Page 63 of Double Obsession

He shrugged. “I figured they were better than nothing.”

The cat stood for a moment, hunched down like he meant to jump, then collapsed onto his belly.

“I know, fellow. Every inch of me hurts too.”

Moaning and groaning, Hunter used every ounce of strength he had left to hoist himself onto his bum leg. Wasn’t it Long John Silver who limped around on a peg leg? “Argh. Time to walk the plank.”

Fluffy blinked.

“I’m just trying to have a sense of humor, dude.” Either that, or he was losing it.

He placed all of his weight on his right foot and hopped. His body teetered until he righted himself. He jumped again, absorbing the weight in a deep knee bend.

“Holy shit. It works.”

Every one of his muscles engaged to propel him forward. The second he reached the bottom stair, the door creaked and the pathetic bulb came alive, dimly lighting the stairwell.

“Fuck.” If she saw he could move, she would chain him to something. The first hop backward was successful. He landed flat on his ass with the second.

She was beside him in an instant. “Guess what?”

She peered down at him. Her brown-toothed snarl may have been terrifying, but her twisted grin was beyond nightmarish.

“Aren’t you going to guess?” she asked.

Was she oblivious that he was halfway to his freedom? “I give up. You tell me, babe.”

She opened her mouth, closed it, and perused the basement. “What are you doing over here?” She pointed to the brick wall. “Why aren’t you in your room?”

His explanation of “I was hungry?” sounded more like a question than a statement.

“Probably because you aren’t eating the healthy meals I cook for you. And I am an excellent cook.”

He thought about the odd-tasting hot dog, the sandwich cookies, and slices of American cheese. A vision of the peanut butter sandwich he’d been craving set next to the one she had prepared with iceberg lettuce made him grimace.

“Let’s get you back to your bedroom. I’ll tell you the good news, and then I’ll get you something to eat.”

What the hell? The woman seemed almost lucid.

“Could we go upstairs to the kitchen, sit at the table, and eat like a real couple?” he asked.

“Okay.” She put her arm around him and helped him onto the first step. He could taste sweet freedom.

A second later, she swatted at something.

He was no psychologist, but he’d seen his fair share of detective shows, and he was certain the woman had some sort of personality disorder.

“Babe, ignore those voices and concentrate on me,” he said. “We’re going upstairs to sit at the table together.”

She halted mid-step. “Jilimboki!”

She shoved him and he landed on his ass for the second time in three minutes.

She sprinted up the stairs screaming, “Shut up! Shut up!”

He had just pushed himself to balance on his uni-leg when she raced down the stairs waving a butcher’s knife. She sliced his cheek and he fell backward, meeting the floor with a crash.

His tailbone popped, and his skin burned. “Jesus-fuck-ing, Christ!”