When Lauren first met Zachary, he seemed like the perfect guy. He was sweet, funny, and loved her for who she was. He didn't even mind the scars on her face, which were brutal reminders of the car accident she had as a teenager. He told her they were beautiful because they were a part of her. She thought she had found her soulmate.

After dating for only a few months, Lauren moved into Zachary's house. Things were absolutely wonderful.

Until they weren’t.

After a while, she began to see a darker side of him. He started coming home late almost every night, claiming he was working late. Eventually, Lauren's curiosity got the best of her. She called his boss one night, only to find out he had been clocking out at 10 PM every night. He hadn't been coming home until two or three in the morning. Lauren's stomach churned as she processed this information. If he wasn't at work, where was he? The question gnawed at her, a constant source of anxiety and suspicion.

When he was home, Zachary spent most of his time in the basement, avoiding Lauren. "What’s wrong, baby? Are you upset with me?" she asked one night as he descended the stairs. He stopped halfway with his back to her.

"Nothing's wrong, honey. I'm fine. Just stress from work." His voice was distant.

"Of course I'm not mad at you, babe. I could never be mad at you. You're the light of my life," he added, turning around with a forced smile. His eyes, however, remained cold and empty. Muddy brown pools of nothingness.

Lauren stared at him for a moment, studying his face. She found it hard to believe how much he seemed to have aged in such a short span of time. Deep wrinkles lined his forehead and the corners of his eyes. His features seemed weary, and the stubble on his face was worse than she had ever seen it. She wanted to call him out on his lies, tell him he was a liar, and interrogate him about his whereabouts and his coming home late every night. But ultimately, she decided against it. What if she was wrong? What if he was really just stressed?

Things continued this way for the next few weeks. Zachary continued to do as he pleased, and Lauren continued to let it go. They had only been together for a few months, and she didn't want him to think she was being overbearing or paranoid. She figured he would slip up eventually. So she began watching him more closely. Not only was he coming home late from work, but he was acting strangely. He was short with her, often staring into space as if his mind was drifting on some distant planet. And he was always, always in a hurry to get down those steps.

What is he hiding down there? Is there someone else? The thoughts plagued her every waking moment.

One night, while Zachary was out late once again, Lauren decided to snoop around. She had always avoided the basement because of her bad knee – another lingering injury from the car wreck. But tonight, it was time to investigate. Slowly, she carefully worked her way down the steep steps. Her pulse quickened with each creak of the wood beneath her feet. She held her breath, silently praying that tonight wouldn’t be the one night he decided to come home on time. What am I doing? What if he catches me?

She halted in her tracks when the strong burning scent of bleach suddenly hit her nostrils. The odor was so strong it nearly gagged her. But she held her nose and continued her descent. Why would he need so much bleach?

At the bottom, she pulled a string hanging from the ceiling. A dim lightbulb flickered on overhead, revealing various clutter and old odds and ends. For the most part, it looked like a typical unfinished basement of a 35-year-old guy. But as she inspected further, she found strange things. In the corner, she spotted an old jailhouse cot. Holes were drilled into the wall with two sets of handcuffs attached. They hung parallel to one another, positioned where someone's arms would be if they were lying on the cot.

"What the hell?" she muttered. Her brow furrowed as she moved closer. Stains, which looked like fresh blood, marred the cot. Her heart pounded as she began rifling through nearby drawers. The items she discovered inside were even more unsettling: rope, duct tape, knives, and a bag of lye. Lauren‘s mind reeled. Panic bubbled up from within her, threatening to spill over. What the fuck had he been doing down here?

She was ready to dash back up the stairs when she heard a whimpering sound coming from an old, non-working deep freezer. Her blood ran cold. No. Please, no. Recoiling, she covered her mouth. "That can't be human. That cannot be human," she repeated in her mind, half denying what she already knew. The whimpering came again, louder this time. Steeling herself, she slowly approached the freezer. Her hands trembled as she lifted the lid.

Inside lay a young woman, no older than 19, gagged, bound, and terrified. Her hair was a disheveled mess of dirty blonde knots. Dried blood stained her thighs and hands, and she wore only underwear and a ripped yellow tank top.

"Oh my God!" Lauren whispered, hot tears stinging her eyes and spilling down her cheeks. A relentless tornado of unanswerable questions began to flood her mind. How long has she been here? Why didn't I notice something sooner? She ran to the drawer with the knives, grabbed one, and began cutting the girl loose. She removed the duct tape from her lips. She helped the young girl out of the freezer. The girl immediately collapsed into Lauren‘s arms. The two of them fell to the concrete floor together, huddled in a close embrace. Her frail body shook with fear as she clutched at Lauren‘s clothing, her knuckles white from gripping so hard. She buried her face into Lauren‘s thick black hair as her shoulders racked with uncontrollable sobs.

Lauren hugged the girl back tightly, trying her best to be of some comfort. She felt as if she had entered the twilight zone. What the fuck was going on? And why the fuck was it happening? ‘’Shh,’’ she soothed, gently rocking the girl back and forth. “You’re OK now. He’s not going to hurt you. I promise." Salty tears continued to trace their path down her cheeks as she stroked the girl’s hair. “Why didn’t you make some type of noise? To let me know you were down here?” she asked the girl curiously. She just couldn’t understand any of this. How could she not have known?

The girl blubbered unintelligibly, sputtering nonsensical words between each hysterical sob.

“I can’t understand you, honey,” Lauren said softly, pulling back to look into the girl’s horror-filled eyes. “Look at me. You’re OK now. It’s OK.”

The girl took deep breaths, trying to calm herself, as she looked back at Lauren intently. Her body still trembled as she lowered her eyes. “He told me you were in on this. And that if you heard me, you would kill me!” she said quietly, before collapsing into Lauren‘s arms once more. The sobbing continued, and Lauren continued to rock her back and forth.

Lauren's face hardened. “That motherfucker. That psychotic fucking bastard,” she thought to herself.

Just as she was about to escape with the girl, she heard the creak of the basement door opening. Her heart dropped into her stomach. Zachary appeared at the top of the steps, looking eerily calm, considering the circumstances.

"I was hoping you wouldn't find out this way," he said flatly, gazing at her with a resigned expression. "I suppose you'll have to die now."