Mr. Hodek and His Little Minion

6

[MASQ]

Jeff looked so surprised. As if this was the first person he'd ever met who didn't know his "story," whatever that was. Somehow, I was convinced for a second that he was actually going to explain himself to me, but he simply said, "I'll find the time to let you prove yourself," and walked away into a dark tunnel off the side of the hall. I folded my hands and closed my eyes, letting out a huge breath I didn't know I was holding.

This is it.

This is my home for now.

I tried to drive all the conflicting thoughts out of my head, but to no avail. They were all screaming at me, saying that this could never be home. That I was looking for an excuse to stop looking for them. I was driving myself crazy, wondering if this was rationalizing or whether I was actually thinking straight for the first time in a while. I hadn't been stationary like this for five years; didn't I deserve a break?

I hunched my shoulders and played frantically with a lock of hair as I tried to relax for once. It didn't feel right. I was convinced that once he'd gotten back, Jeff was going to kill me. Or at least try. But he just talked with me for a little and then left. Is he scared of me?

Just for a little bit, I held the thought in my mind.

Of course not. Why would he be?

But then why hasn't he gotten rid of me? Did I really make that good of an argument?

I stood up and looked around. If this would be where I was staying, I might as well have gotten used to it. There was, obviously, the "kitchen" to my left. It was the brightest place in this entire hideout, unless further down in wherever Hodek had gone was even more so. I spied a small coat rack near the space underneath the trapdoor, where he'd hung his bandana. If I needed to fend him off at any point in the case where he decided he needed to get rid of me, that would do in a pinch.

I continued to ground myself in Hodek's world, and felt a little more at ease with the situation. This was shared territory now. Maybe this would be the place to regain my humanity, as ironic as it seemed. It was just that killing made me feel so dirty, and selfish.

So then what do I do now? Do I just rest? What if something happens?

All these questions I never had the time to ask myself before were hurting my head. So I went to the kitchen to see if there was anything edible for me here.

The fridge was a solid no. Everything in there was absolutely disgusting. I guessed he hadn't stocked it in a while, and sincerely hoped that this wasn't all he ate. Fortunately, the cabinets were stocked with some bare essentials of cooking; flour, salt, oats, a half used stick of butter, and some other things that I didn't recognize. How to make oatmeal was almost beyond my grasp, but I managed just fine with what little memory I had and a bit of guesswork. All the appliances worked okay, so I was able to make myself a filling (if not completely bland) meal that would keep me from death just a few days longer. I'd had plenty of experience under a trapdoor, strange as that was. I made a checklist in my mind to find a nearby pharmacy if I ever managed to get out of here for a night and get a drop-bottle of vitamin D. Especially since we're in the middle of a forest. Leaves can block out too much of the sun.

I spent three more consecutive days inside that underground house, pacing around, talking to myself, occasionally seeing Jeff step out of what must have been his room to sharpen a knife or throw me an irritated glance. He was still limping, though it was getting better by the day. He seemed to know how to take care of himself surprisingly well. I made a small area near the wall for myself, with a little desk to place my pliers and twine when I didn't need them and a thin sheet to separate myself from the dirty floor. I always slept with my weapons, though. It was too risky not to.