Smiling, he walks over to me with the shock collar. “I can’t use it when I’m out, but when I’m here, we could try it. It’ll be tricky if you and Eva are both here and I need to leave. Maybe I’ll pick up a second chain and collar while I’m out.”

I close my eyes for a second. This cannot be happening—all because I opened my door. That was all I did. I opened my door to a boy I’ve known for a few years, a boy who drove me home yesterday, a boy who has hit on me at parties and joked with me at school. Now, I’m chained up listening to him explain the appeal of a shock collar instead of a chain.

This sort of thing is not supposed to happen, not anywhere, but especially not in Jessup, North Carolina.

Reid puts the collar and remote back in the bag and then he walks out of my line of sight through the unknown doorway, vanishing farther into the house. I hope he’ll stay gone, but in a few minutes he comes back. He’s no longer wearing trousers or a shirt. Instead, he’s barefoot and wearing a pair of gym shorts. I’ve seen him and the rest of the guys in the same thing countless times. What draws my attention are the fingernail scratches on the base of his throat. Someone—presumably Madison—fought with him. I stare at him with mounting terror. Fighting him didn’t help her. She’s dead. I don’t want to die too.

Reid is silent as he opens a package of wet wipes. He moves the black bag to the floor, sits in the chair, and starts wiping his face, arms, and chest. I watch as he drops one of the wipes on the floor. It’s not just mud he’s wiping from his skin. There’s blood too. I realize with another wave of horror that it’s probably Madison’s, too.

After a few minutes, he walks over to the daybed and sits down beside me.

“Sit still, Grace. I don’t want Eva to be upset when she sees you, and you look like you were rolling in the mud.”

If I could stop staring at the blood on the wipes on the floor, maybe I would try to stop him from wiping my face and arms, but all I can think about is Madison’s blood. He killed a girl this morning, and now he’s cleaning mud from my skin.

“I’ve always liked you, Grace,” he says, wiping my cheek. “You’re a good friend to Eva.”

“Thank you.”

He tosses the wipe toward the others on the floor. “I’m tired.”

I swallow and force myself to meet his eyes. “I’m sorry.”

Reid nods. “It’s been a difficult day.” He walks back to the bag and pulls out a Jessup High T-shirt, a sports bottle, and a cup. He pours some into the cup and walks back toward me. The shirt is in his other hand. “I need you to drink this, so we can nap.”

“Please,” I whisper. “I can nap in the other room or the floor. Please?”

“Relax. It’ll just make you sleepy.” He holds it out to me.

When I don’t speak or move, he adds, “I can make you drink it, but I don’t want to upset Eva. I explained that already, didn’t I?” He doesn’t sound calm or gentle now. His words are sharp. I’ve heard him like this countless times, and it didn’t scare me. That was before I realized he was a killer.

“Please don’t hurt me,” I beg. “You can nap without doing this. I promise.”

He stares at me. “Eventually, I’ll be able to, but not yet. My father kept his girlfriend here. He brought me to meet her when we were all in elementary school. Not you. You weren’t here yet. Anyhow . . . He explained how long it takes to build trust. He brought me here to meet the next girlfriend too. They changed and trusted him, but it takes time.” He wiggles the cup a little. “Eva’s the girl for me, but we’ll talk about you once she comes to me. I thought she trusted me without this. I thought I could do it better than my father, but it didn’t work.”

“Maybe she didn’t know that you felt—”

“No!” Reid yells. “I sent messages. I did everything she wanted . . .” He takes a breath, smiles at me, and sounds calm again when he continues, “Bouchet is the problem. Once he’s gone, Eva will be better.”

I try to stay still and calm. I’m not sure what to do around him. It’s hard to believe that yesterday I laughed at his vulgarity, rolled my eyes at his attitude, and then rode home with him. I didn’t know him at all. I thought I did, but the person in front of me is a stranger.

He lifts my hand and puts the cup in it. “Drink so I know I can try to trust you. Prove I don’t have to force you to do this.”

I’m shaking as I lift the cup and drink.

“Swallow it, Grace,” he orders.

I’m crying again, but I do as he demands. I don’t like how he keeps saying my name. Reid used to call me “Yeung”; he isn’t doing that now. The person in front of me is calling me Grace.

“Good girl. In a few minutes, you’ll be tired too. We can nap. You should probably go use the bathroom first. Here. This is more comfortable.” He hands me a T-shirt and points to the privacy screen where he said there were buckets. “Go on.”

He watches me walk to the screen. The chain jangles and drags behind me. The sound and feel of it bring hot tears to my eyes. I hope he’s not lying about wanting to sleep. I don’t know what he gave me, but despite the myriad things that are horribly wrong, I am clinging to the hope that all that’s about to happen is drugged sleep.

I change into his shirt like he orders me to, but keep on my bra and yoga pants.