Prologue
The air smells of charcoal and woodsmoke, which makes no sense.
I have been counting the days since he locked me in this bedroom. It is still summer. The eighth of August, I think.
He hasn’t allowed me any clothes in weeks, and with the torrid heat we’ve been having, that has felt like a blessing. The rain has been relentless today, but he isn’t the kind of man who lights a fire for comfort. And he doesn’t own a barbecue, so this can only mean one thing.
He has decided to get rid of me.