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The tray wobbled slightly in Misty’s hands as she descended the basement stairs, careful not to spill the bowl of creamy mashed potatoes or let the cutlery clink too loudly against the ceramic plate. She took pride in presentation. Food should be as welcoming as it was functional, even if the guest was involuntary. It was something she observed from the wilderness to the nursing home.
Jessica was still cuffed to the bed. Misty noted the set of her jaw, the disdain barely hidden behind forced curiosity.
“Have you ever done this before?” Jessica asked, arching a brow as the scent of rosemary and garlic drifted into the cold basement air.
Misty tilted her head, setting the tray on a small fold-out table she’d arranged over Jessica’s body. “What? Keep someone chained in my basement?” She gave a chipper little laugh. “You don’t think I bought the bed just for you?”
Jessica blinked. “No.”
“Good,” Misty said cheerfully, unfolding a napkin with a flourish. “Because I didn’t.”
Jessica watched her, lips twitching in something like confusion or maybe reluctant amusement. “What I meant was… have you ever cooked dinner for someone who wasn’t yourself?”
Misty paused, the question hanging in the space like a cloud of dust. For a beat too long, she didn’t answer. Just looked down at the mashed potatoes like they might reply for her.
“I’ve brought meals to patients,” she said eventually, voice carefully measured. “And to my coworkers, when they didn’t ask for them. They never said thank you, but I know they meant it.”
She picked up the fork and knife, cutting into the meat with surgical precision. “This is different, though,” she added with a small, almost shy smile. “I guess it’s kind of special.”
Jessica said nothing. But her eyes lingered on Misty just a moment too long, and Misty felt some shift. Recognition. Something in between fear and softness. Understanding.
Misty set the cut slice of meat down in front of Jessica with delicate care, like she was plating something at a five-star restaurant instead of feeding someone shackled to a bed in a concrete basement. She adjusted the sprig of parsley, nudging it half an inch to the left until it looked just right.
Jessica’s stomach growled—an involuntary betrayal—but she didn’t reach for the food. She couldn’t. Her hands were cuffed in a way that for her to eat, it would require Misty to unlock one wrist. A calculated risk.
Misty seemed to anticipate the hesitation. “Don’t worry,” she chirped, tapping her apron pocket, where she kept the small key. “You’re not stupid, are you?” Her tone was like a needle hidden in cotton.
But before unlocking Jessica, Misty paused, her eyes narrowing just slightly. Without a word, she reached down and carefully gathered the metal cutlery from the tray, stacking them with the same precision one might use to defuse a bomb. Her movements were gentle, almost apologetic, but unmistakably purposeful.
In their place, she set down a single plastic spoon. Pale, flimsy, harmless. Or at least harmless enough.
Only then, she produced the tiny key from her apron, leaning in close to the bed. Jessica felt the subtle warmth of Misty’s breath against her skin as the lock clicked open. The cuff sprang loose with a muted clatter against the metal bed frame, but Misty didn’t flinch. Didn’t even blink.
She stepped back slowly, folding her hands in front of her like a teacher evaluating a particularly troublesome student. Her posture was prim, polite, and her gaze stayed locked on Jessica with the focused stillness of a predator who knows the trap is still secure. Even if the prey has a little more slack.
Jessica flexed her freed wrist, fingers curling and uncurling as circulation prickled back to life, before cautiously reaching for the spoon. “You... seasoned this?”
“Of course!” Misty beamed, as if Jessica had just complimented her hair. “Garlic, rosemary, thyme. Salt and pepper, obviously. And a little lemon zest for brightness. It cuts through the richness, you know?”
Slow, suspiciously, Jessica took a bite, and probably hated how her eyelids fluttered, just for a second. It was good, of course, Misty had a plateful for herself earlier. Perfectly tender, perfectly balanced. A reminder for Jessica that Misty wasn’t just unhinged, she was competent.
“You know…” Jessica chewed carefully, swallowing down both the food and the creeping dread. “you could’ve just invited me over for dinner. Might’ve gone better.”
Misty giggled, rocking on her feet. “Oh, Jessica… you’re funny. But you wouldn’t have come. You would’ve made an excuse. People always do.”
Jessica leaned back against the headboard. “You ever think maybe that’s because… this?” She rattled the remaining cuff meaningfully.
Misty tilted her head, expression softening in a way that was somehow more disturbing than her earlier brightness. “How else would I get your full attention?”
Then, like flipping a switch, Misty didn’t give Jessica time to respond. She clapped her hands together. “Anyway! Eat up before it gets cold.”
Jessica glanced at the meal, then at Misty, then back again. For now, she ate. She didn’t have a choice either way.