Beach Thriller(93)

The first splash of liquid eases the burn in my throat. I’m sure my brain believes I’m giving my body what it needs. My thirst lessens as the gulps go down, and it stays that way for a little while. The wine sits sour in my empty stomach, but I can’t stop drinking. It’s only when half the bottle is gone that I realize I’m making a terrible mistake. Not only am I speeding up my dehydration, but I’m also zapping my wits in the process. I won’t be at my best when I need it most.

I try to stand, but the floor feels like a trampoline, throwing off my balance—like I’m already drunk. I slump to the ground, doing what I’ve been doing for hours—a whole lotta nothing. Most of the day has passed, and the light outside the small window is starting to fade. The hardest part has been keeping my eyes open. It’s like I have weights on my eyelashes, pulling my lids shut.

My cell smells like urine. Wine made it impossible to hold my bladder. I’m not proud, but I am human. As the sun begins to set, I wonder if I’ll be left here to rot. Is Conrad going to starve me to death? But that’s not right. It’s water, not food, that I need. I can go a long time without eating, but dying of thirst could happen in days.

I make a promise to myself: I will get out of here somehow. I’ll be free again. Reflexively, I reach for the jagged bottle top—my makeshift knife. If someone comes to finish me off, I’ll be ready.

Meanwhile, the world outside continues to turn. The sun casts a pale glow across the distant sky.

I’ve seen shadows pass by the window, and there’s been a lot of noise outside. The landscapers ran lawn mowers and leaf blowers all day. But that’s not nearly as loud as the generators rumbling to supply power to the beach party at the base of the bluff. I knew we’d have generators on the property—that was included in the arrangements I made with the party planner, at Maeve’s direction. She wanted the lights to be as plentiful as stars, she’d said. Now her big vision is muffling my screams as I slowly die of thirst.

I’ve thrown more than a few bottles at the barricaded window, but all I’ve managed to do is fill the space with sharp glass that makes it difficult to move around safely, not to mention the pools of pungent-smelling wine that have collected on the floor.

For a moment, I wonder if Maeve is pissed that I didn’t show up for work. Then again, she might know exactly where I am. I call out for help once more, but my voice is weak and raspy.

My last hope fades as the loud noise of a powerful portable generator starts up right outside the window. The engine sounds like a jet rumbling overhead.

Despair is sinking me fast. The fierce girl is suddenly questioning the promises she made to herself. I muster the strength to stand up. Someone has to be nearby to start the generator. Naturally, my first thought is to bang on the grate, but it’s too high for me to reach. Throwing the bottles hasn’t helped—but damn it, I try again.

Another bottle. Another perfect strike. And another mess.

But this time, something actually happens. The window opens a crack.

My heart leaps into my throat. I shout with everything I have. “Here! I’m down here! Help me! I’m trapped!”

I go to the window and start jumping up and down, waving like a castaway trying to get the attention of a passing ship. The window is partly open now. Finally, I have some fresh air—and some hope.

I see a hand reaching in through the window. Thank God. I won’t be here much longer. I keep screaming for help, even though help has technically arrived.

But something feels off. It’s not a hand—it’s a hose. I’m looking into the opening of a flexible ribbed aluminum tube, kind of like a tinfoil condom, pressed against the grate. The window opening is just wide enough for the tube to fit through. What the hell?

I scream again. “Hey, what the fuck? Let me out of here!” Nobody answers. Has the roar of the generator swallowed my screams? No, whoever is outside is only a few feet away. With the window partially open, they must hear me.

A shadow blocks the light. It’s not cast by a person; it’s square and boxy. Someone moved the generator, so it now blocks the window. The engine is roaring so loudly, it feels like it’s in the room with me. The metal hose stays firmly against the grate.

I have a flash of understanding. I know a lot about cars. I know that engines produce gases that need to be vented. I feel paralyzed. Terror rips through every part of my body.

I’m staring at an exhaust pipe. And I know exactly what it’s doing. It’s slowly filling my cell with deadly carbon monoxide.





Chapter 56

Holly




A strange feeling washed over Holly the moment she set foot in the grand foyer. How was it possible nothing had changed in all these years? She remembered the many portraits encased in gold frames gracing the high walls, and the plush, velvet-covered furniture that harkened back to a gilded age, but she barely gave any of it a moment’s notice.

She and Ethan entered Miramar through the front door wearing slippers. Maeve had set out a bin of disposable spa-style foot coverings near the entrance, which all guests were instructed to wear upon entering. However, the slippers weren’t preventing beach sand from getting inside, as small grains were scattered across the flagstone floor. Guests came and went to use the two bathrooms off the main hall. Freestanding signs indicated their locations.

Elegant gold and silver helium balloons hovered near the front door, while gorgeous bouquets of cut flowers added splashes of color that sucked some of the dreariness from the air.