The Fury(58)

A small figure was in the distance, through the trees, at the end of the path.… It was Agathi, hurrying into the house.

Lana quickly followed. At the back door, she took off her shoes, leaving them outside. She crept in, barefoot, silently, stealthily. She looked around.

There was no sign of Agathi in the passage. Had she gone to her room? Or the kitchen?

Lana deliberated which direction to go in—when heavy footsteps heading down the corridor made up her mind for her.

Lana turned and quickly climbed the stairs.

A few seconds later, Jason appeared at the foot of the staircase. He nearly collided with Kate, who walked in through the back door.

They had no idea Lana was there, at the top of the stairs, watching them.

“They’re gone,” Jason said.

Kate stared at him. “What?”

“The guns. They’re not there.”

Outside the back door—from the wings—I nudged Leo onstage. “Go on,” I whispered. “Now’s your cue.”

Leo ran inside and told Kate and Jason he had hidden the guns.

That the guns weren’t in the chest where Leo had hidden them was a surprise to him. I had decided not to tell Leo that I had moved them; I thought it would aid his performance if he was ignorant of that.

As it was, I could see that Leo required no acting aid. The kid’s a natural, I thought. A chip off the old block. His performance was frighteningly real in its hysteria and grief. A tour de force.

“She’s dead!” Leo screamed. “Don’t you even care?”

Lana, watching from the gallery, craned her neck, trying to see Jason’s reaction.

This was what she had been waiting for. This was Lana’s real reason for agreeing to my plan. She wanted to observe Jason’s reaction to her death—to test his love. She wanted to see if Jason’s heart would break; or at least glimpse some proof that he possessed one. She wanted to see him cry; see him weep for his beloved Lana.

Well, she saw. Jason didn’t shed a single tear. As Lana watched him from the top of the stairs, she saw he was angry, and afraid, trying to not lose control. But he wasn’t heartbroken, or grief-stricken. He was entirely unmoved.

He doesn’t care, she thought. He doesn’t give a damn.

And in that moment, Lana felt herself die a second time.

Tears filled her eyes; but not her tears—no, they belonged to a little girl from long ago, who had once felt so unloved. A girl who used to crouch in this exact same position, at the top of the stairs, clutching the banister, watching her mother entertain her “men friends” down below—feeling unwanted and ignored. That is, until her mother’s friends began noticing her precocious beauty; and her troubles really began.

Lana had gone through so much since then—since those bleak, frightening days—to ensure that she became safe, respected, unassailable—and loved. But, now, watching Jason from the top of the stairs, all that Cinderella magic vanished. Lana found herself right back where she had started: a suffering little girl, alone in the dark.

Lana realized she was going to be sick. She pulled herself up. She ran to her bedroom, into the bathroom.

She fell to her knees in front of the toilet and threw up.





3





When Lana came out of the bathroom, she found Agathi was in her bedroom, waiting for her.

There was silence for a moment. The two women stared at each other.

Lana realized she needn’t have worried about Agathi losing control. There was no danger of an emotional outburst. Agathi looked entirely calm. Only her red eyes showed she had recently been crying.

“Agathi. Please let me explain.”

Agathi spoke in a low, flat voice. “What is this? A joke? A game?”

“No.” Lana hesitated. “It’s more complicated than that.”

“Then what?”

“I can tell you, if you’ll let me—”

“How could you do this, Lana?” Agathi searched her eyes, incredulous. “How could you be so cruel? You let me think you died. You broke my heart—”

“I’m sorry—”

“No. I do not accept your apology. Let me tell you something, Lana. You are a most selfish, self-deluding person. I see all this—and I love you. Because I thought you loved me.”

“I do love you.”

“No.” Agathi rolled her eyes in angry contempt. Tears streamed down her cheeks. “You are not capable. You don’t know how to love.”

Lana stared at her, deeply pained. “Selfish and self-deluding? Is that what you think? Perhaps … you’re right. But I am capable of love. I love you.”

They stared at each other for an instant. Then Lana went on, quietly. “I need your help, Agathi. Let me try and explain. Please.”

Agathi didn’t reply. She just stared at her.





4





Meanwhile, I reluctantly agreed to accompany Jason and Nikos on their search of the island—looking for a nonexistent intruder.

I felt increasingly resentful as we made our way along the coast, battered by the wind. I was exhausted; and my newish shoes had been ruined from wading through undergrowth, mud, and sand. I was also anxious to get back to Lana—and Agathi.

But Jason was proving annoyingly methodical in his search, intent on examining every square foot of the island. Even when we reached the cliffs—and it was finally obvious no boat was moored on the island—Jason refused to accept defeat. I think in some perverse way, he was enjoying himself; acting like a hero in a bad movie.