Four weeks.
It has been four weeks since he had made one of the stupidest decisions of his life.
He lethargically blinked his eyes awake, turned his head toward the window and peered out at the picturesque pine tree forest that lay beyond the farmhouse. The trees were hypnotizing in the early morning sun. They rose upwards of forty feet and their needled branches fought to catch the light before it penetrated down to the forest floor. The panorama outside the window had helped him keep calm throughout his time here. Whenever he started to think about how hopeless this situation was he just looked out at the simplicity of nature and allowed his mind to wander free.
It was Sunday. He could hear her gospel music playing downstairs. He couldn't wrap his head around her religious beliefs. How could someone claim to be following in God's path and yet kill people in the same breath? She was acting in total contradiction to her values and chose to ignore it. He had tried to confront her with this argument on multiple occasions. Each time he got as far as mentioning the deaths of her other muses she shut him up, literally. She would get agitated with the direction of the conversation and pull out an elaborate gag that fastened around his head and forced a tongue depressor in his mouth. It was quite effective in ceasing his words, and allowed her to continue along in her life of denial.
He turned his face away from the window and observed his surroundings. He was in a small bedroom on the second floor of the farmhouse. It was painted a hideously bright shade of yellow. When the sun reflected off the walls it would make the room seem ten times brighter. There was a white pine dresser with a mirror positioned on the wall across from his four poster bed. The dresser contained a minimal amount of clothing that was meant for him to wear. She had gone out after she captured him and bought a few outfits, boxer shorts and two sets of pajamas. Next to the bed there was a nightstand with a lamp and an alarm clock. The only other thing in the bedroom was a small white pine bookshelf that held ten books upon it. All of the books were literary classics and bound in leather. The rest of the room was empty desolate space.
All of the furniture was homemade and looked exquisitely crafted. She had revealed to him at the beginning of his stay that carpentry was her family trade. Her grandfather and father were master furniture carpenters and fashioned all of the fixtures in the house out of pine that they cut down from the forest out back. She explained that she wasn't as skilled at building furniture as her father was, but found her calling to be more of an artistic one. She had the skill of wood carving and could make exceptional designs out of any piece of wood. Her forte was sculptures, which was the reason that brought him to her in the first place.
Shaking his head out of his thoughts he tried to adjust his position. She had expertly restrained him to the bed. She didn't take advantage of the four poster bed like a typical criminal would. She didn't want to bruise or cut his wrists and ankles. Instead she chose to use a form of padded medical restraints that held him down directly to the bed. The restraints looped under the mattress and had three inch wide cuffs that appeared on top. His wrists were each fastened into a cuff and were positioned about ten inches on either side of his head. This position made using his teeth to unfasten the cuffs impossible. His ankles were each fastened in their own cuffs as well, and spread about two feet apart. Initially, he had tried to squirm around in the restraints hoping to jostle them loose, but it was a futile endeavor. She made sure that the restraints were properly fastened and incapable of removal by her captive.
He hated this position. He was perpetually on his back causing his muscles to ache from their continuous immobility. She would let him up a few times of day in order to take care of his needs, but when she didn't have something in store for him, he always found himself in here strapped down to the bed. Since today was Sunday he knew that he would be allowed up eventually and was eagerly awaiting the chance to move. She wouldn't do any of her sculpting today because it was a day of rest, so he didn't have to worry about being forced to pose for an ungodly amount of time in another awkward position.
He allowed his mind to wander to his teammates. They had to still be in Maine trying to catch her and locate him. Fortunately/unfortunately, she had stopped killing after she imprisoned him. It was fortunate because more innocent people weren't going to be slaughtered, but unfortunate because her trail has probably run cold since she wasn't disposing bodies anymore. He wondered how far along the team was in finding him. Did they even know that the unsub was a woman? He knew at one point they must have been close, but she had led them off track. How couldn't they have known she was playing them? "No, don't think of that right now!" he thought to himself. "You don't want to go there. It only brings more tumultuous thoughts to the forefront."
Hearing the creak of the stairs he lifted his head up as far as he could off of the mattress. It brought about a muscle crick in his neck from the strain, but he looked toward the double locked door anyways. "Here she comes," he thought. "It must be time for my morning rituals and then back in bed." She always made sure to take care of his needs before she headed off to church. Afterward she would come back to the house, allow him to join her downstairs and make an extravagant Sunday dinner for the two of them to share. With this thought in mind, he allowed his head to drop back down upon the bed and waited.