Kara took off after her but was a step behind and Marlie reached the door first, slid through and shut it.
Click.
Kara grabbed the door handle, but it wouldn’t move.
Locked? The door is locked? Marlie has locked me in?
Fury and fear burned through her as she heard Marlie’s swift footsteps as she hurried away.
No, no, no! “Marlie!” She rattled the door handle and pounded on the door, then as her rage eased a bit, thought better of it. This was no prank. Something was wrong. Seriously wrong. Something . . . evil. She swallowed back her fear and brushed aside the angry tears that had formed in her eyes. Her arms ached in the spots where her sister’s fingers had clenched.
She wanted to scream, to yell, to beat her fists against the door so that someone would hear her, so that she could escape this sloped-ceilinged jail and breathe again.
But she didn’t. Marlie’s words, whispered like the sound of death, ran through her head. “It’s complicated . . . and really scary.”
Shivering, she bit her lip and stared at the door, a dark barrier to the rest of the world. She couldn’t just sit here and wait.
What if the whoever it was Marlie thought had come into the house came up the stairs and found her?
What if he hurt Marlie? What if he killed her? Kara’s heart wrenched.
Again she wished for her mother and father. They would know what to do. But they were gone, according to Marlie, and she wouldn’t lie. Not about that.
Or would she?
Teeth chattering, heart knocking erratically, Kara grabbed the flashlight and stared at the door, shivering and trying to hear something, anything over the wild beating of her heart. Her skin crawled.
She sat on the lowest step, clicking the tiny flashlight on, then off, watching its yellowish beam illuminate the back of the door for a second before she was swallowed in darkness again.
On.
Off.
On.
Click, click, click.
The light growing fainter each time she turned the flashlight on.
She couldn’t just sit here and wait while the batteries in the flashlight died. What if Marlie never came back?
Kara wanted to rattle the door handle frantically, to scream and flail at the door. She reached for the handle again, her fingers curling over the cold lever. But she stopped herself. It would do no good. And probably cause unwanted attention. No, she had to be smart. She had to find another way to escape.
Determined, she climbed up the rickety steps again to the attic, where a single round window mounted high above and the faint moonlight cast the dimmest of light through the dusty, forgotten boxes piled everywhere, The boxes and crates were marked with words scribbled on them, some of them Kara could read: Books. Clothes. Office. Or marked with names: Sam Jr. Jonas. Donner. Marlie. Her sister and brothers. No box for her, the youngest, the only child of both mother and father. Not yet. She heard the rustle of something, something alive in the far corner. Tiny claws on the wood floor. A squirrel? Or a mouse . . . or a rat?
She shivered and was sorting through the box again when she heard it—a horrid, bloodcurdling scream rising up from a lower floor.
“AAAAHHHHHGGG!”
Kara jumped. Nearly peed herself. She sucked in her breath as the horrid wail echoed through the house.
What was that? Who was that?
Marlie?
Mama?
Or someone else?
Thud!
The house shook.
Something really big had fallen.
Kara’s mouth turned to dust and she blinked against tears.
Was it a body?
Someone hurt and screaming, then falling?
Marlie?
“Mama,” she mouthed around a sob.
Don’t be a baby.
Pulse pounding, fear nearly paralyzing her, she forced herself to sweep the flashlight’s thin beam over the boxes again and spied the one marked Office. It was closed, cardboard flaps folded but gaping. She shone the light inside and saw yellowed papers, an old stapler, envelopes, a tape dispenser and a pair of dusty scissors. She picked up the scissors and a paper clip that held some papers together, then silently made her way down the stairs to the door.
As she’d seen Jonas do at the locked bathroom door when she’d been spying on him, she took the paper clip, straightened it as best she could, and slid it into the small hole beneath the lever. She’d tried it once before on Sam Junior and Donner’s room and it had worked and now . . . she wiggled the tiny wire, working it inside the lock as she strained to hear any other noise coming from the other side of the door.
Come on, come on, she silently said to herself, pulling the wire out once before sliding it back through the hole and twisting gently . . . feeling it move. With a soft click the lock gave way and fighting back her fear, she took a deep breath, held her scissors in one hand, and pushed the door open.