The smell of frying woke Greta gradually. Still drowsy, she hurried to the bathroom to change the pad. While washing her face, she heard Daros's voice echo through the house:
"Breakfast is ready!"
She continued her routine with no hurry. She unscrewed the toothpaste cap and applied the contents to her brush. He'd still need to bring the food to the room, after all. She brushed her teeth. She'd leave the shower for after breakfast.
"The food's getting cold!" He shouted again.
He was mocking her. The fucking sadist. Then, the realization hit her before she needed to see to be sure. She looked down: the iron ring had been removed from her ankle. She imagined Daros entering the room while she slept, without her noticing. The thought sent a chill down her spine.
The final proof of her freedom was the door. It was open, wasn't it? She walked to the threshold with small steps, like in a childhood game. Mother, may I?, where a child would need to ask if it was okay to go. Then another child, playing the mother, would answer yes: with two elephant steps, or ten ant steps, or something like that. Fear chose ant steps. She remained frozen in the doorframe, not knowing what to do, the loose chain in her hands.
At the end of the hallway, the kidnapper leaned over to peek at her door. She was startled when both their gazes met. But that cold expression of analysis had disappeared from his face, replaced by curiosity. Unshaken by seeing her standing there, he invited:
"If I were you, I'd come right away. The veggie burger is delicious."
This was surreal. Was it a trap? A sinister game? The only way to find out was to walk over there. She moved forward, a bewitched rat following the perverse melody of the magic flute. There was no other way to go.
After the long hallway plunged in a soft dimness, her skin was blessed by the resplendent brightness of a large space containing both living room and kitchen. Daros was sitting on a high stool in the corner of a marble island that also served as a table. He indicated a stool set apart for her. Greta reached the indicated seat with still slow and cautious steps, fearing the floor might break under her feet at any moment. Finally she sat down, setting the coiled chain on the cold surface.
"If you prefer to eat alone, that's fine with me. You can take whatever you want to the room," he offered, eyes focused on his plate.
"No, it's okay. I can... I can eat here."
"Want a burger? I'll get you one." She nodded. "The rest is there on the table. Fresh bread, fruit, coffee, eggs, cold cuts... I mean, for you, just cheese."
The man stood up and went to the stove. When his back was turned, she saw that the silverware was real. She also noticed the wide sliding door, which was open to a lush, well-trimmed lawn. Further away she could see a pool. Why had he decided to take so many risks all of a sudden?
"Very well. Here you go. This is the first veggie burger I've ever fried in my life. I'm still trying to decide if the whole well-done or medium-rare thing applies here."
She took the plate and cut the burger with a fork and knife. She recognized the taste of her favorite brand. She closed her eyes as she ate. What was wrong with her? Who feels the pleasure of gluttony in a horrible situation like this?
"I was surprised," he said. "I'd never tried these things. Not bad. Not bad at all."
He was still eating. The whole scene felt wrong. They continued the meal in silence for a while. Greta had an immense appetite, and it was nice to eat looking at the greenery outside. Still, the tension in her muscles persisted.
"Okay, that's enough for me."
The tremor that ran through her was so intense she nearly fell off the stool. But the words didn't indicate the end of the truce, as she'd imagined. The continuation of his speech made that clear.
"I couldn't wait for you to arrive. So I'm already satisfied."
He stood up, put the dishes in the sink, and went to the adjacent living room, stretching on the way. He sat on the larger sofa and closed his eyes, enjoying the morning sun.
Greta continued her meal, casting a glance at the man from time to time. The gears wouldn't stop turning in her mind, trying to process the whole thing. He was far away, his eyelids closed. And he'd left a knife within reach. A real knife. The gleam of the metal left no doubt. It was too easy to be possible.
She pulled the cutting object closer. She felt the handle in her hand, assessing the weapon's weight. She could try to hide the knife in her clothes and wait for the right moment to attack. But it was risky. Very risky. The kidnapper was fast and much stronger than she was. She decided to wait for his next move. The man remained motionless on the sofa. Greta released the knife.
When she finished eating, uncertain about what to do next and unable to stop rubbing one hand against the other, she was direct:
"What do I do now?"
He opened only one eye at her, keeping the other closed to filter the morning brightness. Then, he shrugged and straightened in his seat.
"If you have no objections, I'd like to talk for a bit. Is that okay?"
She nodded. She walked to an armchair in the shade and settled in. Daros reflected on the scene. Him illuminated, her plunged in shadows. The thing was kind of symbolic. Leaving the digression aside, he struck up conversation:
"Good idea. The sun's already starting to make me hot."
She tried to identify any sign of threat or pretense in his cordial tone. She found none. Most likely, though, a sociopath like him had the ability to mask bad intentions. Daros stood up, closed the sliding door halfway, and returned to the sofa.
"The situation is complicated. There's no easy way to start this conversation. I'll start with the obvious and be direct: I owe you an apology."