She watched him lying there next to her, as she did most nights since the first day he brought her to live with him. Given that he always slept closest to the window, she was afforded the view of his well appointed, naked body in the shimmering moonlight. The silvery beams caressed his hard plains and masculine contours in a way that seemed almost gentle and loving. Beads of moisture from their recent actions glinted off his skin and brought the slightest, almost demure smile to her face. Unable to stop herself, she reached a tentative finger out to barely trace the curve of his jaw. He didn’t stir.

How long she had been there, how often she had watched him, she could not recall at that particular moment. Knowing that this was their last night together brought a strange mixture of fear, sadness, and quiet joy. Moving forward was always good, but the relative safety of a well-rehearsed routine had its merits as well. Some part of him would always be with her, she knew that; his voice, his touch, his very demeanor would haunt her for years. Yet still she had that fear of letting go, that inkling of ‘what now?’ she was forced to deal with.

Sliding out of bed, she flipped the light switch on and surveyed the mess she had made of him and the only room she had known for well over two years. Since her abduction, he had kept her in this tiny basement room, but he should never have started to trust her. Now he lay on the filthy mattress, covered in his own blood, with the sharpened stick still jutting out from his neck.

“That’s how your baby’s doing,” she mumbled, as she worked the lock open to escape.