The heat slid along her skin, something like silk but softer, more intuitive, something that stole the rhythm of her breath and wore it like glimmering pearls. The heat came first. Then the slide, softening her bones like melting wax. Light pricked her eyelashes. It wormed into the darkness and ate at the lining of her stomach.

Hollow. Not hollow but like hollow. Clank. Clank. Muffled but not muffled. That other noise, low and sloshing.

She wanted to open her eyes. She smelled something clean, light and floral. She tried to open them but her eyelids felt like lead.

Her stomach contracted. Panic hit. A hand slipped under the back of her head and lifted it up. I’m going to puke. She swallowed and swallowed and felt something tighten around her throat, some smooth cold heavy thing. She wanted to touch it. Her arms stirred but her muscles were weighted down. Chains clanked. Oh shit. Shit. The bile rose. She clenched her teeth. Cold sweat popped out on her forehead and she started to shake. Her body convulsed and her feet splashed and the hand steadied her head as the vomit rushed up through her throat, flowed out of her mouth, and splattered into a big silver bowl. Her eyes unsealed. The stink filled her nostrils and she gagged. She reached for the edges of the tub and the shackles were heavy. A warm washcloth wiped her lips.

She startled and twisted her face away. The fingers tightened on her scalp. She opened her eyes and looked up and sucked in big ragged breaths. The washcloth dunked into the water. He swirled it around and squeezed out. He sponged the clammy sweat off her skin. She lifted her wrist out of the water and touched his forearm.

“Where am I?”

Carl put the bowl on the floor. “The bathtub.”

“I’m g-going to…”

Her face clenched. He dropped the washcloth in the water and held the bowl up to her chin. She tried to sit and held onto the edges of the tub and retched up long strings of bile. He wiped her mouth. She turned her head away, reaching for the cloth. He put the bowl down and pulled the cloth out of her reach. Her fingers swiped at it. He put a hand on the side of her face and hooked his thumb under her jaw. She tried to move again and he steadied her head. Her body tensed up. She let her hands fall back into the water. She took several deep breaths through her nose and started to relax. She unwound in twitches. Her eyes fluttered shut. Her neck went soft against the porcelain.

“I can…do it.”

“No.”

Her head rolled to one side on the rim. He washed her chin. He dunked the cloth into the water and squeezed it out over her forehead, the drops landing on her forehead and flowing warm and sweet down over her cheeks. It dribbled over her mouth. He folded the cloth over his fingers and stroked her forehead, her eyebrows, the lobes of her ears. He cradled the back of her neck.

“Slide down,” he said.

Rhiannon sighed and bent her knees. Her back glided across the bottom and the water slid up over her ears and blocked out all sounds but for the tidal flow of her breathing. He scooped water over her forehead and massaged it into her scalp. She filled with languor. He lifted her head up out of the water and her neck sagged. He washed her neck, the insides of her elbows, the curves of her breasts. Her eyes closed and she floated down with the slow beat of her blood. He soaped up her flanks and rinsed them. His hand moved along the inside of her thigh, pulling it toward the edge of the tub. Her muscles let go. He scrubbed the skin down to her groin and her toes curled. The heat and the lingering effects of the chloroform drifted through her head, spinning it around. He steadied her knee. Her blood thickened. He moved the lips of her cunt apart and washed them with light, slow, careful strokes. Her breath grew sharp. He maneuvered her thigh toward her chest and stroked between her buttocks. Her lips parted and she let out a slide of air that was almost a sound. Her feet clenched.

He unfastened the chain from her collar. He plunged his arms into the water and lifted her out. Her cheek lolled into his shoulder. Water ran off her legs and splashed into the tub.

“I can walk, you know.”

He put her down. There was a folded quilt on the floor and it was covered with fluffy white cotton towels. He picked up each limb, drying her with delicate precision. He unfastened the chains from her wrists.

“I’m hungry.”

He carried her into the basement. Her eyes were closed and she didn’t open them until he stopped walking. She found herself in a small room with pale turquoise walls and a large bed decked out with sumptuous linens. There were clothes, a skirt and some kind of tunic top in cream-colored silk. There were beads or designs painted on them in pale colors, grays and darker creams and silvers, but the grogginess was coming up on her again like a wave. He felt her connection to wakefulness loosen and start to unravel. He put her down on the bed and pulled the tunic shirt over her head like she was a baby or a patient and Rhiannon slumped against him, muttering. He maneuvered her arms through the sleeves. There were new chains slumped on the bed and he locked them onto her wrists.

“Wanna damn cheeseburger, can you get me a cheeseburger, Carl? I so fucking starrr-ving. I’m starrr-ving.”

“No,” he said. “There’s still too much…chloroform in your system, you’d just throw it back up.”

“But I want it.”

“Later.”

Rhiannon lay on her back with her wrists flopped up over her head. Carl moved the skirt up over her lax hips.

“Are you gonna leave me here?”

He straightened out the waistband and pulled the tunic down. “I have to go to work.”

“I’m so sleepy.”

He fastened a narrower chain to her collar. “I know.”

“Don’t leave me here.”

He touched her forehead. “I have to.”

“God dammit don’t you do that shit and then leave me alone here. Don’t you even do that. I fuckin hate that. I hate it.”

“Rhiannon…I…”

She blinked her unfocused eyes. “You used too much stuff, I think.”

“I-I’m sorry.”

She moved one arm. The chains clinked. “Wait. Until I’m asleep?”

He looked down. She touched his hand.

“I don’t…don’t want…solitude to be the l-last thing I…remember,” she whispered.

He picked up her hand. He watched her face relax, then twitch back to wakefulness. “Shhhh,” he said.

She fought it but she was no match for her doctored bloodstream. She started to snore. He replaced her hand on the bed and pulled the silk blankets out from beneath her sprawled feet and covered her to the waist. He went out into the rest of the basement. He closed the door and locked it and leaned against it for a moment, just breathing. He listened to his breath. He felt the cadence of it, the way it spread throughout his body and carried calm.

He went upstairs and took his car keys from the nail over the counter and left.