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tell me there’s another meeting I’ll kill you with my bare hands and stuff your body into one of the drawers in my desk.”
    Allison gave a girlish laugh. “My fat ass wouldn’t fit.”
    “I’ll make you fit,” Christine said with a sober expression.
    Allison threw her head back and gave in to full laughter. “You’re dark. I like that.” She walked in and sat down on the edge of the desk. “No, I just came in to say hi and wish you a happy birthday and weekend.”
    Christine exhaled a sigh. “In that case,” she said and grabbed her purse again as she jumped up from her leather chair. “I will.” She made for the door, but stopped short and turned on her heel back to Allison. “And you’re not fat.”
    Allison let her head fall softly to the side as she looked at Christine with loving eyes.
    “You’re just old.”
    Allison’s face tightened as she glared. “You can go now, bitch.”
     
     
     
     
    VIII.
     
     
    Christine sat on the bay window seat and looked out at the darkened, empty parking lot. All the cars, along with their owners, had cleared out before nightfall. The trees blew back and forth in a breeze that didn’t cool, but only pushed the hot air around. She’d been locked in their apartment for thirty-six hours. It felt like weeks as Liam constantly rearranged things from box to box, never settling in one place for too long. Christine hadn’t picked herself up to move or help at all. Allison was gone. Her parents were likely gone, too. She wondered if her sister was alive, wherever she was.
    “Can I at least go outside for a quick walk or something?” she yelled, her head craned up so her voice carried to the bathroom where Liam was finding room for all the toilet paper he’d bought.
    “No,” was all he said.
    “Just for a minute. I can’t breathe in here.”
    “No,” he said in the same, quick, solid voice.
    Christine sighed and turned to look out the window again. “It’s not like anyone’s even going to be up at four thirty in the morning to attack me. I’ll be really careful. I’ll even take one of those knives you bought if it’d make you feel better.”
    “No.”
    She wanted to scream. He wasn’t the boss of her. They were a team. She was his fiancée, not his prisoner. The outburst boiled and rose inside her, and then simmered and dissipated until it was entirely gone. She remembered the agonizing screams from Allison she’d heard from the safety of her apartment, the one Liam had stocked with over ten thousand dollars’ worth of supplies for them. Something moved in between the abandoned cars left in the parking lot and caught her eye. She didn’t tell Liam.
     
     
    A knock on the door made Christine jump. It was loud, like multiple fists were pounding in furry. Liam ran from the bathroom. The banging grew more desperate. Liam and Christine looked at each other with wide eyes, but neither went to open the door. Suddenly, Christine was thankful for all the locks that kept them inside and whatever was outside out.
    “Please, open up!” a familiar woman’s voice traveled through the door. “My son needs help! Please, he’s hurt badly. Please, help!”
    Christine got up from the window seat and started to walk over to the door. Her path was blocked by Liam before she could extend her hand to start the tedious task of unlocking the deadbolts.
    “It’s just Mrs. Ramiren,” Christine said, matter-of-factly with her chin jutted out. “Her son’s hurt.”
    Liam didn’t move. His eyes fixated on Christine as he towered over her with his lanky body. She saw her reflection in his glasses. Her eyes were squinted and her brow was furrowed together. Could he really be denying someone help? That wasn’t the Liam she knew.
    He stood like a stone statue with his arms extended in both directions to grip either side of the small entryway walls.
    “You’re seriously not going to help them?” Christine asked as she moved to get around Liam.
    He gripped her upper