Chapter 6

Past:

The next morning when I woke up, a plate was sitting inside the cell. It took me awhile to get out of the bed—God, was I sore—and pick up the plate. I was glad I didn't have a mirror, I could just imagine how bad I must've looked.

Scrambled eggs and toast. That was breakfast, I guess. No fork and knife, of course. I could've tried to attack him with it, probably. I'll give Paul this much, I mused, he wasn't trying to starve me.

That was more or less the way the next few days went. I sat in the little cell, waiting for Paul to show up. There wasn't much else to do. In the mornings, a plate was waiting for me—sometimes eggs, occasionally cereal, when I guess he got too lazy make scrambled eggs—and in the afternoons—noon, maybe? It wasn't like I had a clock to judge anything by—came lunch, usually a sandwich. And water, of course. And then in the evenings, Paul would come in, holding a covered plate. Then he'd lean against the barred door, and inform me that I could have dinner, just as soon I told him what he wanted to know.

Needless to say, I hadn't been eating a whole lot. And needless to say, by the end of the week I couldn't move.

I was curled up against the bar door, staring down at the empty dishes from lunch and breakfast. It took too much energy to get back to the bed. Energy that I definitely did not have at this point.

The door opened, and Paul was standing there, plate in hand. "Evening, Suze." He shook his head when I just blinked up at him. He came in and set the plate down on the bed, then came over to kneel on the ground next to me. I shrunk back instinctively when he reached out to touch my face. "Aww, come on, Suze. I'm not going to hurt you," he said softly.

Yeah, right.

Paul touched the bruise that had formed under my eye. "I take it you're not going to tell me anything, are you?"

I closed my eyes. Here we go again, I thought.

Paul stood up suddenly. When I opened my eyes, I saw him walk over to the bed and pick up the plate he had set there. He came back to me and set the plate down in front of me. "Enjoy your dinner, Suze." Then he turned and walked out of the cell, locking the door behind him.

I eyed the plate suspiciously. For all I knew, he could have poisoned it. I nudged back the cover, and inhaled. Pizza. He'd brought me pizza. Not exactly a feast, but I was so hungry, and it smelled so good…

In a room down the hall, Paul sat in a chair, tapping his fingers idly. As much as he hated to do it, he was going to finally have to admit that maybe Suze didn't know where the crystal was. He rubbed a hand over his eyes tiredly. What was he going to do now?

Standing up, Paul paced the room, trying to think. He needed a way to get it from Jesse, he knew that. There had to be something he could do.

Paul stopped suddenly and gazed out the open doorway, toward Suze's cell. He smiled grimly. Threats hadn't worked on Suze, but they might just work on her husband.

Present:

"Home sweet home," Jesse said, leading Susannah into the apartment. He had cleaned it up for her—he hadn't found much reason to keep it clean in the time she'd been gone. He'd made an effort to make everything look as nice as it could—it didn't exactly sparkle, but it would have to do.

Watching as Susannah wandered the living room, Jesse cleared his throat. "You're room's on the right, down that hall." He pointed to the short hallway leading to the bedrooms. "There's a bathroom at the end of the hall, and mine's right across the hall if you ever need anything in the night." He turned and locked the door, then turned toward the kitchen. "There's the kitchen. There are things in there that you can have if you're hungry and I'm not here to make you anything." He turned back to her and stopped. "Querida?"

Her face had gone completely white, and she backed away from him. The look on her face was like a punch to the gut—apparently something did penetrate that awful blank gaze of hers: terror. She was terrified of him.

"Oh, querida," he whispered, moving toward her. How could he help her if he couldn't tell what was wrong?

She pressed against the wall with a frightened squeak, her eyes pleading with him. Pleading with him for what? Not to hurt her? To take her back? To take away whatever it was he had done to frighten her?

What had he done? He tried to think. She had been fine on the drive from the hospital, and when they came up to the apartment. She had been fine while he told her about the place, and then he had turned around to lock the…

The door. He turned to stare at it. Was that it? He looked back at Susannah, still pressed against the opposite wall. She wasn't about to offer him an explanation. Going on the only thing he had, he unlocked the door. He saw her wince at the sound of the lock turning, but she seemed to calm down a little, at least. She stayed in her spot near the wall, but some of the color returned to her cheeks.

Jesse closed his eyes. What had Paul done to her? "It's all right, Susannah," he said, moving into the room, careful to keep his distance. "No one's going to hurt you, I promise." He would make sure of it. Jesse glanced at the door, sighing resignedly. Even if he had to keep his door unlocked. It let her feel safer, at least.

A/N: My second chapter in a day. Wow. lol