Still Beating Jennifer Hartmann

Chapter Four

He doesn't violate me again that night, and it's a small solace.

The basement grows dark, so dark, shadowing everything around me. It takes a long time for my eyes to adjust enough to see Dean's silhouette perched beside me against his pipe. It must be well past midnight, making it Monday—which means, if people haven't already started questioning our disappearance by now, they will. I rarely call in sick to work, and I certainly never no-show. It would be a huge red flag to staff and co-workers.

And Dean is a well-respected employee in the union doing road construction. He works first shift. People will definitely start asking questions when he doesn't show up today.

Dean's foot slides against the floor, pulling my gaze in his direction, despite the fact that I can't really see him. I hear him sigh as he adjusts himself and tries to get comfortable.

"You awake?"

His voice is a comfort I didn't know I needed. "Yeah."

I roll the back of my head against the pole, back and forth, and tap my bare toes in opposite time. I slipped out of my heels when Earl brought me back downstairs after the bathroom break. The break was short-lived, unfortunately—he shoved me into a tiny restroom with an oversized t-shirt that reeked of him, then ordered me to change. I climbed out of my shredded dress and replaced it with the white shirt, doing my business, brushing my teeth with a pink toothbrush he left out for me, and joining him out in the hallway a few moments later. He handed me a turkey sandwich and a glass of water and told me I had three minutes to eat. He timed it. Then he dragged me back down to the basement, cuffed me to the pole, and did the same thing with Dean.

He hasn't been back since.

I squint my eyes through the shroud of darkness, trying to make out Dean's outline. It looks like his legs are stretched out in front of him, facing me. I wonder if he can see me better than I can see him. I clear my throat, running my tongue along my upper lip. "I lied to you earlier," I tell him, my voice ragged from crying, yelling, and lack of proper hydration.

Dean makes a low humming sound, then replies, "Which part?"

"I wouldn't rather be alone."

There is a long pause. A resounding silence.

I nibble on the inside of my cheek, wondering if he's ever going to respond. There is nothing to fix my eyes to, so I just stare off into the dark abyss and wait.

Dean eventually sighs. "The fact that he fed us and gave us water is a good sign. It means he's going to keep us around for a little while."

I glance in his general direction, taken off guard by the change of subject. I'm okay with it, though. I'd rather not dive into feelings and grudges and relationship history. I just wanted him to know that. For whatever reason... I wanted him to know.

I nod my head, even though he can't see me. "I guess. But he's still going to kill us—I'm sure of it."

"Maybe. But we have at least a few days to figure something out. We need a plan."

A plan. What sort of plan can we possibly put together down here, bound and restrained?

My mind wanders, and I can't help but think about the last "plan" we concocted. My mother put us both in charge of Mandy's twenty-eighth surprise birthday party two years ago. She wanted it to be special.

That was my mother's first mistake: thinking anything special could come out of me and Dean Asher working together.

"What is it?"

I poke my chin up at the sound of his voice breaking through my reveries. "What do you mean?"

I think I see him shrug. "You got quiet. That usually means you're deep in thought or piecing together a creative insult to throw at me."