Archer's POV

By the seventh day of my unplanned vacation, I was ready to murder someone. I'd never thought I'd be angry enough to even think of committing murder, but I was in some way or another going crazy. I'd spent 6 days in the basement of some dingy house shackled to the chair, it was a wonder I still had a head full of hair.

Initially I had had hope, but as night became day and day became night, my hope was nowhere to be found. It was clear I wasn't going to get out of there alive.

I'd been foolishly clinging to the hope that whatever the guy wanted with me was something survivable. On the first day he'd stopped short of answering my prostitution question and I'd had hope it was that in some corner of my brain.

Prostitution was bad. It was an unimaginable horror. But it was better than death. I could escape at some point. I didn't fool myself into thinking I would leave unscathed but at least I'd be alive. I'd find a way to leave. I'd never stop looking until I found a way.

There was no way to escape death.

The man still visited. He brought the same tasteless beans and bread. He sat in his chair and switched the TV on. Tired of playing his games, I sulked. We didn't say much to each other as days went by. I ate the tasteless beans in silence. He tried to get me to talk but I didn't budge. I could see it annoyed him, so I kept my mouth shut even when I had the urge to taunt him.

It was on day 6 that my mom made an appeal to my kidnapper and the public at large. I could imagine that the police hadn't thought it wise but mom had done it anyway. I couldn't stand seeing her in tears. She was broken. She spoke of the wonderful person I was, going as far as saying I wouldn't hurt a fly. My kidnapper just shook his head.

I had been strong up to that point. Mom broke down. When she broke down all hope disappeared. Seeing her like that told me her hope was dwindling too. I could see when she gave her heartwarming appeal that a part of her believed I was dead or would never come home again. People went missing only to reappear years later. My case was different. Even though no one knew where I was, they knew I was kidnapped. Chances of returning were close to zero.

Earlier that morning the man had brought breakfast and left. He mentioned going out but I wasn't listening. I expected him to come back early but he didn't. Or maybe he did. He could very well be in the house and I wouldn't know. I couldn't hear anything from outside the basement.

I missed having company. Sure I'd been in the company of a deranged maniac for the last couple of days, but he was better that no company. He was admittedly better than some of the people I had been in the company of. Besides being the terrible person that he obviously was, he wasn't a cliché criminal as portrayed in movies. Movies weren't always right, no surprise there.

My kidnapper was clued up about the world. His knowledge went beyond physical things. He was intellectual, something I would never have guessed. He asked questions that I regarded as stupid in my head and deep questions that could only leave me in awe. For a few minutes I forgot that he was literally holding me hostage and engaged with him and his curious mind.

It was on day 2 that we talked about the presence of objectivity. He'd been watching the news about a man who burned down his house with his wife in it when he turned to me.

"Do you think he loved her?" he asked pointing to the TV with the remote.

"He killed her! No!" I retorted. I wasn't in the mood to talk to him.

"Are you being objective?"

I nodded stiffly.

"I don't think you are", he said simply.

"So you think he loved her?" I asked unable to stop myself.

"I don't know", he said quietly.

"He killed her so I don't think he did, not enough anyway", I said.

"What if he loved her enough and that's why he killed her? You and I can never know what he felt when he burned down the house, but we make judgments anyway. Our judgments are based on our experiences and how we've experienced the world, what we've been told, what we've been lead to believe. No matter how much we'd like to say we are objective, there's always going to be some amount of subjectivity in it. Some subjects piss us off more than they do others. Do you think someone who's ever experienced cheating would be sympathetic to a cheater?"

"You do have a point", I said.

He grinned. "I'm sorry about your boyfriend", he said almost sincerely.

I shrugged. "I'm going to die, I don't think it matters".

I hadn't allowed myself to think of Len. He'd broken up with me, something I should have anticipated. I should have gotten the hints. His increased silence should have spoken volumes.

"Speaking of cheating –I know it's fresh – but I have to ask, do you think cheaters love the people they cheat on?"

