bamboo doesn't grow in dark spaces. [80K Words / Complete]

A door opened overhead. Case hugged his legs closer to his body as the creak of something heavy swinging on metal hinges disturbed the silence. Sweat prickled across his skin as the door closed. Footsteps, heavy and slow – thud-thump thud-thump – like a giant heart excised from a monster and thrown into the basement still beating.

This is it, the voice in his head warned. He's coming to kill you.

Case withdrew further into the corner and shadows under the stairs as the man took the last few steps. The man didn't see him at first; he cocked his head to the side, comically puzzled, before looking over his shoulder. They made eye-contact. Case's insides shriveled with dread while the man simpered.

The man fully turned to face him, resting a sturdy arm on one of the steps as he leaned closer. Case pressed his back against the concrete wall, unable to escape the looming shadow. Defiant, he refused to break eye-contact. If he's going to die, then he's going to go out with some dignity. He bit down on the inside of his cheek, forcing his expression to remain neutral. Not that it mattered. He didn't need a mirror to know his eyes were bright with fear.

For a moment, the man said nothing. He just stared at Case with an odd look of affection or admiration. Eventually, he let out a contented sigh.

"Now, are you going to get up on your own, or am I going to have to come and get you?"

To hell with dignity – he wasn't ready yet. It didn't matter how mentally prepared he thought he was. Just the suggestion of the man touching him had Case scrambling to his feet. He'd sat on the ground for what felt like hours, and now his entire lower half was stiff and numb. He hissed as the ache in his hips and tailbone thrummed up his spine. But he was up – unsteady, albeit – but he was up, standing on pins-and-needles.

The man chuckled through his wolf-grin causing shameful, vulnerable butterflies to flutter in Case's stomach. He lowered his head, unable to look at the man any longer.

Maybe he won't do it, Case thought hopefully. Hope – more like naïve, in denial.

"Ah," the man hushed. He leaned closer, a breath away from Case's face.

Close enough for Case to smell his natural scent – wood smoke masked under heady cologne. The scent invaded his nostrils, filling his head until he was woozy and sick. Case held his breath and flattened himself against the wall, his eyes squeezed closed. Block it out. Block it out.

"Am I a little too close for comfort?" the man whispered.

Case's bottom lip quivered. He sucked it into his mouth – the dry, cracked skin tasted like blood – and bit down.

"Perhaps you'd prefer if I sat over here?" The man pushed away from the stairs and crossed the basement. It only took him four leisurely steps. The man sat on the end of the bed, a smile and gesture as if to say See, I'm not so bad.

Case exhaled, his breathing shaky and loud. Okay . . . what does this guy want? Ransom? Leverage? It wasn't like Case's family was made of money or he was anyone special. But this basement, this set-up, Case was starting to think this was all too elaborate to just end in murder.

Case swallowed back his nerves and braved taking a few steps away from the wall. "Where are my clothes?"

"Oh, you don't remember?" the man replied, the southern pleasantry creeping back into his voice. "Your little willful act of defiance in the car?"

The memory was foggy, even if it was recent. Case vaguely recalled being in the car, his vomit bucket spilling over in his scramble for escape.

"You were filthy. On that note, cleanliness will be a necessity while you're here."