Chapter Fifty-Four:
Sweat burst from Cloey’s pores. My breasts? No. Please, don’t ruin my breasts.
“So I came up with a new game for us to play. You like the games, don’t you?”
No. I can’t take it anymore. I want to die.
“Playtime, Cloey. I’ll just get the curtains, shall I?”
Oh please, not the curtains. I’ll do anything, just please, leave the curtains. Please, oh please. Don’t close the curtains...
Rudd moved across the room. He took a moment to look up and down the street then pulled the curtain across, throwing the room into pale shadows of yellow and pink. He returned to Cloey’s bedside and dug in a pants pocket. Cloey watched him set out a box of butterfly bandages, a small pair of surgical scissors, a spool of thread and two slivers of plastic about the size and shape of her t
