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Winks.
A wave of ice-cold nausea pours over me like someone’s dumped a bucket full of slush on my head. Is this a set-up? Is Drew in on this somehow? Is that why he came crashing through the wall – because he knew damn well that the guys took me to his apartment?
Because he let them?
How far does this game go?
All the tension in my body drains out and I sit on the couch.
“Hey! Blood!” Tiffany squeals.
I ignore her, grabbing a pillow and hugging it, wanting a tiny sliver of modesty. Of warmth.
Of something.
“This isn’t a snuff film, is it?” Alarm fills Tiffany’s wide eyes. “Because I didn’t sign on for anything like that.”
Her voice goes to a whisper as Stellan glares at her. “Shut up or I’ll shut you up,” he says.
She complies.
“I can’t believe he fucking killed Blaine,” John says to Stellan, clearly unraveling, his hair soaked with sweat, face oily, left eye twitching.
“You think he won’t kill us both if he gets the chance? We can’t give him that chance, John,” Stellan replies, dropping the knife from Jane’s throat. He shoves her toward me. She sits on the couch.
I move away.
“Lindsay, I swear I’m not in on this,” she says under her breath. “They threatened me once they figured out I was your Island contact. My mom had no choice because they -- ”
A loud popping sound, like a wet bag of sugar being tossed from a moving car, makes me jolt. Jane’s head rockets into my lap, a big indent in her forehead directly over her right eye. I didn’t know that bones could dent.
I reach up and touch my own eye socket, the one they reconstructed four years ago.
I guess I do know.
I didn’t see my own beating, though.
As Jane moans, the vibration from her throat makes my thighs tingle. Her head is on the pillow and she’s making this bizarre gagging sound. Her breathing speeds up, from zero to sixty, and then she starts to choke-scream, like she’s drowning.
It’s all happening in my lap and I can’t do anything but stare dumbly.
And then she passes out.
One long, rattling breath comes out of her, and then she sighs, a thin, drawn-out sound that makes me think she’s dead. Another breath comes, then another, and soon she’s intermittently making shallow, then deep, sounds.
“Get off the couch,” Stellan orders. I gently put Jane’s body on the ground at my feet, a process that takes longer than it should.
“This is really good acting,” Tiffany says to Drew quietly. “Pete.” Then she winks again.
What the fuck is wrong with this woman?
Drew ignores her.
I’m cold. I’m hot. I’m dry. I’m wet. My senses have wires that cross and connect, that are frayed and bent, until I’m just a series of nerves and impulses that have gone haywire. I don’t have feelings like a normal person because none of this is normal.
None of this is right.
None of this is real.
