Beatie crowds herself at my back, using me like a barrier between her and the rooms we're approaching.
Any other time and I'd be pleased that she trusts me this much, but I can't help but feel her actions only stem from self-preservation.
Reaching the split in the hallway, I peer through the dark at the two closed doors.
The floor near one is completely covered in dust and dirt, with peeling paint fragments scattered around and hinges rusted so tightly that I doubt even Kon could get through that door.
The floor near the other door is clear, and very small streaks of light drifting through the front door catch on the hinges.
This has to be it.
Wrapping my first around the cold handle, I push down and slowly open the door.
"Mom!" Beatie rushes past me like a bullet into the room and throws herself down onto the floor next to a threadbare mattress that barely has enough stuffing in it to keep its shape.
My heart stops dead in my chest.
Mom lies spread out across the mattress with a moth-eaten knitted blanket over the top of her.
Her pale face is streaked in dirt and tears, and her sunken cheeks pinch at her wrinkled, dry lips.
She doesn't move, not even when Beatie takes her hand and squeezes it.
I can't move. It's like I've sunk into the weakened floorboards and become part of the house with how frozen I am in the doorway.
Please don't be dead. Please don't be dead. Please don't be dead.
"Mom?" Beatie pats Mom's cheek and shakes her shoulder. "Mommy? Mommy! Mommy, wake up! Wake up! I brought Rose. Rose is here. Mommy? Wake up!"
Every desperate plea from Beatie is a knife to my already aching heart, but it finally spurs me forward and I approach them both. I scarcely dare to breathe, as if adding to the air trapped in my lungs will somehow unlock the terrifying reality I fear is in front of me.
Until, finally, Mom shifts under her blanket. She doesn't wake up, but the movement alone is enough to overwhelm me with relief and I stumble into Beatie.
"Oh thank god," I croak, sinking down into the dust and grime next to my sister. "She's okay."
"Of course she's okay," Beatie replies sharply. "Mathew promised she would be until I killed you."
I lock eyes with my sister. Her weak, murderous intent no longer exists in the depths of her exhaustion, but it's still alarming to hear from the mouth of my sister.
"Sure. Because he can be trusted." I lean past her and clasp Mom's wrist. "Mom? Hey, Mom? You gotta wake up, okay? I can carry you out of here if need be but I'd rather not. Mom? Mom, wake up."
Despite a shift in breathing, she doesn't wake up.
I wouldn't put it past Mathew or Lev to have drugged her to keep her docile or obedient.
Whatever is keeping her under is strong, though, and I'm rapidly running out of options.
Staying here for any length of time is far too risky.
"Okay, Beatie, we need to get her up and out of here. Do you think you can help me with that?"
"Can't you do it?" Beatie asks and she turns her tear-filled eyes to me. "I'm tired."
"So am I, but you stabbed me and I can't use my arm as much as I want to."
"Maybe we can drag the mattress?"
I glance down, unsure if the material will even stand us pulling at it but it's worth a try. "Okay sure. Let's try that." With any luck, the movement will force Mom to wake up and we can walk out of here.
