He got a real good look at her, long as she kept him hostage standing there. He couldn’t do much else. Her perfectly proportioned face had changed these last two months. Before, every one of her curves appeared to be sculpted to perfection; now, her cheeks were sunken in, gaunt and hollow. Every shred of fat was missing. Her smooth skin stretched tight around every jot and jag in her skull. Before meth, after meth. As quick as her appearance changed over the last two months, it reminded him of before and after posters warning against drug abuse.

Really, there was only one conclusion. Rawhide was not cutting it. The monster upstairs, she was starving and right now, she had Dor wrapped tight in her hungry tail.

Those cold black eyes stared straight through him as if even this much wasn’t worth her time. He swallowed hard, hoping she wouldn’t do the same. The image of her screaming like a banshee as she ripped his throat out played through his mind. The monster was hungry and staring through him. He’d been so wrong. These two would never get along. A mutual understanding between us? Ha. I’m just a slab of meat, one that delivered himself right to her.

Although, rational thought begged a different question: why’d she wait until now to strike? She was starved, he was cattle, and yet, she waited two months to devour him. The terror of this situation wouldn’t allow him to consider much more. Escape. Somehow, he had to escape.

Dor did all he could do. Rattle, rattle. Since one hand was firmly secured by her centipede tail, his plan took a lot of effort. Slowly, his free hand crawled its sweaty fingertips into the bag of rawhide doggy treats. If he dropped the bag, it would all be over. Dor took his time. Hopefully, this situation would last a mintute because he needed every second he could get. His fingers clawed through the opening, without taking his eyes off hers, he shook the bag, working it upside down. Thunk, thunk, thunk, thunk. Rawhide strips spilled around his palm and thunked to the floor, but he managed to catch one.

He shook the emptied bag off his hand and did all he could do right now; he tried to feed the monster. Instead of feeding her tail, he stuck the strip in front of her other mouth, holding it in front of the full lips on her face. Just like a baby, her mouth opened. Ahh. Here comes the airplane! And he shoved the doggy treat in, praying she wouldn’t bite off his fingers in the process. As soon as he’d dropped the rawhide on her tongue, he snapped his hand back.

Her teeth crunched and snapped and ground that morsel into oblivion, his fingers safely out of the way. He watched the bulges slide down her throat. And then…

Ack! Ack! Ack! Her eyes watered and she fell to her knees, hacking up a storm and dragging Dor down with her. Devoured chunks sprayed Dor’s face as she hacked them out her mouth. Ack! Ack! Ack! The tail loosened and the monster keeled over, writhing on the ground in front of him. Dor took every opportunity he could and untangled his hostage arm. Free! I’m free! How all that worked out, he hadn't a clue, but he'd take it. He jumped over her writhing body and sprinted out the door. He raced down the hall, down the stairs, through the kitchen, unbarred the garage, and froze.

Almost all his brain was occupied thinking about plans to escape, all but a tiny section of rationality that froze him in his tracks. She’s starving. He needed the monster, without her, he’d never find Lulu. She was his only edge over the people hanging futile missing persons posters downtown. She’s starving…Fuck. Fuck me. He closed the garage. The sound of her hacking cough echoed downstairs. She gonna be pissed, too. His terror drained into zombie-like state, forcibly closing off his emotions to deal with the issue at hand. That’s probably not right. That’s too much credit. I just don’t have anything else to give.

He zombie walked into the decommissioned walk-in freezer and locked himself inside. A tiny Edison light-bulb hung from the ceiling, illuminating the small room as Dor stood among all his plundered goods. Rows of her rawhide doggy treats lined the shelves; cans of Folger stacked above them; some Ramen noodles and other dried sustenance littered here and there.

But Dor ignored all that. This little pantry was a fortress; hopefully, one that would keep him safe until her rage cooled. He couldn’t abandon the monster again. Next time, she really might rip his throat out. Chances were, he wouldn’t get another shot like that to escape. She’d be on guard next time. He’d abandoned her last night, and today she quit hiding. Today she lurked. If he lost her patience completely, he’d lose Lulu completely, and Dor was determined to grasp at any straw, no matter how dangerous, to find Lulu again.

But right now, locked in his fortress, he grasped at something else, his most prized plunder. A crate of Kentucky Gentlemen rested in the middle of the floor. He’d already raided its contents, but a few morsels remained. He reached in and dug out a fresh handle of whiskey and slumped down next to it. If she found him in here, at least he’d get a painless death. He chugged down so much at once, he began to see stars from asphyxiation. The whiskey slammed into his gut; a pit of nausea spread; his head reeled and damned if it didn’t feel better.

The rest of the day was a twisted blur. Though, he faintly recalled hearing dogs howl in the distance before passing out locked in the cooler.