Daphne sat up. So Lamia was there after all.
You knew they would all betray you in the end. Lamia’s voice was calm. Now everything is laid bare. And when I show you the ultimate Truth, you must be ready.
Daphne didn’t trust herself to make a reply that wouldn’t sound short-tempered. So instead she just went to the tray and started to eat.
Chapter 34
The next surprise occurred four days later. In the interim, the days melted into each other: write, eat, sleep, repeat. My scalp itched constantly and I wondered if I’d picked up fleas. I fell asleep at random times on the futon and dreamed that the sound of Wren’s and Keira’s typing was the thrumming of rain against a roof.
As Roza had predicted, my writing was the most vivid it had ever been. Scenes unfurled like flowers, one after the other. And as the possibility of escape seemed more and more remote, I clung to the book like a life jacket.
On Thursday afternoon, Taylor came in to collect Wren.
“You’re up, princess.” She tossed both the handcuffs and a wet rag through the bars.
Wren picked up the rag and gently wiped at her face, then her armpits. I never could’ve imagined seeing her like this: greasy, hollow-eyed, almost feral looking. The deep scrapes on her cheek still looked raw and angry, despite the antibiotic ointment. There would certainly be scars.
But this was life now. I’d met with Roza alone for a second time the night before and had listened to her helpful feedback on Daphne and Lamia. Say what you would about Roza, she was an excellent editor. The thought made me want to start laughing and never stop.
“Don’t let her know you’ve been crying,” Taylor called as Wren threw back the rag. “It’ll piss her off.”
“Okay.” Wren put her hands behind her back and I picked up the handcuffs. Keira watched both of us, forlorn. She’d spoken less and less, and she’d stopped talking about escape altogether. The meals had gotten smaller—maybe Chitra didn’t have enough food—and it was making us even more listless.
Wren stood hunched in the low space, so different from her queenly, straight-backed posture. The knobs of her vertebrae stuck out of the back of her neck.
“It’s okay,” I whispered. I wanted to hug her, pull her to me like a child, but Taylor wouldn’t like that. Handcuffed, Wren went to the door. Keira and I pressed our hands against the back wall, as was the rule, until we heard the iron door click shut.
Taylor whistled the Harlem Globetrotters tune as she waved Wren ahead of her into the basement. Keira and I went back to our laptops. A new anxiety fluttered around my chest: the fear of not having enough time to finish the novel. It was funny—wasn’t it?—that the story had somehow become my main concern.
“Do you think they’ll finish our books if we don’t?” I asked suddenly.
Keira paused. “Yes.” She went back to typing.
Twenty minutes later, Yana strode in. I wondered if she was going to grab Wren’s computer—something Taylor had retrieved before for a one-on-one session. But instead she went quickly to the cell door and tapped in the code.
She pulled it open. “Come.” She gestured and strode back to the doorway.
Keira and I stared at each other, shocked. Simultaneously, we jumped to our feet and hurried after her. We held hands, gripping each other tightly, as we followed Yana through the door, past the piles of boxes, and towards the back of the basement.
She stopped in front of the door that led up into the yard. The one that we’d thought Zoe had sleepwalked right through. It seemed like that had happened years ago.
“Here.” Yana pointed to a colorful pile of boots, snow pants, and fur coats.
Keira let go of me and grabbed a pair of red snow pants. I followed suit, shaking with bewilderment and adrenaline. Why would Yana do this? My boots were there in the pile, but the snow pants were too small and the coat was too big. No matter. I felt faint as Yana pulled open the door. The icy wind hit me in the face. The fresh air was sweet as ice cream and I gulped it in.
Tightly packed snow still covered the stairs, but Yana had etched some ruts so that we could climb out. She went first, leading us in her sneakers up the steps. The wind felt heavenly rushing over my itchy scalp. I breathed so deeply it made my lungs ache. Above, the sun was setting and a bloated moon shone bone-white in the sky.
Yana led us around the side of the house. The snow had melted from the storm but was still at least a foot deep, though dense and icy enough that we could walk on top of it. We crossed the uncleared drive and hurried to the garage.
Yana wrenched open the side door. Inside, two cars waited like sleeping, hulking creatures. Would we be able to drive out in the snow? I had a horrible vision of us stalled, the wheels spinning uselessly.
Then Yana pulled a plastic cover off something near the door.
The snowmobile.
“Here.” Yana held up the keys, which glittered like jewelry. “You know how to ride?”
“Yes.” Keira rushed towards it.
“Take these.” Yana pulled hats and mittens out of her pockets and stuck them in my hands. She gave another set to Keira. “Go slow. The road was cleared but it might be slippery.”
“Thank you, Yana.” I stared at her, half-convinced Taylor would step out from behind her and laugh: another cruel game. But when Yana met my eyes, there was a determined set to her jaw.
“Just go.” She slipped out the door and was gone.
“Oh, hell yes,” Keira muttered, her voice tight with excitement. “Alex, help me pull it out.”
“Yeah.” I hurried behind the snowmobile, my foot kicking into something. It was a long object covered with a blanket. Something shiny peeked out. It took a second to process what I was seeing.
It was a silky, coiled chunk of Zoe’s hair.
“Oh my god.” My stomach dropped. I hadn’t even considered what they’d done with Zoe’s body. But here it was, a frigid object, no different from a frozen chicken or a pizza.
“What?” Keira peered beyond me. She too stopped. Then she tugged at the handlebars. “Come on. We have to go.”
We were able to pull the vehicle up and out onto the shelf of snow. Without hesitation, Keira jumped on and turned the key. The motor sounded like a bomb in the silence. I wanted to run back into the garage and hide.
Keira motioned behind her. “Get on.”
I hesitated.
Keira whipped around. She wore a pink hat with a pom-pom—Yana’s?
“I can’t.” The words were out before I could think them.
“Alex, come on,” she cried. “We have to go now.”
“But…”
I knew as clear as if Lamia were whispering in my ear: If you leave, Wren will die.
The knowledge was heavy and solid, a peach pit in my gut. And though I wanted nothing more than to leap on the snowmobile and get as far away from here as possible… I couldn’t leave her to be murdered.
“I have to help Wren,” I called over the engine.
“Alex.” Keira’s voice sharpened to a fine point. “We need to go get help.”
“I’m sorry. I have to stay.” The front door to the house opened, the creak as clear as a gunshot.
“You go,” I said. “Seriously, I’ll be okay.”