The Taker had spent a great deal of money on The Pit—a sort of safe room she’d had built in the garage attached to her house. After inheriting a large sum of money from her parents, she’d bought a home and started hiring multiple people to make renovations. Since its completion, she’d had a number of people inhabit The Pit, only finishing them off when the time came to find new occupants. Then, she would kill them and dispose of the body before moving on to the next. As long as she stuck to that rule—only one person at a time—she was safe.
The Pit wasn’t exactly that by definition. It was a metal container built into the ground, with a sealing hatch and a ventilation system to provide oxygen. Unlike other safe rooms, the only way out from the inside was to enter a passcode into a panel by the hatch, and the numbers had been selected at random so as not to be deciphered by a smartass. Not that anyone knew of the hatch; it was her biggest secret, which was why she’d also had the garage door removed and bricked up, as well as having it soundproofed.
Tonight, days after having taken her latest victim, The Taker thought it was finally time to greet her guest. She entered the garage and set down the bag of food, spinning the wheel on the hatch door. It already stank of fast food in here, but it was all she could provide until she had the time and patience to go shopping.
When the door was open, the light automatically blinked on. Before she knew it, she was staring down into the eyes of Mason Black, who blinked in perfect synchronization with the bright bulbs. He was a mess; his facial hair was growing fast, his skin dirty and pale. His eyes were hollows that looked like black holes. The Taker guessed that was bound to happen after only leaving him with two bottles of water to last as long as they had. Looking at them now, empty and squeezed in the middle, she guessed that hadn’t been long.
“Who are you?” Mason asked, squinting to look up at her. The room below wasn’t big. It was less than fifteen feet across each wall, and the height matched. It was just tall enough so nobody could jump for their escape. Not after she’d removed the ladder, anyway.
“Who I am is of no concern to you,” The Taker said. She took a length of rope with a hook on the end and used it to pierce the McDonald’s bag. She then carefully placed the cup of Sprite into the bag and proceeded to lower it into The Pit, feeding the rope through her hands. “All you need to know is that you belong to me now. Every breath you take is a gift from me, and I want you to consider that before you get any wild thoughts of seeing daylight again. There’s no way out of here unless I let you out, so I’d rather you didn’t try. Is that understood?”
Mason scrunched up his face, crawling to study the bag. His jaw ground from side to side as he peered inside. He must’ve been starving, but he wasn’t showing it. “This is some kind of joke, right?”
“Does it look like a joke to you?”
“This… Is there a camera in here? Is this some sick—”
“For God’s sake, it’s not a joke,” The Taker said, pulling the rope back up and realizing just how prominent her English accent was. “Now eat your food and listen. Can you do that?”
Mason hesitated and took a French fry from the bag. He looked at it, sniffed it, then looked at it again before popping it in his mouth. He chewed and swallowed audibly. After waiting for seconds—as if that was all it would take for poison to start coursing through his bloodstream—he held the bag close and retreated to the far wall, stuffing his face like a greedy kid at a birthday party. There was the hunger she’d expected.
“I’m going to treat you well,” The Taker said. “As I’ve already explained, you belong to me, and I take good care of my things. I’m going to feed you, give you water, and we can even find a way for you to clean yourself. As for your… business… well, it looks like you found the bucket. It does flush, you know. Just pour it into that grill.”
Mason ignored every word, putting as much food in his mouth as possible. Neither of them said anything until he was finished, his stomach and the crisp paper bag the only noises other than the ventilation system churning behind the steel walls. When the bag was empty, he threw it across the room and sat up, glaring up at her with bloodshot eyes. “I’ll find a way out of here. You know that, don’t you?”
The Taker smiled. “Nobody else did.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means you’re not the first, and if you don’t learn to respect me, then you’ll be gone.” She let the last words hang, hoping they would settle and he would know exactly what she meant. Of course, she didn’t really want to let him go—he was her specimen, looking all handsome and gruff, even on the fringe of death. Still, if she could take away his hope, then he’d become more flexible—more bendable to her will.
“Where exactly would I go?”
“Away.”
“Somewhere dark and dangerous, I guess?”
“You know the drill.”
“Well, lady, you’re not the first psychopath I’ve come across.”
“Oh, I know.” The Taker laughed. “I’ve done my research, and I know all about the Lullaby Killer. The thing you need to remember is that he and I are very different.”
Mason scoffed. “How’s that?”
“For one, he was a lunatic with no self-control.”
“How is that any different?”
The Taker narrowed her eyes and met his gaze. She dropped her wry smile, letting him know she was serious—that if he messed with her, he wouldn’t live to regret it. “Because,” she said, “I wouldn’t hesitate to put a bullet through your skull and bury you in the backyard. As I said before, you’re mine.”
Mason shot to his feet, scrambling across the floor and leaping up toward the gap. The Taker recoiled on instinct, but he couldn’t reach. He was helpless. “I’m going to get out of here, you bitch. You hear me? I’m going to get out and wring your damn neck!”
“Not likely,” The Taker said. Had she not explained herself clearly enough? She thought she had, so why didn’t he understand? After one short conversation, he was already acting out.
She had to teach him a lesson.
With no further comment, she shut the hatch, drowning out his screams of anger and rage. While she twisted the wheel, she reveled in the newfound silence of the room, grinning to herself. She was in control of this situation, and as she’d just explained, she wasn’t going to be spoken to like that. This was just one of her many forms of punishment; Mason would stay there until she saw fit, and until she decided to open that door again, he could damn well starve.