Ava follows me into the foyer. Her voice is hushed, winded.
“I’m scared,” she says. “What do we do if Damien comes back?”
I rack my brain for answers.
“You were in the parlor earlier when I grabbed the gun, right?” I say. “Did you see where I got it?”
“Yes.”
“There’s a second gun inside the drawer. Use it.”
Ava looks panicked. “How am I supposed to defend us? I’ve never even used a gun.”
“Damien doesn’t know that,” I say. “Grab it for protection. If I don’t find him right away, I’ll come straight back here. I promise.”
Hesitancy flashes through me as I consider it may not be wise leaving three of them alone, a weapon in the room. Earlier, Ava nearly lunged at Constance, and I had to intervene, but Ava wouldn’t lash out knowing the police could arrive any minute, and Preston should be capable of keeping them apart. Deep down, I don’t think Damien will return here. I only told the others to stick together as a precaution.
Damien isn’t after them. He wants me, and it’s time to find out why.
39
Outside lights illuminate theempty courtyard, the cement benches still and solid as tombstones. The crow fountain at the center continues to spray water, the tranquil sound at odds with the anxiety I feel rising inside of me.
Marmee’s estate is expansive. There are countless places a person could hide if they don’t want to be found. The gardens at the back of the house. The shed to the left of the premises.
The pond makes the most sense. It’s where Preston found Damien before he was attacked. If he’s trying to taunt me, the pond would be the perfect location. Maybe after Damien snapped the photo of me at the crow fountain, he followed me there and watched me dispose of Oliver’s car.
I follow the trail to the left of the fountain. The trees overhead swallow me whole within minutes, dark forest enclosing around me. After a few minutes, I pass a small shack hidden beneath a canopy of low-hanging branches. It’s the same eyesore I remember as a child, with splintered wooden walls and a rusted roof. I notice immediately thatthe latch across the front door is broken. Maybe Damien came here looking for a weapon, the one he used to strike Preston.
I pull open the shed door and slide my hand inside, feeling for the copper chain that dangles overhead. Light spreads throughout the small shack, the place empty except for miscellaneous gardening and landscaping tools.
Leaves rustle beyond the footpath. My body goes still, breath held. Someone or something is out there. A kind of threat? After everything that’s happened tonight, I can’t be sure.
“Who’s there?”
The rustling grows louder, more frenzied. I place my hand over the pocket of my dress, preparing to reach for Marmee’s gun. Heat rises throughout my body as I wait for whatever, whoever may emerge.
A figure bursts from the foliage. The sudden sound forces me to scream. Two dark beady eyes stare back at me.
It’s only a doe, head twitching from left to right. Its wiry legs spring, and within seconds it’s off again, vanishing into the night. I exhale in relief. Only breeze-blown bushes and gaunt trees remain. Alarm shoots through me. The doe may not be the only creature out here, after all. Damien could easily be lurking around, following me. I’m immobilized with fear, despite having angled for this all night, an opportunity to catch Damien alone.
I trudge forward in the direction of the pond. My chest is heaving from all the hard breathing when I reach the clearing. The waterfront is just ahead, but there are no lights at night. It’s difficult to see what’s right in front of me, let alone who might be waiting on the other side of the pond.
I retrieve my phone, nothing but a useless rectangle of plastic and glass up until this point in the night, and turn on the flashlight. The bright orb cuts through the darkness enough to show what is right in front of me, but little else. Waving my arm back and forth, I march forward, searching.
Just ahead, a shadowed silhouette appears. A person. I get closer and recognize the familiar plaid shirt.
“Damien?”
At the sound of his name, he turns. In seconds, he has his own phone out, the light fixed on me. The brightness stings my eyes, but he quickly lowers his arm.
“Tippi! Thank God!” he calls. “Where’s the trail leading to the house?”
“Stop!” I shout at him, my outstretched hands a warning. “What were you doing out here in the first place?”
“I couldn’t take Constance’s crying anymore,” he says. “The way she was acting, I’m surprised she doesn’t take a dive off the balcony after Marlowe.”
My jaw drops at the insensitivity of his comment. He staggers toward me. The hairs on my arms stand at full attention.
