The Care and Feeding of Exotic Pets by Diana Wagman

floor. That wasn’t nice of her. It was a clean blanket. He had put it over her to make hermore comfortable. Now he could see her, all of her. Her bloody shirt was clinging to her chest and stomach; her ponytail was wrapped around her neck in a wet black clump. She struggled against the ropes tying her to the bed and the flesh on her thighs wobbled. Her eyes went up to the fairy hanging from the light fixture, then back to him. If anything, she looked more terrified than before.
    â€œI brought you water,” he said. “There’s still some left. And aspirin.”
    He put the glass down again on the bedside table. He picked up the bottle of aspirin and shook two of them onto the bed.
    She was so slow. Usually he had a lot of patience, it was one of his strengths, but today it was all he could do not to grab her and yank her to her feet. She was looking around, examining the bare room. Was she stupid? Handicapped somehow?
    â€œTake them,” he said. “We have to go.”

10.
    Winnie looked up past her kidnapper. A dried and shriveled monkey skeleton with wings hung from the overhead light fixture. Monkeys don’t have wings, she thought, do they? Her head hurt so badly she could not remember. No, monkeys do not have wings, but there was definitely one hanging from the ceiling. It was something he wanted to do to her. Some kind of hybrid experiment. In a basement operating room, he would amputate her legs and hands; attach bicycle wheels to her knees and feathers to her wrists. He would hang her from the ceiling when she died. She clenched her teeth to keep from screaming.
    She sat up slowly and took a deep breath to keep from vomiting. She tugged at the ropes around her ankles. The knots were under the bed. Without thinking, she lifted her shirt to inspect the cuts on her stomach and pulled the barely formed scabs away with the fabric. They began bleeding again. There would be scars on her stomach, if she lived long enough to heal. Or would she mend after death, the cells rejuvenating like hair and fingernails that continue to grow in the coffin? Her hand went to the enormous bump on the back of her head. A real goose egg. Stuffed goose. Only six weeks from now she might be his Christmas dinner.
    â€œWhat do you want?” she mumbled thickly.
    â€œTake the aspirin.”
    She forced herself to think. He wanted her to take thesepills. The light escaping from the curtained window was bright. Was anyone missing her? Probably not yet. She had told Jonathan she was too busy to have lunch. Lacy was at school and then orchestra. The tennis teacher would be pissed but not concerned. She could not think of anyone who would worry, not for a long time.
    Her stomach growled. She had to pee. Bizarre that no matter what, threat of murder and dismemberment, after kidnapping and violent confrontation, her body continued as it always did. Hunger. Elimination. Only death would stop its functions. She would wet the bed and then he would kill her and she would die on a mattress soaked in her own urine and stinking of sweat.
    She had been a fool to get into his car. She should have waited for the van. She caught her breath. The van. The van would have come to get her and when she wasn’t standing outside, the driver would have gone into the shop. The manager would say he thought she was waiting. She had said she would wait. They would be the first to be concerned. They would call the rental place to see if she had walked there. The van driver would look for her as he drove back. When she never showed up, they would call the police. People were already searching for her. She knew it. She had to know it. And she was still alive. There had been plenty of opportunity to kill her, but it seemed he wanted her around.
    â€œC’mon,” her kidnapper whined. “We have to go.”
    She wanted the water and aspirin so badly. Her tongue was dry and swollen. She held the glass up to the dim light, looking for