I knit my brows. "Why do you say it's fresh?"

"Lennox..." he started and stopped when he saw my confused face. "I thought you knew", he said.

"Len cheated on me?!" I asked, my voice raised a few decibels.

"It was a one day thing. I thought he told you and that's why you stormed off", he said.

"Well it's good to know", I said simultaneously nodding my head repeatedly.

"I'm sorry. I was tailing him for a day", he said.

"Whatever. How long have you been stalking me creep?"

"...Quite some time. There is a camera in your room", he replied.

I was beyond being surprised, but it got me itching more to know what I was doing there. All the guy ever did was watch the news and talk to me, at least when he was down there with me. He didn't receive phone calls or texts.

"Yes and no. Some people fail at restraint. Sometimes temptations become more powerful than feelings, but only for a short time. So I believe you can love someone and cheat, and I don't mean affairs. As for how much you love them, that's different and much more complicated", I said.

I think he was stunned that I had actually replied more than the contents of the reply.

"So an affair is out of the question?"

"Clearly! If he keeps going back it means it's not just temptation anymore. It's something deeper".

"It'd be tough dating you", he said grinning.

"I hate cheaters. I have a limited tolerance for bullshit. Well unless you are a few words now and then from being a mute then surprisingly I have amazing patience, even when you stand me up countless times!"

"Ohkay. Maybe bringing up Len wasn't a good idea", he said.

"I can think of way worse ideas you've come up with", I retorted.

"Want to hit something? Might be cathartic"

"Yeah, your face!"

He actually stood up and came to stand next to me. I was sitting down so I looked up at him. My hands were unrestrained, something he had not bothered doing since the first night.

"If I hit you, you will hit me back right?" I asked.

"No" he said.

I stood up. He was a deal taller than me and standing next to him I felt small. I balled up my hand into a fist and wondered if I would be ready for the punch that came back. There was no way I trusted his word. But the idea of hitting him was appealing.

"Don't think I have the key in my pocket. I don't, so save yourself the effort of going through my pocket", he said coolly.

There was a slight smirk on his face that I wanted to wipe off so bad. I did that, with my hand hitting his cheekbone hard. He staggered backwards. My hand was throbbing. I almost massaged it but decided not to let it show that I wasn't accustomed to hitting people. Hitting people was Stella's favorite pastime.

He massaged his face and said grinning, "That wasn't as weak as I thought it would be".

"You underestimated me", I said as I resumed my seat, feeling proud of myself. It wasn't the one thing I wanted but it felt good to see him massaging his face. "And just so you know, I didn't need catharsis. Len is a distant memory. I just wanted to hit you".

That had been on day 2. We talked more on day 3 about love and sacrifices. He'd asked me who'd take a bullet for me and though I avoided it, I wondered who would. I wondered too who I'd take a bullet for. Very interestingly he asked if love should be measured by actions.

"Does he not love you if he wouldn't take a bullet for you?"

We argued for a while about it. I thought someone willing to take a bullet for you loves you. He thought that someone is crazy, arguing that if they 'kill themselves' they leave you heartbroken which is worse than being dead and feeling nothing. He also made sure to point out that some people are suicidal and what is seen as heroism and love could just be them taking the opportunity to fulfill their desire. He thought sacrifices were stupid.

I presented him with a scenario of my own. If the person you love is in danger by being with you, what action is love? Do you walk away in the name of love or stay in the name of love? This time death wasn't as inevitable as the first scenario.

He only grinned and said, "Bite the bullet and stay".

We didn't talk after that. He left. I shut off on day 4. Day 5 wasn't eventful. He knew I was sulking so he didn't provoke me. Day 6 was painful for me. It was when I realized I wasn't getting out. Everything finally became more real.

The man was gone the whole day. He'd given me breakfast and by the time he got back I was hungry again. His "breans" were obviously not enough to sustain me for the whole day. I was angry and slightly relieved when he got back, maybe even a little happy.

