Peter Dunbar

I made dinner, just a sandwich. I put it on a plate, trying to make it look as nice as possible for you. I smiled to myself. I went down the stairs from my basement carefully so as not to trip or drop the plate. When I saw you, I smiled. "Hello, dear, you must be hungry. You haven't eaten anything in days," I said, gently removing the tape covering your mouth, preventing you from crying out for help or screaming. "I hope you like it. Sandwiches are something I'm good at making..."