“Hush,” he said, and just like that, the smile was gone. He got up and went to the kitchen. When he came back, he had a glass of water and two small white pills in his hand. “Here. Take these.”
I stared at the little pills. “What are they?”
“Just something to help you relax. Remember, Charice is drinking the poison throughout the entire dinner. She’s getting dreamier and dreamier. These won’t kill you … but they’ll make it easier to stay in character. Don’t worry, Willa — this is only a dress rehearsal, not the real thing.”
“Is this what you gave Paige?” My voice was a pitiful little squeak.
“Yes. But you don’t have to be like Paige. She chose an ugly, meaningless death. You don’t have to do that. You can accept your fate and fade out beautifully, like Charice.”
Without putting up a fight, he meant.
I stared at his hand. Suddenly, he grabbed my face and pinched my nostrils. When my mouth opened to gasp for air, he pushed the pills to the back of my tongue. Then he held my mouth shut.
“Swallow,” he said.
I couldn’t breathe. I struggled, trying to shake his hands off my face.
“Swallow, and I’ll let you breathe.”
So I swallowed. The pills left a bitter taste on the back of my tongue.
“Have some water,” he said, handing me the cup.
I took a few sips, and he took the cup away. Then he pulled my hands back and taped them together, securing them to the chair.
“All right, Willa,” he said. “Hang out for a little while and try to relax. I have to go check on something.”
He left the room.
Marnie, I thought. He’s checking on Marnie.
At first, I struggled to get free. Then, when that didn’t work, I sat back and stared at the table, trying to think of a new plan.
Gradually, my breathing grew slow and steady. The room, bathed in low light from the chandelier, seemed to glow.
“Hello.” Reed’s voice came from behind me. My pulse picked up a little — but the glow on the room didn’t diminish.
How long had he been away — twenty minutes? Thirty?
“Hi,” I said. My voice sounded almost as light and pleasant as his did.
He reached back and cut my hands free. “Are you ready to get started?”
Thoughts buzzed through my brain like lazy bumblebees. I had a vague recollection that getting started wasn’t the best option, but I didn’t have any better ideas. “Okay.”
I was rewarded with a soft smile of approval. “Good girl, Willa.”
Before I knew what was happening, he had reached his arms around my neck. I felt the cool, quick touch of a chain against the skin of my throat.
“My mother’s rose necklace,” he said. “I guess you could call it a souvenir. I use it to remember my girls by. I had misplaced it … but you found it for me, didn’t you? That was kind. It’s very special to me.”
I stared numbly ahead, not looking up at him.
He went back and sat down on the other side of the table. “Do you remember the lines?”
“I — I think so.”
There was a sound behind me.
Reed jumped to his feet, as light and quick as a cat. He pointed at me. “Stay there. If you call out, I’ll make you sorry.”
A key was turning in the front door. Someone was coming in.
But Reed didn’t walk toward the foyer. He ducked into the kitchen.
“Hello …? Willa, are you home?”
It was Jonathan.
“Who’s here? Why isn’t the alarm on?”
I was afraid to speak. Reed had said he would make me sorry.
Jonathan came into the dining room. He whipped his head around, trying to take in the table, set for a romantic dinner, and my outfit. “Willa, what’s going on? Are you drinking wine?”
“Call the police,” I said softly. “You need to go. Reed’s here.”
“Reed is here? And you’re drinking wine together? What are you talking about, the police? Is — is that a wig?”
“It’s from a movie,” I said.
Jonathan stared at me — and then his energy shifted.
He understood.
I had a feeling like a fog was lifting. Emotions came through the fog, sharp needles of fear. “Be careful!” I hissed. “He knows you’re here!”
Jonathan turned to look around, but it was too late. There was a flash of movement behind him.
“Watch out!” I cried.
As Jonathan pivoted in place, Reed raised a heavy ceramic figurine and brought it down on his head.
Jonathan dropped to the ground.
Reed stood over him, panting heavily. Then he looked at me, his eyes rimmed with red and his nostrils flared. “I told you to be quiet.”
I couldn’t think of a reply. I’d snapped out of the dreamy haze into a state of stark terror.
Moving quickly, Reed taped my arms and legs to the chair and then stuck another piece of tape over my mouth, muttering about how he would have to fix my makeup later. Then he grabbed Jonathan by the arms and dragged him out of sight.
I stared, petrified, as my stepfather’s feet vanished around the corner. A minute later, the dragging sound stopped, replaced by a new sound: running water.
Reed was filling the bathtub in the downstairs bathroom.
Oh, God. He was going to drown Jonathan. I got an image in my head of my mother arriving home to find both her husband and her daughter dead. And I couldn’t do a thing about it. I hung my head as hopelessness descended over me.
In defeat, I raised my eyes to look around the dining room. This is what the room where I will die looks like on the night that I will die.
Suddenly, everything in my messed-up life seemed precious and amazing, shining and brilliant. I wept in my heart that I’d never have the chance to say good-bye to my mother.
And I’d never have another chance to talk to Wyatt.
I wondered what Paige had been thinking as she fought for her life, struggling to surface, only to be cruelly pushed back under. Who was she fighting for? Because I understood on a fundamental level that any will I had left would have to be drawn from the love I felt for other people — for my mom. For Wyatt.
If I found the strength to resist, it would be for their sake. Fighting for them suddenly seemed more important than fighting for myself.
Something cold and wet brushed against my face, and I opened my eyes.
A rose petal lay on my plate.
It was a sign from Paige. She was here.
My eyes, fluttering around the room, landed on the sideboard.
The knives. If I could get to them, somehow …
That’s crazy, Willa. He’ll torture you.
Yeah, maybe so, but … what was the alternative, to do exactly what he wanted me to do? Just let him kill me?
Suddenly, I felt a fire inside me. It was a familiar sensation — and my automatic response was to push it back, suppress it. Not let it affect me.
But then, for the briefest moment, I tried not suppressing it.
I let myself feel the true horror and shock of what was happening. I let myself envision Reed’s cold eyes staring across the table at me. The sound of his voice commanding me to play a willing part in my own murder.
The fire spread. First, it spread to my heart. Then to my head. Then through the rest of me.
And I found that I was sitting there, practically panting.
With rage.
How dare he? I thought. How dare he do this to people?
The tub was still running. If Reed was in the bathroom, he wouldn’t be able to hear me moving.
He’d done a much shabbier job taping my wrists together this time, and with only a small amount of concentrated effort, I was able to get my hands free. Then I leaned over and untaped my legs. I got to the sideboard, pulled opened the center drawer, and shoved the lid off the flat box.
The light from the candles flickered off the knife blade.
I grabbed it and slid the drawer shut.