It’s too good to be true. We both know it. But it’s worth a test.
“Why am I scared to try it?” Madison continues. “Part of me feels like I have nothing to lose—if he’s going to kill me anyway. But I don’t want to die.” Her voice trembles. “Maybe that’s part of his manipulation, though. Like… maybe I’m notreallytrapped in here anymore. He just knows I think I am.”
“How about I do it?” I suggest.
She pauses, biting her lip. “We have to be careful.”
I move across the cellar on quiet feet, ascending the steps like they might crumble under me. At the top, I wrap my hand around the bronze knob and twist slowly. Then… I push. Nothing happens. I try again, harder this time. On the third attempt, I hear the faint clack of something metal on the other side, the padlock slapping against the wood.
I sigh, defeated, and return downstairs.
“I think the lock’s sitting in place,” I mutter. “Not clicked shut but wedged there. If we slammed hard enough, maybe it would jump loose.”
I look at Madison, her luminous eyes in this rotten place, and wonder how many times she’s let herself believe rescue was coming.
All I can do now is sit here with her, trying to come up with a plan. And hope that the rest of our lives won’t be spent inside these claustrophobic walls while the world goes on without us.
47
IMOGEN
After Parker leaves, I cry until my face aches. It’s a mistake, I realize quickly. With my wrists bound, I can’t even wipe the tears away. They collect and itch and sting, and I have to awkwardly press my knees to my eyes to blot them, the gesture humiliating in its clumsiness. The denim rubs my skin raw.
Eventually, I stop. I go numb.
The last few weeks have been a ruin, and I can feel that ruin trying to claim me. I shove the thoughts back, knowing they’ll only lead me to a pit of despair. And if I reach the bottom of that pit, I’ll stop caring what Parker does to me. I might even welcome it.
Then I think of Amelia. My twin, who is apparently somewhere inside this house, and I wonder if she’s hurt. If she’s scared. If she’s crying out for me while I’m in here, powerless. I can’t even figure out how she got in, why her car is outside, why her phone is abandoned.
The room around me has gone black, since Parker left withoutturning on a light—whether out of thoughtlessness or cruelty. I’m not even afraid of it tonight.
What terrifies me is what’soutsidethis darkness.
What Parker is doing out there. What he’s planning…
My wrists are chafed from all the tugging, my shoulders sore from their warped positioning. My head is pounding from the thrashing, the countless crying sessions of the afternoon. It’s all bringing on a savage migraine as I rub my tongue against the roof of my mouth, in need of water.
I salivate when I smell butter searing on a skillet, tomatoes simmering low and sweet. My arms are shivering from the chill in the room, or maybe my nerves, or both. What I wouldn’t do for a warm meal and some fresh clothes.
And home.
Is he really cooking dinner? How can he be hungry when I’m sitting here like this?
The smells become less pungent as time passes, my own appetite leaving with it. I imagine him and Meredith sitting at the table, silverware clacking like this is any ordinary Monday in their house of horrors.
Then… footsteps.
My body goes rigid. Pulses of anticipation and dread collide in my body. Part of me wants to try something new this time, to coax him, to play along. Maybe I can get him to loosen the ties. Maybe I can make him believe I’m willing, then crush him the moment he lets his guard down.
As though it will be that easy.
The door creaks open and Parker peers in, silhouetted by the hallway light.
He flips on the switch, the sudden beam harsh at first. When my eyes adjust, I lift my gaze and soften it, though a smile won’t come.
“Hey, Parker,” I try.
“Hey, beautiful.” He smiles.
