What came next?
Ah. Yes.
After the bolts, then came the rags. He kept a stack of them under the sink, clean and folded, waiting for nights like this.
He wet them one by one into the cold basin, wringing them out until they were damp but not dripping, and began to stuff them into the gaps. Under and along the gaps of the door. Along the edges of the window frame.
The scent of clean cotton and cold water filled the small space, and he breathed it in like a man starving for air that wasn't tainted.
The ventilation grates were harder to reach. He had to stand on the edge of the bathtub, one hand braced against the tiled wall, the other pressing damp rags into the narrow slats just beneath the ceiling.
He worked in silence, his jaw tight and his breath shallow. If he could just seal everything… if he could just keep the scent out, her scent, that cloying, lilting, sweet, sweet heat that seeped through the walls and under the doors and into the lungs of the monster inside him—
