Page 100 of The Hunter

Henry didn’t seem like a picky eater. He’d been in the military. His father raised him to live off the land and eat everything put in front of him. He’d probably eaten things that didn’t even qualify as food.

Unless he knew what I was up to and was simply just playing along.

Finally, he dipped his fork into the creamy pile and scooped up a bite. I held my breath, my heart hammering in my chest as I watched him.

“You okay? You look a little pale.”

“I’m fine,” I insisted with a quick wave of my hand. “Just...thinking about something else.”

He watched me for a painfully long moment. I forced myself to take a bite of my own mashed potatoes, fighting to keep my hand steady.

Seconds ticked by, each one feeling longer than the last. Finally, he brought his fork up to his mouth. Chewed. Swallowed. Then frowned.

My stomach plummeted as panic raced through me. Could he taste the pills? Was the flavor too strong? I thought the mashed potatoes would mask any texture issues.

“These taste just like the ones my mother used to make,” he finally said.

“Really?” I did my best to hide my relief.

“Yeah.” His eyes drifted away for a second. “She used to make mashed potatoes every Sunday. Usually with a roast or turkey. She’d let Spencer and me help mash them. Said we were so much stronger than she was, even when we were little. It was one of his favorite things to do.”

Something in his voice changed, and I latched onto it.

“What was he like? Your brother?”

He pinched his lips together, and I immediately regretted asking. Maybe this was too personal. Too soon.

“He loved books,” he said after a beat. “Mom, too. I was always more athletic. Not Spencer. He preferred books to people.Peter Pan.The Little Prince.”

“The Secret Garden?” I pressed.

He lifted his gaze toward mine and hesitated. I half expected for him to put an end to this conversation. But he didn’t.

“That was one of his favorites. Mom, too.” A soft chuckle rumbled from his chest as a nostalgic gleam crossed his eyes. “But he didn’t read as much once we came up here. Didn’t really have time for it anymore.”

I swallowed hard, but couldn’t let this affect my plan. I needed him to keep eating. So I steered the conversation back to happier memories. “What other things did you do with your brother?”

His eyes lit up as he regaled me with stories of building forts and digging for worms in the back yard. He kept eating between thoughts, each forkful diminishing the pile of mashed potatoes. Each bite another step toward freedom.

It didn’t take him long to finish every last crumb.

With each bite, I noticed his eyes droop. Heard him slur his speech a bit more.

I didn’t breathe easy yet, though. I couldn’t. Not until I saw him fall.

I dabbed my mouth with my napkin and set it gently onto my plate. Henry stood and began to clear the dishes. He wobbled, gripping the edge of the table for balance.

I jumped to help him, feigning concern. “Are you okay?”

He blinked slowly, confusion knitting his brow. “Yeah, just a little dizzy all of a sudden.”

I steadied him with both hands. “It’s probably from the concussion. You didn’t do yourself any favors by staring at a computer screen all afternoon. You should lie down.”

He nodded, obviously disoriented. “Maybe.”

I guided him to the couch. He dropped onto it heavily, his head tipping back against the cushion, eyes drifting half-shut.

“I’ll clean up,” I whispered.