Stockholm Syndrome |||Solby

CHAPTER 8

     The door was tempting. Sam thought about leaving, mainly because he was close to starving. He had walked up to the door twelve times in the past forty minutes, he had even touched the handle a couple times. But he never fully committed.

Colby, who was down stairs, sat on the couch and sipped from his glass. His glass was once filled to the brim with a deep red liquid, but now sat practically empty. He got up to refill it and while in the kitchen he heard racket from up stairs, followed by footsteps coming down the stairs. He stood in the door way and looked over at the dazed blond across the floor. Sam gazed around the house, he caught details he hadn't seen the other day. He reluctantly walked over to Colby and looked him in the eyes. Colby looked back and smiled. "Hungry?" Colby asked, Sam nodded still a quite wary of the stranger. "Alright, follow me." Colby started walking towards to kitchen and Sam followed, even though he made sure to stay at least five steps behind him.

    "Take what you'd like." Colby said once they reached the kitchen. Sam looked around at the various snacks in the cupboards before grabbing a box of cheese-itz. Colby watched him open the box then struggle to open the bag. "Hand it here." Sam gave Colby the bag and he opened it with ease then gave it back to Sam. "Thanks." Colby nodded and watched Sam eat the small crackers.

     When ten minutes straight of eating Cheese-Itz had passed Colby led Sam into the living room and they both sat down across from each other. "We aren't leaving here til you ask me everything you want to know." Colby said firmly. Sam cleared his throat. "Why am I here?"
"You'll figure that out later."

"Why aren't you gonna kill me?"
"Because I don't want to."

"When can I leave?"
"When I say you can."

Every question Sam asked was answered with an ambiguous response. Colby could tell he was getting on Sam's nerves, Colby also realized it was too early in his plan to tell Sam why he was there, and these questions were pointless.

"How old are you?"
"Twenty."

"How old are you really?"
Colby took a second, "You figured it out?" Sam nodded and Colby snickered and leaned back into the couch. "You're smarter than I thought. I'm 320 years old."

"Whens your birthday?"
"February 29th 1704, so technically I'm only eighty."

Sam and Colby grew quiet after a few minutes. Sam continued to look around the jaw dropping house. "My dad bought this house in 1712, after my younger sister was born." Sam nodded but was still looking around, not really paying attention to Colby. "Our pictures are hung on the wall in the room you were in."
"That was you?" Colby nodded, "And my mom, dad, and sister." Sam thought back to the pictures, "What happened to her?" Colby stood up and finished off his glass. "I think it's time you go back upstairs."