief, some of the hope and confidence that had sustained her all afternoon. He’d get her out of here and have his crazy wife committed. That was what she’d told herself. But the longer she sat in her urine-soaked bikini on the wooden floor of a room that had no windows, the more she began to doubt that the help she’d been counting on would arrive.

Why was there a mattress in here? And what was that stain in the middle of it?

Sam hadn’t ventured close; she didn’t really want to know. But avoiding it meant sitting on a hard floor without so much as a blanket or a pillow. And although it had been warm during the day, it was cool in the evenings. Being wet made it worse. She was chilled to the bone.

The bolt slid on the door.

Braced for whatever might happen, she watched Colin open the door and block the empty space with his body.

Taller than Anton, who said he was six feet, Colin had brown eyes and thick, curly dark hair. He had it slicked back and was dressed in a suit.

Samantha had often admired him as he came home from work. My neighbor is so hot, she’d once told Marti on the phone. You should see him. I hope I have a husband like him someday…

Are you talking about the guy whose wife has the big boobs?…

That’s the one. They’re like…the perfect couple.

Colin didn’t look so good to her right now, however. He wasn’t smiling, as he usually did when they met out on the street. He remained in the doorway, sizing her up in a manner that made her cringe.

"Can I please go home?" she asked.

"We’ll talk about that later. Get up."

He spoke softly, but his words were nonetheless a command. Aware of the fear causing her to shake, and the embarrassing stench of urine, Sam rose to her feet.

His gaze immediately shifted to the wet spot she’d left on the floor.

"You’re not potty trained?"

He was being mean. Hugging herself, she rubbed the gooseflesh on her arms. "It–it was an accident. I d-didn’t have anywhere to go."

He pointed to the bowl Tiffany had hit her with earlier. "What do you think that’s for?"

She didn’t answer. It wouldn’t matter what she said. He wanted her to feel bad.

"Can you remember to use it next time?" he asked.

She fought to push words past the lump in her throat. "I don’t want to pee in that. I just want to go home."

"Sorry, that won’t be possible."

Sniffing in an attempt to avoid a complete breakdown, she licked her lips and tasted the salt of her own tears even as she struggled to stifle them.

"Why not?"

He surprised her with a bright smile. "We need a new pet."

"P-pet?"

"That’s right."

"But…" Her tears fell faster. "I’m not an animal."

"No, you’re better in some ways. You can do more than fetch a stick, play dead and roll over, can’t you?" He grimaced at the wet mark on the floor. "But we do need to get you trained. And just so you can’t say I didn’t warn you, I won’t tolerate this kind of accident in the future. I’ll let it go this time because it’s your first day, but if you do it again, you’ll go without food or water until I decide otherwise."

Was he serious? Sam gaped at him, wondering if she was having a nightmare. "You can’t keep me here."

"That’s what they all say."

"Who?"

"You think you’re my first? You think I don’t know what I’m doing?"

That terrified her more than anything so far. "You don’t understand!

I’m sick."

"You look fine to me. I mean, you’re a little knobby-kneed and flat-chested but you’re what, thirteen?"

She nodded.

"That’s the perfect age."

"For…"

"Coping. It’s amazing what the human psyche can endure. I find the study of it absolutely enthralling. In a few weeks, you’ll adjust. You’ll probably even start to like it here, to love me as a good pet should."

That would never happen. "But I have mono. I’m contagious. That’s why I’ve been home from school."

The glee fled his face. "What did you say?"

"I have no energy, no strength. It’s terrible. If you got it, you wouldn’t be able to work or–or mow your lawn or–"

"I have to work. I belong to a very prestigious law firm. And you don’t think a house like this pays for itself, do you?"

"See? You don’t want to get mono. It lasts a long time."

"The stupid bitch can’t even get this right," he muttered.

Sam stepped closer. "You’d better let me go."

"It’s too late for that," he snapped and slammed the door as if he feared breathing the same air would be enough to contaminate him.

"Wait!" Sam called after him. She wanted to ask if she could wash up, but she dared not remind him that she was to blame for the mess. "I’m cold.

And hungry!"

"You’ll live!" His response drifted back to her, and then he was gone.

Sam couldn’t prevent the sobs that racked her body. She wanted her mom.

No longer concerned about the stain, she threw herself on the mattress. There were worse things than a stain of questionable origin, worse things that mono, worse things than living with a potential stepdad she didn’t like. At least she and Zoe had always had each other, no matter how many times they’d had to relocate, or bail Grandpa out of jail, or go down to the soup kitchen just to stop their stomachs from growling.

Now, even though her mother lived right next door, Samantha had the terrible feeling she’d never see her again.

Colin was expecting the knock when it came. He knew the neighbor girl couldn’t go missing without a search. The police would canvas the whole area.

"They’re here," he murmured when Tiffany emerged from the kitchen to stand behind him.

Putting the TV remote on the coffee table, he got up and turned to survey the room. Everything was in order. He’d made his wife get dressed and repair her makeup. Then he’d gone back upstairs to drug his new pet.

He’d hired a contractor to do some soundproofing in "the pen," as he called it. He’d claimed he was planning to buy a drum set and didn’t want the neighbors to be bothered by the noise. But it wasn’t as soundproof as he’d hoped. Fortunately, the sleeping pills he’d given Samantha in a glass of juice must’ve worked because she’d stopped yelling. He hadn’t heard from her in more than thirty minutes.