He placed his beloved meal prepared with love on the floor besides me. He wasn't teasing me or trying to make conversation. He was too serious for my liking. What if this was the day? What if bread and beans was my death row meal?

"You sure are stingy", I retorted.

I needed to see him grin or have that nice face that he always had. We hadn't been talking the last couple of days, but his face had never been so serious.

"Eat up", he said. There was no twinkle in his eyes. There was only the blackness that seemed to go on forever.

"You've been gone the whole day. The least you could have done was buying something decent", I said.

"Eat", he ordered. "We have a phone call to make. In exactly 5 minutes I am taking the food away", he said.

I groaned but didn't question him. I hadn't eaten since breakfast. It was about 7 pm, something I had the privilege of knowing ever since I asked him to at least let me have the time before my body lost its circadian rhythm altogether. He'd given me an old pocket watch. It only told the time, which was what he was going for.

I was hungry, and ashamedly I chose food over interrogating him about something that could decide my fate –even if the food was barely palatable. I ate up. Exactly 5 minutes later he removed the leftovers.

He didn't leave the room though, he just set them aside.

"So this is how it goes. We are going to call someone. The moment they answer I want you to read out what I have written", he said and produced a written note.

I took it slowly.

"Read that and say nothing else", he said as he handed me a phone. "If you diverge from those words I will kill you immediately. Or maybe I'll kidnap your little friend and you'll watch me kill her. We'll find out if you are willing to put her in the line of fire".

He'd already dialed a number and pressed call. He'd put the phone on loudspeaker. I barely registered it ringing before someone answered. A split second before that I realized whose numbers he'd dialed.

"Hello".

"He..." I coughed and he urged me on with his hand. "Hello".

"Archer! Archer, is that you?"

I looked at him and he nodded towards the note he'd given me.

"I am fine, but not for long. I...I..."

"Baby", mom cried. "Archer talk to me".

"I don't have much to say. He wants me to let you know that you are yet to...feel..." I said and coughed. "...feel more pain than you have ever felt. He's...tortured and raped me..."

I raised a brow. "Talk", he mouthed.

"...countless times".

"Do you know where you are?" mom asked quickly. I could tell she was crying. She couldn't contain her sobs.

"He's going to kill me. He wanted me to say goodbye", I said, reading the words quickly.

"Oh God, Archer!" mom wept. I could hear her unsteady breathing.

The man took the phone quickly and ended the call.

"Well done. I expected you to be all sarcastic but that was better executed than I'd hoped for. You made it so believable", he said with a grin.

"What the fuck is this?" I lashed out standing up.

He took steps back as if he was afraid of me, but I knew he wasn't. "Revenge Archer", he said calmly.

"On my mom?" I yelled.

He nodded.

"What?! Why would you take revenge on my mom?"

"She took away something I loved from me. I'm returning the favor", he said.

I'd waited so long for him to explain what he wanted from me that I now thought he was really a psycho. Mom wasn't a saint, but she wasn't evil either.

"Let me guess, the bank refused to extend your mortgage and you now live in this dingy house". I mocked resuming my seat. "You do know mom doesn't own the bank, right?"

He looked amused at my insinuation.

"She did worse", he said.

"Repossessed your car? It must suck to be you", I said with mock sympathy. "You made me lie to her!"

"You didn't entirely lie. I am going to kill you. I don't torture, it's not my thing. As for raping you, you are not my type", he said. His eyes roved over me in what I for a moment almost thought of as desire.

"So I'm dying for a house and a car?" I said rolling my eyes.

"She killed my mom!" he yelled. It was the first time I had seen him lose his cool. I cowered a bit.

"That's not possible!" I said when I recovered myself. There was no way I was going to believe my mom killed someone else.

"Do you want to hear that story?" he asked. He had calmed down.

"The floor is yours", I said.

He took a seat instead.