He makes her skin crawl. An obscene parody of love. Sleeping with her at night, arms around her body while her wrists are securely tied. Secure, yes, she's tried slipping them … and they do not move.
She doesn't sleep. Her eyes are dry from staring at the wall. Trying to think of some way, any way, to save her children. At this point she would have given anything, including the body that he had groped so perfunctorily before cuddling -- to get her children away. Preferably with her, but oh God without her if that's what it took to make them safe. But he would never let them go.
He was strong; he was vicious. Her attempts to get the gun had been thwarted so easily.
That sick fake hand. What had he done to lose his hand? It's a weakness, Susan, she thought to herself. You can use it. What other weaknesses? He was crazy, of course. Doorknob-sucking crazy. A blind man could have seen her revulsion.
She had liked him before. Or was it just that he was a single man who appeared nice to her children? She had let him in. She had risked her family. Stupid bitch. It had been like a bolt of lightning, a kick in the teeth, when she had finally understood who he really was. What he really was.
And with him wrapped around her body like the snake he was, she couldn't even cry. He would pretend to comfort her -- oh God she would throw up -- or perhaps grow angry and hurt her. She couldn't take the risk. As long as he had her children she would do anything, be anything, so that man would not be alone with her children.
She would watch and wait, wait for her chance. Susan never doubted she had the will to kill him -- she only feared he would stop her before she could.