Dinner came all too quickly, but I wanted to be left alone after the morning's events.

"Knock, knock," James said, as he opened my door and entered. "You hungry?"

"Not particularly, no."

He sat down on my bed. "That was certainly an exciting morning, wasn't it?"

Silence.

"It's okay. You did well, aside from the little needle incident."

Silence.

"Really, it's okay. Plenty of people have aichmophobia."

"Ick-what?"

"Aichmophobia. It's the fear of needles."

"Oh. . . So, am I in trouble again?"

"No, not at all. I'm sure it was pretty scary for you, even without the needle. We'll work on that later. So, what did you think of the doc?"

I shrugged. What was I supposed to think? All I could think of was here was another man, a doctor no less, that knew I was kidnapped and didn't report it.

"He's been a big mentor for us, and I hope you take the time to get to know him in the future. He's a very wise and brilliant man."

"Can I ask you something?" I ventured. "How is it that Dr. Manning, Tyler, and Dan all know I'm here? I mean . . . how are they in on this, too?"

"Ah, good question. I figured you'd ask that sometime. I guess you can say we are all connected with the same common goal."

"Which is?" I asked.

"Love. Happiness. Family. That's all," he said, simply. "Come on. It's time to eat."

My curiosity was piqued. His "answer" didn't answer a thing. And I wanted to ask a million more questions.

He held out his hand to help me up. Instinctively, I put my hand in his and scooted off the bed. The minute I did it, I wondered what the hell I was thinking. But it was like the "thank you"—it came out before I could stop it.

I released my grip once I was up, but James held on to my hand. Not tightly, but gently and warmly. Before I could pull away, we were in the kitchen. He released my hand to help with dinner and gave me a smile.

What just happened? I felt a pit in my stomach.

"Corrine, can you set the table, please?"

"What?" I said, brought back to the moment. I felt like I had never set a table before.

"Set the table. The plates and things are there on the counter."

I gathered the necessities, weaving in and out of the kitchen, careful not to make any physical contact. I had reached my quota already for the day.

We were having Asian chicken salad, which I had never had before. After the blessing and holding of hands, James served both of us. We had wine again. I was surprised he let me drink two nights in a row—but very happily surprised. Anything to help me forget.

"This is really good," I offered.

"Thank you. My mom gave me this recipe."

You have a mother? I thought you were spawned.

We ate in silence for a while. I was getting used to the quiet awkwardness. It was actually better than James's attempts at meaningful conversation.

"So, Corrine, are you feeling better?" James asked.

I nodded.

"I was talking to Dr. Manning downstairs, and he thinks you have a clean bill of health. He wants you to keep up the good work you're doing with the exercise. And keep eating right," James said. "Before you know it, you're going to look great."

"What's wrong with how I look now?" I snapped.

He began back-pedaling. "No, no, no. You're beautiful just as you are. You wouldn't be here if you weren't."

I looked down at my plate.

"It's just that we're into health, especially me, and you want to treat your body like a temple, as the Bible says," James said.

I assumed the "we" was Tyler, Dan, and perhaps Dr. Manning.

"'Do you not know that you are God's temple and that God's Spirit dwells in you? If anyone destroys God's temple, God will destroy him. For God's temple is holy, and you are that temple.' I Corinthians 6:19," James cited.

Just what the world needed—another Bible thumper. And a psychotic one at that. I didn't know if I should be impressed he could memorize all of that crap or sickened by the fact a kidnapper was so religious. He was bending the Bible to his needs. Nothing could be scarier.

"If you knew me, you'd know I'm not religious," I retorted.

"That's okay. You have time."

"I have absolutely no interest."

"Anyway, back to Dr. Manning," James continued, trying to keep dinner banter upbeat. "He was hoping we could spend Thanksgiving with him."

"At his house?"

"Yes."

"I—I can leave here?" I asked, incredulous.

"With me, yes," James clarified.

"Wow, okay. That would be fantastic." I couldn't believe it. "Is he married?"

James explained, "Well, I guess you could say that, yes. Her name's Sophia. You two have a lot in common. I'm sure you'll be fast friends."

"How old is she?" My stomach fluttered at the thought of having a friend. It was so lonely in the apartment. But how could I have a friend in this prison?

"Oh, I'd say she's in her early thirties now," James said.

That was a big age difference. Dr. Manning looked like he was in his mid-fifties.

"Anyway, I have something else I wanted to talk to you about." He seemed uneasy. "I have to go back to work in a couple days. I took off the last couple weeks to bring you home and get you settled. But it's time for me to go back."

I felt an unsettling mixture of excitement and disappointment at the same time. Excitement because maybe that would lead to a good time to try an escape. Disappointment because I'd probably be left alone for long periods of time—much like solitary confinement.

"What do you do?" I finally asked.

"I work in marketing for a firm in the city."

"Oh."

He must've sensed my disappointment because he added, "But don't worry. I'll spend as much time with you as I can when I'm home. You won't be lonely. And my boss worked out a schedule where I can work from home periodically."

"That's nice." I still felt down but couldn't figure out why. "What days?"

"Well, it won't be a set schedule. It'll be day-by-day."

I wondered if that was on purpose to keep me in the dark. It'd be impossible to figure out his schedule then.

"Hey, so do you want to do anything after dinner?" James asked. He tried to sound casual, but I could tell he didn't want to talk about Sophia anymore. I wondered why.

After dinner, James brought up his acoustic guitar. I didn't know he played. He opened up another bottle of wine, and the two of us hung out on the couch. He began playing a Beatles song. Mystery solved—James was the Beatles fan.

If I didn't know any better, this looked like a relaxing night with friends.

I thought of James as the businessman type, unassuming and bland. But he blossomed behind his guitar. There was a sparkle in his eyes and ease in his stance.

But I reminded myself he was still a kidnapper.

James played a few more songs while I sipped my wine. The more I drank the more I smiled and chuckled at his renditions of certain musicians he was trying to make me laugh at. Then the guilt would set in for enjoying myself in the slightest.

James really had a good voice, too. He really had talent, as much as I didn't want to admit it. How could kidnappers be regular people—singers and business professionals?

I really enjoyed James singing some of his favorite Beatles' songs, the ones that really leant themselves to an acoustic guitar, such as "Rocky Racoon," "I Will," "Something," "Blackbird," and "Yesterday." The Beatles were popular way before I was even born, but hearing him sing their songs, I could see why they had such a big following—they were so timeless.

"Wow, James, you are so talented," I said after his first Beatles ballad, regretting I said it the minute it slipped out.

"Thank you," he said, blushing.

"When did you learn how to play?" I asked.

"My dad bought me a guitar when I was about six. And he gave me lessons."

"Do you play any other instruments?"

"Just the piano," James replied, sipping his wine.

"Just? I can't even play one instrument, let alone two," I said.

James's cheeks were visibly red. I smiled at his modesty. Or maybe it was the wine smiling.

"Maybe sometime you'll be able to hear me play the piano. I mean, if you want." His voice was so low, and he pretended to tune his guitar that obviously needed no tuning.

"I would like that," I said before I could stop myself. He was becoming three dimensional to me, someone with such depth.

And the piano was also located downstairs . . .



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