Still thinking of Jo. Always thinking of Jo. He doesn't realise that Christmas has passed, such labyrinthine paths has his mind wandered down. Still sees himself giving Jo a Christmas present, cuddling Jo under the duvet on a cold Christmas night, the lights of the tree twinkling in the corner. All I want for Christmas is Jo.
Head twitches. If only he can find her.
How long had she been missing before he realised? How many days had he stood outside her house waiting for her to come back before he discovered that she'd gone for good? How many days? How many fucking wasted days? How far could she have gone in that time? Time to go anywhere in the world.
He didn't know why she'd left. Why had she left? Why would anyone in her position leave like that? She had found someone who would do anything for her, who would love her and run after her and do everything for her, who would keep her warm and safe, who would protect her from the perils of modern city life, which are legion.
How could she walk out on him that? What kind of thoughtless, selfish slut had she been? Maybe when he finds her, when he finally gets to give her a present, it won't be jewellery and it won't be clothes or chocolates or flowers or tickets to the concert hall. Maybe it will be pain. Fucking pain. Payback pain for the pain that she's inflicted on him, for reasons he cannot understand. Payback pain. Fucking pain. Fucking Jo.
He is cold, cold to the bones. Hasn't had anything to eat for three days. He was fed at first, but now that's drifted off. Forgotten what food tastes like, forgotten the warmth of it as it slides down his throat. Water and the occasional shot of J amp;B is not enough. The whisky burns and warms, but still he does not like the taste; nothing can change that.
His wrists were sore, but eventually the numbness came to take the pain away and now he feels nothing; except for the occasional trickle of blood down his arms after he tries to wrestle himself free. Knows the way to no pain is to stay still, but sometimes he is gripped with a desperation to get away. Jo is out there — sweet Jo — and she needs him. He knows she aches for him the same as he aches for her. Imagines all kinds of things happening to her, and the anger wells within him at the thought of it, at the thought of him not being there to protect her.
There are so many criminals and dangerous psychopaths out there. And here he is, imprisoned, and there's nothing he can do about it.
The anger passes. He thinks of a quiet Christmas afternoon. Lights sparkling on the tree, Bing Crosby singing. And Sinatra and Nat King Cole; coal crackling in the fire. Holding hands, his ring around Jo's finger.
His hands around her throat.