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“Do you know how many calories are contained in the body of an adult human being of average weight? One hundred and twenty-six thousand!” His voice has begun to rise to the screamy pitch many of his nutrition and biology classes would have recognized in days of yore. “Healthy human flesh and blood cures epilepsy, it cures amyotrophic lateral sclerosis, it cures sciatica! Healthy human fat cures otosclerosis, the main cause of deafness, and drops of warm liquid fat in the eyes spontaneously heal macular—”

“Roddy, enough!”

He gives her a stubborn look. “Human flesh ensures longevity. Look at us, if you have any doubts. Late eighties, yet hale and healthy!”

Holly wonders if he’s having a kind of Alzheimer’s-induced dream, or if he’s just batpoop out of his mind. Maybe it’s both. She just saw the way they came downstairs, step by careful, hesitating step. Like human Ming vases.

“Let’s get to the point,” Emily says. “Who have you told? Who knows you’re here?”

Holly doesn’t reply.

Emily gives her scimitar smile. “Sorry, I misspoke. Nobody knows you’re here, at least at the present time, or they would have come looking for you.”

“The police,” Roddy amplifies. “Five-O. The po-po.” He actually makes a rurr-rurr-rurr sound and twirls one bunched and crooked finger in the air.

“Excuse my husband,” Emily says. “He’s upset and it makes him garrulous. I’m also upset, but it makes me curious. Who will know you’re here?”

Holly doesn’t reply.

Emily holds up the bottle of water. “You must be thirsty.”

Holly doesn’t reply.

“Tell me who you’ve told… assuming you’ve told anyone. Maybe you haven’t. The fact that no one has come looking for you suggests that, and quite strongly.”

Holly doesn’t reply.

“Let’s go,” she tells Roddy. “What we have here is a stubborn bitch.”

“You don’t understand,” Roddy says to Holly. “No one would understand.”

“Shall we give her a few hours to think it over, my love?”

“Yes,” Roddy says. There’s been a vacancy about him, but now it clears, at least a little. “Unless someone comes. Then we won’t need her input, will we?”

“No,” Emily says, “in that case we would not.”

“I’m going to die no matter what I do or don’t tell you,” Holly says. “Aren’t I?”

“Not necessarily,” Emily says. “I think you have no proof. I think you came here to get proof. You took pictures of our van with your phone, but your phone is gone. Without proof, we could perhaps let you go.”

As if this cage doesn’t exist, Holly thinks.

“On the other hand…” She raises her arm, showing the Ace bandage. “You hurt me.”

Holly thinks of lifting her shirt and showing the bruise. Of saying, I think we’re even on that score. She doesn’t. What she says is, “Maybe you have something for that.”

“Already applied,” Roddy says briskly. “A poultice of fat.”

From Bonnie Dahl, Holly thinks, and that is when the absolute truth of it hits her and she sags back a little.

Emily holds up the water. “Tell me what I want to know and I’ll give this to you.”

Holly says nothing.

“All right,” Emily says, with sadness that’s utterly unconvincing, “the truth is you’re almost certainly going to die. But do you want to die thirsty?”

Holly, who can’t believe she isn’t dead already, makes no reply.