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“No, that’s no fun.” I smile at him. “I won’t make a mess. You’re being silly.”
He sneers at me, and there’s the slightest flutter of concern deep inside me before it’s buffeted away by warm apathy. “Tell me I’m silly again.”
Is he baiting me? I want to repeat myself, because it seems easier than resisting him right now, but something tells me I shouldn’t. Will it make the feeling go away? This high?
Now there’s a trickle of unease moving through me. Because I don’t feel as fantastic as I did a few minutes ago. An hour ago. Has it been that long? I’m struggling to keep track of time. Is the feeling going away?
Unease becomes a tingle of panic.
I lied.
Ihavefelt this good before.
Medicine. Peter gave me medicine too. Was it the same thing? Oh God, I remember now. The memory slides back into my mind—how I begged him to shoot me up with whatever the hell he was doping me with.That’swhy it took so long for me to plan an escape. I thought I’d been too terrified, but I’d been too fucking high. If it was anything like this is, then I wouldn’t havewantedto escape, not if it meant this feeling would stop.
I grab Red’s arm. His muscles are hard and corded, his skin warm. “Please, don’t let it go away. I need this.” My voice falters. “I needyou.”
The darkness leeches out of his eyes. I don’t know how those simple words could have subdued him, but maybe he’s taking pity on me.
My eyes well up—tears of relief. “Your little dolly needs you.”
He grabs my throat, using his grip to lead me out of the shower. There’s a towel around me, but he’s more focused on drying my hair than my body. I shiver, which is strange, because I’m not cold. Yet, when I look down, I can see goosebumps on my flesh.
My gaze roams over to the open door. To his jacket, still bundled up on the toilet seat.
I slam my fist into his stomach, and he doubles over in pain. Tries to grab me, but I dodge out of the way. My feet smack wetly on the tiles as I dart over to the toilet, grabbing his jacket. He turns to me, snarling as he reaches out with a clawed hand. But I’m wet, and naked, and the fingers that land on my hip slide off my skin without latching on. I rush out the door, fumbling through his jacket pockets, hunting for the key. The air is cold as it washes over me, as I run. My teeth knock together as I hurtle down the stairs, and I’m going so fast that I crash into the wall before I can take the corner. I find the keycard in his pocket, and put on the jacket as I’m rushing for the glass doors leading out of the living room. The lake beckons. The empty lawn beckons. My freedom is calling. My hands shake as I swipe the keycard against the panel. There’s a beep, and I grab the handle and—
A tingle of pleasure jars me from the daydream. I stare into Red’s face as he strokes my bottom lip with his thumb, my mouth opening with a sigh. We’re not in the bathroom anymore. There’s a red light shining on us.
“Who’s my pretty little dolly?” he murmurs, a strange, almost reverent light in his eyes as he gazes down at me.
“Me,” I whisper. Or, I think I do. I can’t feel my lips moving, can’t hear my voice.
Red smiles
So I close my eyes, and I nod off again, imagining a reality where the icy air hits my skin as I escape my prison.
Fyre is standing there, smiling that half-smile of his. Arrow is at his side, her tail swishing slowly as she watches me approach. If Fyre thinks it’s strange that I’m wearing nothing but a man’s jacket, he doesn’t say anything. Instead, he wraps me in his arms as I approach, and kisses the shell of my ear, and whispers, “Let’s go home, Charlotte.”
11
FYRE
Ifeel paralyzed. My body stiff with horror, my mind blank in shock.
It can’t be her.
This is not how it ends.
I know I have to look at the kitchen island again. To see the corpse’s face Red left propped up on its dismembered torso like an obscene hairdresser’s bust. I have to know who the girl is who he hacked into pieces. Whether or not Charlotte is still alive.
But that’s not necessary. This girl’s hair is shorter. It barely brushes her shoulders.
It can’t be her.
Damn it, I still have to look. When this is all over, I need to be able to identify the body. Not for my sake. Not for Charlotte’s. But for the sake of this poor girl’s mother and father. For her brothers and sisters, should she have any.
Closure.
