Mi Casa

"I don't chase."

The threat was implied as a statement of fact. She didn't need to see a weapon or hear specifics to know exactly what he meant.

"This is the second time I've spotted you on my property. I know you've been here more than that; I only installed the cameras after you made off with some expensive items I had out in my shed."

She hung her head, not knowing what to say.

"If I call now, it'll take at least thirty minutes for deputies to get here."

"Please, don't! I'm sorry!  I don't want to go to jail!" The tears began, and her remorse was limited to the act of being caught, not the act of stealing.

But he couldn't know that.

Right?

"Oh, good. Waterworks. There's nothing better than crocodile tears. I love those." A chair scraped across hardwood, and he flipped it around, sitting across from her. He leaned across the backrest, studying her as the two of them sat in his kitchen.

Impassively, he watched her cry, propping his head on the palm of one hand.

He waited, and eventually, she realized the tears weren't working.

"Why didn't you run, when I surprised you?"

"I was afraid."

"You were afraid? So you just followed my command to head inside?"

"I mean, I didn't know if you had a gun, or something."

He just smiled at her in response.

"I never threatened you," his demeanor was completely relaxed, utterly in control. His chin was still propped, elbow resting on the midcentury vinyl-and-chrome chair.

Wiping her face clean, she cocked her head at him and scoffed. "Whatever."

"Really? 'Whatever'? How old are you, girl?"

"Twenty-nine."

"Bullshit. Maybe twenty-one."

She rolled her eyes.

"There it is again. Disrespect. Is it a generational thing?"

"It's a what-the-fuck-is-this thing." She cocked her head, giving him her best street-smart attitude.

"This is me catching a burglar. A known thief. You've hit me twice that I have proof, and at least once more that I don't."

She laughed, "So sue me."

His slap was a wake-up call; her ears were left ringing, and her gasp was more from shock than pain.

He resumed his relaxed posture, chin resting on palm.  "The next one knocks you out of that chair, right on your ass."

She sat in stunned silence, touching the tender red mark high on the side of her face. Her ear was actually flushed and burning where his fingers caught it.

This time, real tears threatened to crawl from the corners of her eyes. She whispered, "I'm sorry," and meant it.

"I'm not calling the sheriff's office."

Ice lanced up her spine, and her whole body tingled with the first touches of true fear.

He continued, "I moved way out here in the country to get away from people like you. Hell, to get away from people in general, but especially thieves. I've lived here, closest neighbor three miles off, for twelve years. Nobody bothers me. I don't bother anybody. As far as the eye can see, this is my land. My forest. My fields. My orchards."  He went on. "A year ago, you came here. Power tools went missing. Two months later, I caught you on camera stealing an ATV, that time you brought help. A scraggly looking little guy." He raised an eyebrow at her, like he was waiting for commentary.

She chimed in, "Casey. He was my boyfriend, until he took off six months ago. Bastard hasn't been back home or called me. I figure he ran off with Lisa; she left with him, I think. Fuck him. Fuck her, too."

He grinned.  "He came back here again without you."

The dots slowly connected, and that icy lance spread across her again, this time leaving her feeling nauseated and causing her to actually shiver.

"What did you do?"

"I'm sure that I don't know what you mean,"  His posture and tone didn't change.

His first words since coming to the kitchen resurfaced in her mind.  I don't chase.

"Let's focus on you and me." He brought her back to the present. "It wasn't long ago that I installed motion-activated cameras. Real-time monitoring, alerting, the whole nine yards. That's how I knew you were back. So, here we are."

"Here we are," she weakly responded.

"Now, the question is, how do we move forward?"

Desperation began to claw its way up her spine in the wake of the cold fear. Without thinking, she blurted, "Why don't I just, y'know. Blow you or something, and let's pretend this shit didn't happen. How's that sound? Everybody likes a blowjob, right?" She tried to fake a smile.

His face didn't react. He still sat there, chin resting on his hand, watching her.

"The thing I like most about this old house," he finally stood, sliding his chair back under the table, "is the basement." He held out his hand to her, like a gentleman helping a lady stand. Confused, she took it. He motioned towards a door that she previously thought led to a pantry.

Seeing no alternative, she walked ahead of him, opening that door and seeing a brightly lit set of stairs before her.

He kept talking as they began to descend the stairwell, flourescents overhead flickering a little, indicating the need for a bulb to be replaced. "This house used to belong to the coroner, back in the sixties. He took his work seriously, and he had the basement converted into a kind of morgue. I mean, it's fucking weird, but look what I've done with the place."

With no warning in his tone, without a whisper of extra sound, he kicked her down the remaining steps, and she landed in a heap on the polished concrete floor.

It was then that she saw Lisa.

Before she could react from the shock of seeing her acquaintance chained to a wall, before she could even really respond to the pain of her recent fall, the man had dragged her by the hair to a spot just feet away from his other captive. After a feeble struggle, wrists were clad in irons, and he scooted out of kicking distance.

He smiled as he began to ascend the staircase.

Turning back to the women, he calmly spoke before shutting out the lights, leaving them in utter darkness.

"Welcome home.  Mi casa es su casa."