The Big Bad Wolf

him for a few seconds, trying to make sense of it, I told him I’d keep him informed. If someone informed me.
    After the difficult phone call, I just sat at my desk. Suddenly, I realized I’d forgotten something else—
my class had graduated today!
We were officially agents. The others in my class had gotten their credentials, or “creds,” as well as their assignments. Right now, cake and punch were being served in the lobby of the Hall of Honor. I didn’t bother to go to the party. Somehow, it seemed inappropriate to attend. I went home instead.

Chapter 57
    HOW MUCH TIME did she have left now?
    A day? Hours?
    It almost didn’t matter, did it? Lizzie Connolly was learning to accept life as it came; she was learning who she was inside, and how to keep herself in balance.
    Except, of course, when she was frightened out of her mind.
    Lizzie called them her “swimming dreams.” She had been an avid swimmer ever since she was four years old. The repetition of stroke after stroke, kick after kick could always put her in another place and time, on autopilot, let her escape. So that was what she was doing now in the closet/room where she was being kept.
    Swimming.
    Escaping.
    Reach, slightly cupped hand, S-figure with her arms, pull at the top, grab the water. Tip through to the belly button, then down through the bottom of her swimsuit. Swoosh, swoosh, kick, kick, feeling hot inside, but the water was cooling, refreshing, invigorating. Feeling empowered because she was feeling stronger.
    She had been thinking about escape for much of the day, or what she thought of as a day, anyway. Now she began to get serious about other things.
    She reviewed what she knew about this place—the closet—and the vicious, horrifying man who kept her. The Wolf. That was what the bastard called himself. Why the Wolf?
    She was somewhere in a city. She was almost sure the city was in the South, and fairly large, lots of money in the surrounding area. Maybe it was Florida, but she didn’t know why she thought that. Maybe she had overheard something and it had only registered in her unconscious. She’d definitely heard voices in the house when there had been large parties or, occasionally, smaller get-togethers. She believed that her vermin captor lived alone. Who could possibly live with such a horrible monster? No woman could.
    She knew some of his pathetic habits by heart. He usually turned on the TV when he came home: sometimes ESPN, but more often CNN. He watched the news constantly. He also liked detective shows, such as
Law and Order,
CSI,
Homicide.
The TV was always on, late into the night.
    He was physically large and strong, and he was a sadist—but also careful about not hurting her badly, not so far, anyway. Which meant—what did it mean?—that he planned to keep her around for a while longer?
    If Lizzie Connolly could stand it here for another minute. If she didn’t flip out and make him so angry that he’d snap her neck, as he’d threatened to several times a day.
“I’ll snap your little neck. Like this! You don’t believe me? You should believe me, Elizabeth.”
He always called her Elizabeth, not Lizzie. He told her that Lizzie wasn’t a beautiful enough name for her.
“I’ll break your fucking neck, Elizabeth!”
    He knew who she was and quite a bit about her, and also about Brendan, Brigid, Merry, Gwynnie. He promised that if she made him angry he’d not only hurt her, but he’d do the same to her family. “I’ll go to Atlanta. I’ll do it for kicks, just for fun. I live for that kind of thing. I could murder your whole family, Elizabeth.”
    He was desiring her more and more—she could certainly tell when a man got like that. So she
did
have some control over him, didn’t she?
How about that? So fuck you too, buddy!
    Sometimes he would leave her binds slightly looser and even give her free time to walk around in the house. Tied up, of course—on a kind of chain leash that he would hold in his hands. It was so demeaning. He told her that he knew she’d be thinking that he was getting kinder and gentler but not to get any stupid ideas.
    Well, what the hell else could she do
except
get ideas? There was nothing for her to do all day in the dark by herself. She was —
    The closet door swung open violently. Then it slammed against the wall outside.
    The Wolf screamed in Lizzie’s face. “You were
thinking
about me, weren’t you? You’re starting to get
obsessive,
Elizabeth. I’m in your