I put it in the pocket of my sweatpants. “I will.”
Kingsley presses his head against the back of the foldout couch. “I need Meer to understand.” Then his eyes grow foggy and he grabs for my hand. “Did you bring this madness? The tangle in my brain? The way my thoughts won’t string together, did you bring it? Or was it here before you? I saw the fire from my tower, Melinoe,” he says. “I saw the smoke. I heard the helicopters on their way.”
“Yes,” I tell him. “There was a fire on Beechwood Island. It happened before I came here.”
“I ran away from my father’s castle, and I built my own. I built a life I had only imagined. I brought it into existence, with my woman and our child. Now she’s a witch and he holds me down and you’ve brought the madness. Peter Pevensie’s castle went up in flames.”
I don’t understand, but I nod.
“They tried to make me see the doctors,” continues Kingsley. “But I don’t want them. I don’t want their pills to interfere with what I see. If I do not see, I cannot paint, so I don’t let them nearme.”
“Dad,” I tell him, “I didn’t bring madness. I’m just Matilda. Isadora Klein’s daughter.Yourdaughter.”
He thrashes his head back and forth. “Bring me scissors, Matilda!” he bellows, digging his nails into my hand. “Bring them to me and unlock my door. Help me escape from this witch.” His breath is sour. He is spitting as he talks.
I wrench my hand from his. Reeling, I run down the stairs,through the studio, and into the stairwell. I am halfway to the ground floor when I stop and return.
Wincing, I press the studio door shut.
I turn the key in the lock and shoot the bolt. I race downstairs again, leaving my father imprisoned in histower.
Part Seven
Truth
55
My backpack, achange of clothes, my toothbrush, and my ID.
I can leave the rest of my things behind—the duffel, most of my clothes, makeup. I didn’t have much here anyway.
The ring of keys unlocks the office. I shove my phone, the chargers, and my computer into my backpack.
From the mudroom, I grab someone’s raincoat. Before I can stop to regret, before I can think about leaving my brother, before I can think about giving up Tatum, I am out the door and into therain.
Running, my mind racing. I have to get away from here.
My father is in the throes of dementia,
he’s a prisoner,
he scared me.
He recognized me,
he painted me.
He sees me.
He’s not the person I imagined.
I run down the driveway, figuring to cross South Road and go to the Robertson estate, where Holland and her friends are. The rain is bucketing. The hood of the raincoat falls off and water runs into my collar, soaking the back of my shirt.
“Matilda!” Tatum’s voice carries down the drive.
I stop for a second to see where he is. I can barely make him out through the dark. He’s running without a flashlight. He’s followingme, but I don’t want to talk to him. I have to leave Hidden Beach, break free of my own delusions and fantasies, understand what’s real. I want to escape Tatum’s betrayal; Meer’s betrayal; June’s and Brock’s, too.
I start running again.
