Trapped With A Killer

Chapter Thirteen

A few weeks after our vacation I was taking a nap curled up in the armchair when Wheaton shook me awake.

"Hey, hey wake up!" he said. I lifted my heavy eyelids, groggy from the deep sleep I was in. I saw Wheaton beaming down at me, which frightened me enough to wake up for the most part.

"What?" I whispered, sinking back into the chair, trying to put some distance between us.

"C'mon and see," he said like a child trying to get their parents to wake up on Christmas morning. I begrudgingly stood up and allowed Wheaton to unlock my ankle and my hands, which surprised me. He almost always kept me in handcuffs to go upstairs. Suddenly Wheaton slapped himself on the forehead.

"Hold on! I almost forgot! Wait right here," Wheaton ordered and placed me at the bottom of the stairs. He sprung up the stairs to the kitchen and closed the door.

What game was he playing this time? I thought bitterly, kicking my feet around. After a few minutes Wheaton called through the door.

"Close your eyes!" he yelled, sounding excited. I did as he asked as I heard the door to the kitchen open and his footfalls down the stairs. Then he stood right behind me, close enough to make me very uncomfortable.

"Go on, up the stairs," he whispered in my ear. I shuddered and started cautiously stumbling up the stairs with Wheaton trying to guide from behind.

"Wheaton, what is this about?" I asked, having grown increasingly nervous.

"Sh, you'll see in just a second, love," he mumbled in my ear. I frowned at his use of that pet name. It made me sick to my stomach that he had started referring to me by that. I was not his love, I was his prisoner.

Once up the stairs I shuffled into the kitchen but the light behind my eyelids was all wrong. It was too dark, and it looked like the light was flickering.

Wheaton guided me to a chair and had me sit.

"Okay, you can open your eyes!" he exclaimed. When I looked around I saw a big, blue birthday cake with candles all lit up and spreading their pleasant glow throughout the room.

"Happy birthday!" he bellowed and started to sing. I knew my birthday must have been coming up, but I lost track of the days so easily. I didn't want to ask Wheaton because then he'd have wondered why I wanted to know. Guess he already knew it was my birthday so it wouldn't have mattered anyway. As I looked at this cake with its many candles I thought about my mom, having to go through this day all alone, not knowing where I am or if I'm still alive. I wondered if she would still go to that Thai restaurant we always went to on my birthday. The thought of her sitting by herself in that booth was almost too much to bear. Involuntary tears welled up in my eyes as Wheaton finished the song, and he saw me crying.

"Aw, what's the matter, Reyna? I thought you'd be happy it was your birthday," Wheaton said, kneeling down and gently taking my hand in his. "C'mon no need to cry." I just started sobbing, fat tears rolling down my cheeks.

"O-of course I-I have r-reasons to cry," I wept, choking on my words. "I m-miss my mom. I-I want to go h-home!" I wailed. Wheaton just stood up and wrapped his arms around me, and as much as I hated myself for it, I leaned my face into his stomach and let it all out.

"Listen, just wait till your present, okay? Now blow out your candles before the wax melts," Wheaton whispered, running his fingers through my hair. I sat up and rubbed my cheeks, sniffling. I took in a shaky breath and blew out my candles. The room was now completely dark, but Wheaton walked over and flipped the lights on.

On the top of the cake the curvy letters Happy Birthday! seemed to mock me. I wiped my eyes with the sleeves of my shirt and tried to pull myself together for whatever present Wheaton was talking about.